3.6: Together

    We had been living together for a month, when Peter finally suggested that we do something.
    "Like what?" I asked, curious. He didn't' seem like a bar or club person.
    "I'm not sure." He shrugged. "It's only four; most of the clubs aren't open yet, and even then..."
    "We could see a movie. Or the spa. Or the...gym."
    "Gym?" He laughed. "Why not?"
    "Really?" I giggled. "The gym?"
    "Have you ever been? There's a pool  and the view is amazing while you exercise."
    "Sounds great. Lemme get ready." I slid to the bathroom and changed into my gym shorts, tank top, and old Letterman jacket that was Peter's in college. He'd been on the varsity baseball team during his freshman year.
    I drove his Prius to the gym; he'd finally trusted me enough to not wreck his Earth saving mobile.

    "So...teaching kids. That has to be interesting." I tried making small talk in the elevator.
    "Yeah. It's defiantly a...."
    "Fudged up?"
    "Unique experience." I blushed. Peter tended not to cuss at all; he couldn't, being around children all day. I, on the other hand, wasn't so careful with what I said.

     "Sorry."

     "Sorry?"

     "I kinda cuss....a lot. More than you do."

     "You don't have to feel bad."

     "Oh...sorry. I mean. Never mind. Just, look treadmills. Wanna go run?" I blushed some more. I didn't know why I felt like I needed to impress him. I...damn. I mean darn. Hellllll-eck. Heck. "Wow..." I gasped. We'd climbed onto the treadmills. The view was amazing. I felt thousands of stories up; everyone else was a tiny ant. "This is amazing."

      "Yeah...it's  peaceful. The hustle and bustle of the city; you can see the pulse of life. The sounds of machines starting and the salty chlorine filling the air. The gym really is the best." 

       "I can't beleive I've never gone before."

       "You haven't?" 

       "No....I'm usally....busier." If busy meant dancing in music videos, drinking, and making out, then I was incredibly busy.

        "I come here on the weekends, after grading papers and making lesson plans."

        "It's nice. So, how's teaching?" I stumbled back to the elevator question. I was horrible at small talk.

        "I teach language arts and social studies. There's six teachers; three LA and SS teachers and three math and science teachers. For the first half of the day, my home room is taught by me and the second half they go to Mrs. Clark's and I get her home room."

        "Cool. Do you teach at Bridgeport Elementry School?"

        "Yep."

        "That's cool. I went there for third grade. Is Smith, Green, Parks, and Hendricks all still there?"

        "Yep. Smith and Hendricks are still LA and SS, Parks and Green are math and science."

        "I always hates Parks. It was like we had a thousand math problems everyday. And science? Seriously, it was videos from, like, a couple decades ago. Everything thought was out of date."

         "It's changed. They're cutting teachers, even though Parks has tenure, they could move her into PE or something and make her hate the job so much she quits."

         "Wow...they don't do that do you, do they?"

         "I'm a second year teacher; I don't have tenure, they could fire me whenever they want."

         "What?! That's terrible. I mean, you're a great teacher....I'd assume."

         "It's the law." He shrugged. I stared out the window. I was self employed, making money by singing songs....Peter was educated and could lose his job at any minute. I stepped on my foot and fell forwards.

          "Ow!" I screamed. A steering pain crept through my left leg.

          "Are you okay?!" Peter stopped his treadmill and rushed over to mine. 

          "My leg!" He helped me to a couch. He took my jacket off and made a little pillow for my head.

          "Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

         "My leg...it hurts....it feels cramped...."

         "Does this," he rubbed my leg,"hurt more or less."

         "Less. Defiantly less."

         "Muscle cramps. You need to-"

         "Go to the spa."

         "What? No-"

         "Please? Pretty, pretty please? I'll feel better."

         "Fine." He sighed. 

         "Can you help me up?" He took a hold of my arm and helped me stand up. I limped to the elevator as he drove me to the spa. 

 

         "That really does feel good." Peter said, after we'd paid and received our massages and I had a mani pedi.

         "I know, right? I love this place."

         " We should go home know."

         "But I know a great bar."

         "You need to rest."

         "I'm good. Great. Better than good. Fabulous. I paid like seven thousand bucks for a massage. I am defiantly feeling better."

         "Gabrielle." 

         "Peter." He gave me a firm look. 

         "You are not drinking tonight. We should be at a hospital, making sure you aren't worse."

         "But wine, scotch, and vodka. Cocktails and rum and Bloody Mary and Piña-"

         "Is not what you'll be drinking tonight."

         "You care more about my health than I do!" Peter was so caring and adorable...and we'd probably sleep together if I did a couple shots. Damn. We can't- it would ruin our relationship. No shots. "On second though, no bar. But no hospital, either. I'm fine."

         "Are you sure?"

         "Yeah, let's just go home." We drove in silence, to his house. 

   

        "You should sleep in the bed." Peter suggested, once we'd changed into our PJs.

         "It's your night."

         "You're hurt, though."

         "Look, Peter. I know you care and I care about you, but I am fine." We only had one bed, so every other night we traded off. I slept on the couch, he slept in the bed. Couch, bed, couch, bed. I laid down on the couch and closed my eyes. "I'm going to sleep." He turned off the lights and sighed.

