He gestures vaguely at the space between us and makes air quotes. “You know… ‘How’ve you been?’ Pretending things are all normal, when, in fact, the first time we’ve spoken about anything but Hallie all week is because we accidentally stumbled into the same closet.”

I bite my lip, feeling the sensation of embarrassment flood my entire body. I always thought I had a decent poker face; it’s something I picked up from years of competing in front of judges, hiding grimaces when I was in pain or pissed about a low score. It’s mortifying that Ryan has seen right through me this whole time.

“Ryan,” I say, sighing, doing my best attempt to sound supremely casual. “I am just asking how you are. This isn’t some covert sneak attack attempt at rekindling anything. Not that things were, uh, kindled in the first place. Trust me, I got the message.”

I cross my arms. I feel like a fool for trying to strike up a conversation with him in the first place.

But instead of looking upset or embarrassed, his expression is apologetic.

“Avery, I’m sorry, no, you’re right. I know things have been kind of weird since that dinner, and I’m sorry about that. I’m trying to be a professional here—keep my distance, not make things awkward. This is new territory for me,” he explains.

“Same.”

He exhales heavily and gives me a hopeful look. “We’re not doing too badly, right?”

“What, at keeping this quiet?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Well… Hallie just asked me if I had a boyfriend,” I say, not daring to mention that she only wondered because I seemed sad about potentially fighting with him. That’s information Ryan simply never needs to know.

He laughs. “And what did you tell her?”

“The truth, obviously!”

He tilts his head, encouraging me to continue.

“I told her no, I wasn’t seeing anybody,” I clarify.

“Got it,” he muses.

He shifts his weight, and my view of the doorway behind him disappears completely. Nobody can see me in here with him, not even if they tried. I’m close enough to take just one step forward and kiss him, but I know I shouldn’t. I inch backward, away from him, but my foot catches on the pile of resistance bands spilling out on the floor and I trip. The shelves are freestanding metal ones; I’m sure everything would topple down onto me if I grabbed them for support. I pitch off-kilter, and Ryan lunges forward to steady me.