Spring Fling (Dating Season Book 1)

by Laurelin Paige

  “I make pottery,” I tell her.

  She scoffs over her scotch tumbler as if I’m a peasant on the verge of being tossed out. “And you earn money doing that?”

  “Well, not yet. But I have a full-time job at It’s Clay Time. I teach pottery classes to kids.”

  Beneath the chandelier’s sparkling lights, this fancy form of interrogation is not going well. Why doesn’t she like me? I’m likeable. I work with children, dammit! This is all so bizarre. There’s a chance she doesn’t like me because I can’t stop staring at her. It’s impossible not to, though. First, in a chic white pantsuit against the regal scarlet upholstery, she looks like a badass queen. Second, and most important, Jacqueline and Phineas look like older replicas of me and Finn. If I were to keep up with the exercise and somehow acquire gobs of money, it’s as if I’m seeing an uncanny future reflection of myself.

  I mean, Finn has to realize this. Ew. Does he? Is that why she’s looking at me as if someone told her I stole all of her Gucci. To test the theory, I place my hand on Finn’s thigh.

  Double daggers. Oh my God. Surely not?

  “And what do you do, Jacqueline?” I ask. Because, I know nothing about these people, other than what I’ve gleaned from being here in the last hour—they’re as healthy as Finn based on the walnut salad for dinner with no dressing. Or, as Phineas called it, a “naked” salad.

  “She looks pretty all day,” Phineas says. “That’s her job.”

  Instead of throwing her wine at him, she bats her long lashes and gives him a coy smile. “Thank you, honey.”

  Phineas rests his shoulder against the marble mantle. “Finn mentioned you work out at SuperFit. How do you like it?”

  “It’s good,” I lie. “Finn is a great trainer.”

  “Glad to hear that. I own them.” Wait, what?

  “You own SuperFit?”

  “Yep. Two hundred gyms across the country. Finn will take over when I retire.” He flexes his bicep. “That might be a while, though.”

  When I glance over at Finn, his hooded gaze gives nothing away. That’s a big deal he didn’t mention it. We’ve only worked out there a bazillion times.

  “So, you’re just kind of working there to be like an undercover boss?” I ask Finn.

  “Something like that,” he says. “Have to pay my dues.”

  Phineas pushes off the mantle. “Why don’t we burn off that dinner? We have a bowling alley in the basement.” He crosses to me and holds out his hand. “Let’s have a tournament and see if you’re a SuperFit girl, Chloe.”

  This feels like a challenge, of sorts. I really don’t want to take his hand or be a SuperFit girl. But what choice do I have?

  “Is bowling really going to show you what kind of girl I am?” I hesitate to even ask.

  “Bowling requires strength and agility. It requires focus. It’s both mental and physical. Playing the beautiful game will absolutely show us what kind of girl you are.”

  I can’t wait to disappoint.

  With my hand tucked in his arm, I’m led out of the living room and down a wide hallway full of framed pictures of the family at various stages of their life. A toothless Finn grins at me from atop a mountain peak as we pass, and I’d rather spend time here, studying the photos, but that’s not going to happen.

  At the end of the corridor, we stop at a set of double doors. Phineas pushes a button and they slide open.

  “You have an elevator?”

  “Had it installed last year. It’s a real time saver.”

  Funny people who are so fitness-oriented didn’t choose the stairs for the single flight down. But that’s not my business. I free my hand and scoot next to Finn in the corner, trying to get some cover from Jacqueline’s eyeball-stabbing as we descend.

  After a few seconds, we step out into an enormous room with two bowling lanes at the edge of the glossy hardwoods. It’s a totally professional setup, complete with flat screen monitors overhead to keep score and neon blue gutters. Plump leather seating flanks the area.

  “Wow, this is amazing.”

  “Thank you,” Phineas says, walking toward a wall of shoes. “What size are you? We keep one of every size on hand.”

  “Seven.”

  While we lace up, I try to come up with a reason to get out of here. I just want to go home, because truly I don’t need to burn off that salad. There was no dressing, for fuck’s sake. These people are rich, you can’t offer a girl some ranch?

