Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(79)

Let it go. Let it go. Why can't you just let it go?

What was it going to take for me to stop wishing?

Zara's words from earlier floated to my forebrain, knowing and believing are two different things.

"Never mind." I closed my menu, leaned back, and crossed my arms. "Let's talk about something else."

Surprisingly, he allowed me to change the subject without pushing back. "What are you getting?"

"Matt, you ordered so many appetizers, I don't need to get anything."

"No. You should order something. You know me, I'll probably eat all the appetizers, and my dinner, and part of yours."

He had a point there. Which led me to ask a question I'd been wondering about since he first came to my apartment and ate everything I'd placed in front of him.

"How can you eat so much all the time without gaining any weight?"

Matt took a drink from his water glass, eyeing me over it. "I have a really high metabolism. I was that kid in high school who never got picked for football because I was so weak, but always got picked for dodge ball."

"Why'd you get picked for dodge ball?"

"Because I'd turn sideways and disappear." He returned his glass to the table and seemed to be meditating on its condensation drops.

"Is that why you started working out? To become bigger? Stronger?"

Matt lifted his eyes to mine, the side of his mouth curving into a flirty smile. "Who says I work out?"

Stopping myself just before I snorted, I opened my menu and looked through their pasta dishes again, in the mood for something with a lot of veggies but also meat sauce. I was not in the mood to flirt with Matt the Impervious.

The ache in my chest told me I should never be in the mood to flirt with Matt the Impervious ever again.

He was quiet while I perused the menu, then he said, "I started working out because I wanted to be more attractive to women." 

That grabbed my attention, my eyes cutting to his. "Really?"

Matt nodded once. "Yes."

"You didn't think you were attractive before you started working out?"

He shook his head, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "No. I wasn't. I know I wasn't."

"Matt-"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be admired by the opposite sex, especially when the opposite sex is notorious for not giving guys like me the time of day," he said stubbornly, though he didn't raise his voice.

"Guys like you?"

"Nice guys," he said, sounding defensive, almost defiant, like he dared me to disagree with him.

Before I could catch myself, I asked, "Is that why you still work out?" but then I bit my lip to stop from asking if he'd been working out to impress women.

"No." He shook his head, his attention dropping to the table as much of his defensive posture eased. "That's not why I do it now."

"Why then? For health?"

"No." His eyes moved up and to the side. "Once I did it for a while, I couldn't stop. I like being stronger, faster, more agile. I have a lot of room for improvement and constantly improving myself appeals to me."

"Hmm." I peered at him, absorbing this information.

I have a lot of room for improvement . . .

"Do you think," I held my breath for a beat, "do you think you're in a competition?"

"Yes. But not how you mean." His attention was back on his silverware, nudging it with his fingers. "I'm in competition with myself, not with others." He released a breath and it sounded tired, then he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, his mouth hitching to one side wryly. "I'd like to think of myself as fine wine, getting better with age, more robust, more complex. But I accept that when I was young, I resembled the simplicity of grape juice."

I exhaled a short, surprised laugh, but then a wave of melancholy crashed over me followed by a spark of anger directed at his parents. Even so, I forced a smile and determined not to allow my emotions to run away from me.

I was not his girlfriend.

I would never be his girlfriend.

His battles were not my battles unless they were suitable for a friend.

Just friends. Forever just friends.

Matt returned my smile as I forced myself to think about what he'd said, and I wondered if I felt the same about myself.

Am I in competition with myself?

No. Not really.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking at me with curiosity.

"I think you and I are very different, Matthew Simmons."

"How so?"

"I am not in competition with myself. I'm not in competition with anyone. In fact, I might be the least competitive person I know."

His smile returned, softer than before, coaxing. "That's because you're already great. There's no improving on perfection."