But she got me thinking. About how hard Tyler worked, how it was basically all he did. Maybe he isn’t hiding from anything. Maybe he’s trying to make up for something.
“Thank you, babe. I’ll talk to you later.”
“What, you gotta run?” she teased.
“Shut up,” I said.
I felt so much better after talking to her. Not only did she understand because she’d been there with forbidden love. No, not love, forbidden attraction, dammit. Where did the word love come in there? That was not on the agenda. I’d help the guy to the best of my ability as a counselor and keep my wits about me. No more kissing or touching or anything. Just calm, focused conversation about his PTSD and strategies to help him cope with it.
The next morning, I put on the workout clothes I usually wore to yoga, leggings, sports bra and tank top in a swirly purple and gray pattern. I told myself it was stupid when I curled my eyelashes and put on mascara to go for a run. It didn’t matter how I looked. I wasn’t trying to attract him. I was putting on mascara for me, so I’d feel fierce, right? Nothing at all to do with him.
I felt good after talking to Maggie the night before, and I was ready and waiting at the fountain a little early. I had a bottle of water, my sunglasses, my cool, professional attitude in place. Then he jogged up. He didn’t drive and park like I did. No, he freaking jogged from the vineyard like two and a half, maybe three miles away.
Tyler was shirtless. He showed up in just running shorts and sneakers. All that bronzed skin, all those muscles on full display, with a sheen of sweat on his back. And Jesus H. Christ, how had I not noticed the other day that the man had tattoos? I wanted to trace them with my fingers, taste them against my tongue.
“You okay?” he said, stopping at the water fountain for a drink. I watched the ropelike muscles in his throat work as he swallowed.
I wanted to dunk my head in the fountain until I cooled off. I cleared my throat.
“I’m good. You ready to go?” I clipped my water bottle on and we started out.
“You know,” I said. “It’s sort of chilly this morning.”
“I didn’t notice. I mean, it’s cool for summer, I guess, but you’ll warm up once you get your blood pumping,” he said.
My brain was still exploding from the fact he didn’t have a shirt on. I managed an easy jog, knowing that he reined in his long strides to keep pace with me.
“Physical exercise is a great way to help cope with PTSD,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s the one I use the most.”
“It’s a good physical outlet. It’s a nice strategy to have in your toolbox. Have you tried journaling? It can be very helpful too.”
“Not much of a writer,” he said,
“Some of my patients have seen success with art therapy,” I said. “And you don’t have to be good at drawing. It’s much more self-led and organic than a how-to lesson. I have a colleague who does pro-bono art therapy for veterans on the weekends. I could give you her number.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Doesn’t sound like my scene.”
“What is your scene?” I asked, starting to huff from just jogging, “Exercise and work? It would be beneficial to have other outlets for stress and anxiety.”
“What do you do for stress?” he said.
“Well, not running!” I laughed, panting. “I do yoga. I make sure to have a night out with my friends at least once a week—keeps me from getting too much in my own head. Do you socialize much?”
“I see my brother at work,” he said easily, obnoxiously not out of breath at all.
“Do you find that socializing or meeting new people makes you anxious?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
“Okay, could you be more specific?”
“When I go out I don’t want to get into some heavy conversation about my time in the service or what happened. But I don’t want to act like everything’s normal and then have some fucking panic attack and scare the shit out of everyone.”
“I guess that makes dating tough,” I said.
He shrugged. “I haven’t tried.”
“I’m sure you’ve met some women you were attracted to since you came back stateside. Why haven’t you asked anyone out?”
“I’m not interested, or I haven’t been. If you have to work yourself to exhaustion just to hope to sleep, it’s not like you have a lot of energy to put into getting to know somebody. And I don’t want to go that deep, talk about all my shit. Kind of a mood killer.”
“To be honest, it isn’t a mood killer at all. If you open up and make yourself vulnerable to someone new, that’s how you build intimacy. Intimacy is necessary to make a real connection.”