  Finn dispels my hopes of escaping. “Listen, we need to win.” He squats in front of my chair. “Got me?”

  “Um, okay? I’ll try my best.”

  “No. No trying. We need to win this.” He glances over his shoulder to where Jacqueline is sharpening her knives. “She’s good. But you need to be better.”

  “Okay, well...I haven’t bowled since eighth grade, so....” It’s not like I’m in a league or something and keep my skills up to date. And why must everything be a competition?

  “Ready?” Phineas calls.

  Not at all, but lucky for me, I go last.

  Jacqueline and her special diamond-encrusted bowling shoes make a strike on her first attempt. So does Phineas.

  And Finn.

  No pressure.

  I select my ball, bring it up balanced in both hands, and focus on the pins. When bowling originated, Germans believed knocking down wooden shaped pins would pardon their sins. I’m not certain this crowd would appreciate that nugget of information, so I keep it to myself and hope for a strike so my indiscretions will be forgiven. Because karma is really kicking my ass with this torture.

  As I shuffle forward on the slick floor and swing my arm back, Phineas says, “Yeah, let’s see if you’re a stroker.”

  His words ruin my aim, and I release...straight into the gutter.

  “Fuck,” Finn mutters.

  “Sorry,” I say, walking over to him. “Isn’t it about having fun and not whether you win or lose?”

  “No,” he answers. “Only losers say that. We need to win.”

  I tilt my head, wondering why this is so important and resisting the urge to tell him to blame his father for my performance.

  “Uh-oh,” Jacqueline says, with faux concern. “Looks like someone isn’t happy.”

  She looks very pleased by that. I’m no conspiracy theorist, but this is a very strange dynamic between her and Finn. I stand on tiptoes and give Finn a brush of my lips.

  Whoosh. Daggers.

  Unbelievable.

  The game continues, with Finn mumbling curse words at my performance, until we finally lose.

  “Good game,” Phineas says. “Sorry, son.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Finn drawls.

  “We’ll head upstairs and give you some privacy,” Jacqueline says. “Take care, Chloe.”

  My brow pulls tighter than my vagina. “What’s going on?” I ask Finn as they step into the elevator.

  “Listen”—his warm hand slips down my arm—“it’s not you…well, it kind of is…but it’s not going to work out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Am I being dumped? After all that? He’s dumping me?

  “I thought you could be a SuperFit girl, Chloe. Someone by my side to be there for me like Jacqueline is for Dad. Someone who appreciates how rough it is to maintain a body like mine. Someone who lives and breathes fitness like my family does. But it’s clear that will never happen.”

  Not as clear as it is to me. This breakup is so horrendous, I’m speechless as he continues, “It’s a shame because you really loved my cock. Greedy girl.” He licks his lips and phew, the action is no longer appealing to me. “I need someone who will rule the empire with me and love it. A winner. This was a family test, of sorts. That you failed. So”—dramatic pause—“I can’t see you anymore,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid this news might break me.

  Shocked, I do a slow blink. “Wait. If we’d won, you’d want to keep dating? Your parents knew about this?”

  “Yes and yes.
But we lost, Chloe. And the rules are rules.”

  Bless you, rules. “I understand.”

  “And I want you to know that I’ve decided not to move in with Austin, out of respect for you.”

  This just gets better and better. “Respect?”

  “I know how hard it is to get over someone you see a lot, so I’m going to take the tiny house.”

  Is he really this narcissistic and egotistical? How could I have missed it? Why does my radar not work? I’m tempted to point out that breaking up with him is not the hardship that he is presenting it as. I’m more upset over losing the tiny house. But it’s easier to just let him think I’m distraught, so I roll with it.

  “Yes. I would be very hard-pressed to get over this if you were around all the time.”

  He frowns. “Now, I do expect to be around here and there. You don’t get to keep Austin all to yourself in this breakup.”

  This is where I draw the line. “But…he’s my friend. Of course, I get to keep him for myself.”