-Peter's POV- 

         She's amazing. She's creative and kind and funny. I stared out the windows, sighing. She had no idea how hard I was falling for. She had no idea how her laugh was a thousand bells that made me smile. Her voice was beautiful. She didn't know that when I was in class, teaching figurative language to eight and nine year olds and I said that she was as beautiful as a sunset was an example of a simile, I was talking about her.
        I walked into the bedroom and climbed underneath the covers. The bed was cold and empty. I stared at the clock, as the time ticked by. I felt my eyelids being weighed down as sleep lulled me in. My alarm clock went off, bright and early. Five thirty am. I had to be at school in two hours. I stood up and wandered to the kitchen.
       "He save me..." She murmured. "He nice..." She was sleep talking.
     

I felt a guilty pang as I hoped she meant me. It was ridiculous of me, really. She was famous. Yet all of all the people it was me sitting in the storage room hiding from my coworkers. Of anything I could be doing, I was there. I could have said no or gone to the library or bookstore or had a late meeting and decided that I would just go home after it. But I didn't. I felt horrible; her ex-boyfriend was insane, or at least they where trying to plead that in court; he still received a life sentence. He was locked up and I doubted they had kept the key.
I moved over to the stove and began preparing breakfast. It was early and I was hungry. My mind wasn't thinking straight as I put the meal into the oven.
“Peter?” She sleepily sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Sorry.” I glanced at the clock. Five-fifty. “I didn't mean to wake you up...”
“It's fine.” She smiled at me through the window. “You're,” She paused. “You're muscle-y. I didn't realize it at the gym...you should go topless more often.” She giggled.
“I thought it would make you uncomfortable...”
“Oh, defiantly no!” She looked around for a bit and stretched. “What's burning?”
“Huh?” I stopped staring at her.
“The smell. Somethings burning.” She gave me a little half smile and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, uh, the breakfast. I made...you put it in your body and it nourishes you.” I couldn’t think of the word.
“Food?”
“Yeah. That.” I blushed. “Would you like some?”
“Shouldn't you take it out of the oven first?”
“Oh. Yeah. Probably.” I opened the oven and reached. “Oh ssss-! Hot.”
“It is an oven.”
“Should have worn oven mitts.”
“Don't look at me, you're the one with the college degree.”
“Yes. Degree. I have that.”
“The food is still in the oven.”
“Yep.” I nodded. We stood for a minute glancing at each other.
“Planning on taking it out?”
“Uh huh.”
“When?”
“Soon....now.” I grabbed a mitt and took the pan out of the oven. I'm fairly certain firetrucks where pink in comparison to me. We ate quietly, occasionally mentioning the weather or last night. “I have to leave in ten minutes.” I glanced at my watch.

“Wait.”
“What?”
“We've been living together for one month.” I nodded. “And we haven't slept together yet.” Yet? That sounded promising.
“Yeah...Gabrielle, I like you.”
“Thank the fudging gummy bears! I've liked you a really, really one month time.”
“So have I!” I exclaimed. “You don't think a relationship would ruin...this?”
“This? What the hell is this?” She laughed. “Why would it? Seriously, we have enough sexual tension that we could probably beat the amount that Brennan and Booth had for the first six and a half seasons of BONES.”
“Will you go out with me?”
“Any girl who gets asked that by you, and you could probably ask any girl, who said no is insane. Or stupid. Am I like pretending that I'm neither.”
“You aren't.”
“Thanks. Keep thinking that. That's a yes, by the way.”
“You're very straight forward.”
“I'm tired of this flirty yes-no-maybe crap. I like you, you like me. Generally two people who like each other date. Unless they're in middle school, then the girl pretends that she doesn't and he's usually really popular and she so isn't. It leads to this awkward he's-”
“You had a really interesting time in middle school.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “So, we're dating?”
“Guess so.”
“Peter Terrey. Gabrielle Janes...this sounds so official!” She squeled. “Hey, don't you have to go to work?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“You could play hooky...”
“I couldn't. I'm one of the newest teachers....”
“That bites. Later? Well, we live with each other. We'll see each other if we do or don't.”
“Bye.” I said, happily.
“Bye.” She sang song. “Oh!” Her phone beeped. “I got a gig. Have ta go.”


I sat at my desk while everyone worked, excited.
“Mr. Terrey? Mr. Terrey?”
“Yes, Mikey?” I looked up.
“Sarah poked me!”
“He pulled my hair! He started it.” She shot back.
“She won't share the crayons so I can color my poem!”
“Mr. Terrey!” I sighed. Third graders, right?


-Gabrielle's POV-

----

“Funny story, mom.”

“Funnier then this?” She dryly said.

“You know Mikey and Sarah? They're in middle school, dating now. Then where at Bridgeport Elementary School volunteering to help out with the school festival and saw Peter. It's funny. You pull her hair in elementary school and she pokes you...then bam. You realize you liked him.”

“Isn't that how it always is?”

“Until you realize that at some point, it isn't true.”

“It's always true. He's just too dumb to realize it.”

----

“Welcome home, Peter.” I said. I was still dressed in my costume from my performance.

“Hey, I'm going to make dinner.”

“Sounds great. I'm going to change.”

After dinner, we danced. I laughed and he smiled. We found ourselves slowing down, the music lulling us into a kiss. That night, we slept side by side. Our breaths in time, peaceful. Our eyes drifted closed, as our hearts stayed steady. Because we where together and nothing could beat us.