Fair Play by Deirdre Martin Page B

yeah,” said Reese. He looked almost bashful. “I love old movies.”
    â€œMe, too,” Theresa confessed.
    â€œName your favorite.”
    Theresa shook her head, tongue-tied. “I couldn’t. There are so many.”
    â€œTop three, then,” Reese goaded.
    Theresa thought hard, trying to ignore the glare from a nearby woman who clearly thought she should surrender the cross trainer. “ Gone with the Wind is definitely up there,” she said slowly. “ Strangers on a Train . . . Casablanca. ”
    â€œYou can’t say Casablanca. Everyone says Casablanca. ”
    â€œI was unaware there were rules to this game.”
    â€œThat’s the only one,” Reese promised.
    â€œOkay, then. A Streetcar Named Desire. ”
    Reese’s eyes lit with unexpected surprise. “That’s in my top three, too!”
    â€œWhat are your other two?” Theresa asked.
    While Reese contemplated the question, Theresa grappled with the excitement welling up within her. They shared so many common interests, interests she never thought she’d find embodied in one man. Like a flower long buried under snow, Theresa could feel herself thawing and preparing to bloom. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced since before the Lubov incident. She gratefully welcomed its return.
    Reese snapped his fingers. “Got it! Bridge Over the River Kwai and Zulu. ”
    â€œThose are guy films.”
    â€œSo? They’re great.”
    â€œI’m not sure I agree.”
    â€œWell, we’ll just have to have our own film festival some time and see who’s right.”
    Theresa blushed again, prompting Reese to cough uncomfortably. Looking apologetic, he handed the book back to her. “Sorry I interrupted your workout.”
    â€œNo, it’s okay,” she said, patting the back of her neck with a towel. “I was almost done anyway.”
    â€œYou don’t look like you need to work out.”
    â€œBelieve me, I do. If I didn’t go to the gym my butt would have its own zip code.” What was she saying?! Here they’d had a nice, relaxed, intellectual conversation—he’d even flirted with her, if she wasn’t mistaken—and she had to ruin it by putting herself down like some self-deprecating twit?? Time. To. Shut. Up. Theresa tried to be cool as she reached for her Evian bottle and drank deeply. Unfortunately, the water went down the wrong pipe. She leapt off the cross trainer coughing and spluttering.
    â€œTheresa! Are you all right?” Reese asked, alarmed.
    â€œFine,” Theresa wheezed, humiliated. Slow breaths, take nice slow breaths, then run away as fast as you can.
    â€œYou sure you’re okay?” He looked genuinely concerned.
    â€œFine, fine,” Theresa croaked.
    â€œI was wondering . . . have you and Janna had a chance to look at that memo I gave you?”
    Business. “We’ve looked at it,” she told him, “but we haven’t had a chance to discuss it.”
    â€œOh, okay. That’s fine. Ummm, maybe you and I could get together over drinks Friday night?” he asked casually. “To talk about it,” he added. And then said shyly, “And other, more important things like writing and photography and old movies. Are you free?”
    Not business! “Sure!” The urge to resume coughing and spluttering returned, this time from sheer disbelief. “I mean, I think so. I mean, I have to check my PalmPilot and get back to you.” I mean, I should just nod and be quiet!
    â€œGreat.” His smile was infectious. “What if I give you a call at work to finalize plans?”
    Theresa nodded. “That sounds good,” she said.
    â€œOkay, then. I guess I’ll see you Friday.” He pointed in the direction of the rowing machines. “I’m going to work out. Have a good night.”
    â€œYou, too,” said Theresa, collecting her things and heading