  “He reminds you of me. I understand.” He sighs and whispers, “I’m really going to miss your tight pussy.”

  I nod in commiseration. “With all that exercise it will only get tighter, but it will be okay.”

  He blows a breath. “I use the gym every morning from six to eight, over the lunch hour, and again from five thirty to eight. Beyond those hours, feel free to keep working out at SuperFit.”

  I’m having a hard time processing what just happened, so I say, “Thanks.”

  “You’re great, Chloe. You really are. Look where you started and where you are now. And your job is so damn hot.” He shakes his head. “You just need to believe in yourself. You might surprise yourself one of these days.”

  Well, that would be lovely. Because then I wouldn’t be standing here being the one who got dumped.

  In a weird way, I appreciate he believes in me. Someday, maybe someone will believe in my art.

  At least I’m comforted by the knowledge that I have plenty of ab pics on my phone for the Netflix and solo-chill nights ahead.

  Twelve

  I don’t care if it’s for the best, getting dumped sucks. No matter how wrong they are for you, they realized you’re worse. Is a confirmation of all your shortcomings necessary? Even if you acknowledge you have them, it burns hotter than a thousand hells that someone else noticed them too and found you lacking. No one wishes to be lacking. Ask the rock Finn gave me. Not once did I wish for that.

  If you think about it, the dumper is basically saying your imperfections are insufferable. In my opinion, a rule should be instituted that breakups can’t occur unless both parties dump at the same time. It’s a heavy blow to my self-esteem that I wasn’t good enough to hold on to someone I didn’t even want to hold on to.

  Because I deserve it, our unexpected breakup has me backtracking to all of my past relationship failures to kick myself. For some reason, Finn ending things over a ridiculous bowling game caused a lot more introspection than the previous boyfriends who lasted far longer.

  With age comes wisdom, they say, but I don’t seem to get smarter.

  What really got under my skin was the “Hope you’re okay” text Finn sent today. As if I shouldn’t be okay. As if I can’t function and crawled under a blanket weeping, praying for his return. Not at all. His message put me in an awkward position I don’t appreciate. If I ignored him, he’d possibly think I’m devastated beyond repair and seek me out to confirm I was indeed okay. But I didn’t want to reply, so I deleted it. Now I’ll seem bitter. It’s a classic catch-22.

  To be clear, I’m not angry with Finn. Perhaps envious that in a twisted way he has a precise ideal of what he requires in a woman. Good for him. My wants in a relationship are shifting and changing daily. At twenty, all I wanted was a dude who didn’t wear cargo shorts. Ha. Now I just want a guy who appreciates me. What the outcome will be, I have no idea. And now I’m not okay, because again, being dumped sucks.

  Thank God for great friends. I have dragged myself from my mope-fest to help Charlotte pack. Well, to watch her pack. What can I say? In terms of emotional support, hanging out at Austin’s half-barren house, lounging in a beanbag chair, is just what I need.

  “You guys can never dump me,” I say. “I won’t allow it.”

  Since the sectional is now gone to its new home at Charlotte’s, she stretches out by my feet. “Chloe, as if. You’re stuck with us for life.”

  “Thank you. I wonder if he’ll want his rock back? I never should have invited him to the craft fair.”

  “Don’t let this keep you from putting yourself back out there,” she says. “Finn was a spring fling.”

  I like that term. Sounds sordid and is an accurate description of our brief time together. Of the four seasons of love, our short-lived romance fit spring best. I forced myself out there and planted the seeds. Who cares if it didn’t blossom because Finn killed it?

  “He was a nut,” Austin says, propping up my fragile self-esteem. “Who makes you bowl competitively against his stepmother to decide if it will work out?”

  Despite my doldrums, I laugh, because to hear it spoken out loud is comical. “And I tried so hard… I’m not a bowler. I still can’t believe he sent me home in an Uber. Or that I had to leave through the secret entrance to the basement. Could it be worse? Well, yeah, it could’ve been worse. King Henry had Anne Boleyn beheaded.”

  Austin points at me. “That right there. How can he give up history facts?”

  Cringeworthy moment happening right now. “I actually never shared any with him.”

  “Seriously? Why?” he asks.

  I shrug away my discomfort. “Just didn’t seem to fit our dynamic.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Charlotte says. “I’m not judging, but why did you stick with him so long? He wasn’t very accommodating to your needs. It was a lot of what he liked and what he wanted.”

  Obviously they saw what I ignored in Finn, but kept silent so I could figure it out on my own. We weren’t compatible. If he hadn’t dumped me, I wonder when I would have given up trying to make it work? Never, probably. My track record is horrendous. In all probability, I’m going to die on that hill alone. My marker will read, “Here lies Chloe...forever alone.”

  “The abs, I guess.” Superficial but true. It’s embarrassing to admit to myself—to admit to my friends—it felt good to have someone who looked like that interested in me. Sad, but again, true. “There’s no sense in denying a lustful attraction drove the time I spent with Finn.”

  “Well, can’t blame you there,” Charlotte says. “It was the dopamine.” She explains the science behind her logic and how our brains produce more levels of dopamine in the newness of spring. “It’s fascinating. All the colors and smells trigger us to fall in love. Or in your case, lust.”

  “I’ll just close my eyes and hold my breath the next time I go outside.” I sink further into the beanbag chair. “Oh, well. Now I can eat food that isn’t steamed tofu. I won’t ever have a six-pack, not that one was imminent.”

  “You’ve never struck me as a gym bunny in disguise,” Charlotte says tactfully. Hey, now.

  “I’m going to take up yoga, though.”

  Hard to believe those words are coming out of my mouth but I do actually mean them. I’ve gone over the classic pros and cons associated with breakups, and as much as I despised it, working out has toned me. I don’t want to give it up entirely. Plus, if I join a yoga class, it will help me be the bendy one in my next relationship. That is, if I pursue another one.

  “Yes. We can do goat yoga,” Charlotte says. “That looks fun. Cute baby goats crawl all over you. A girl I work with says it’s a stress-free workout.”

  “I should get a baby goat. They like hills and I won’t die alone.”

  Austin rises from his chair and heads into the kitchen. “Be glad you lost at bowling, Chloe. Sounds like Jacqueline would’ve murdered you eventually.”

  I know. I know. Even if our split was i
nevitable and for the better, it still stings to be on the receiving end yet again.

  “You know, I’ve never been the one to break things off.” Just once, why can’t I be the kind of girl who realizes this shit first and does the breaking up instead of the other way around? I should’ve ended it. There were none of the things I wanted: napping, cuddling, hand-holding. Finn never even slept over at my house. And now, I want to wallow in my despair. Not over losing Finn, over the fact I can’t seem to find someone who is right. “I’m a terrible girlfriend. Clearly, I’m flawed.”

  “No, you’re not,” Charlotte chastises, rejecting my criticism with a shake of her head.

  “You have to say that because you’re my friend. Most likely, I would’ve ended up going to the Clown Motel to please him.” I give her a pointed look. “Think about that.”

  “Hell no. I would’ve stopped you,” she says.

  “Would you have been able to? I’m sure I would’ve made excuses to go and been terrified the entire time.”

  “From a psychological perspective, until you value things you want in a relationship, you’re going to drag out the process with guys who are wrong for you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, you’re too focused on making the wrong people right. If you need to work that hard at something, it’s time to quit.”

  “It’s that darn masquerade outfit I never took off. I was masquerading all over the place.”

  Austin returns with a bag of chips. “Um...were you role-playing?”

  It’s probably my depressed imagination that he looks intrigued? “No. I read a column that said show who you really are and don’t disguise yourself. And I planned on doing that, but trying to make myself enjoy his hobbies distracted me.”

  “Silver lining. That’s great introspection. You’re learning,” Charlotte says. “But listen, I only know what I read or study. There’s a world of difference in living it. Somehow, I lucked out and found my person early on. If I was single, I’d have gone for SuperFinn too.”