Since he’d just finished a three-hour workout and a pickup game of hoops with some guys at the University City YMCA, he felt as if he deserved a juicy steak and a fresh green salad. His workout hadn’t taken his mind off Kenya, as he’d hoped that it would. While he’d been lifting weights, a woman with a striking resemblance to Kenya had walked in, and Maurice had nearly dropped the 350-pound barbell on his chest. As she’d gotten closer to him, he’d realized that it wasn’t Kenya. She’d smiled at Maurice, mistaking his stare for interest. When he’d moved over to a machine to work on his quads, he’d seen another woman who reminded him of Kenya. As she’d squatted on the machine, he’d called out Kenya’s name. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m Lola.” Maurice had mumbled his apologies, then attacked the machine for the next hour. All the while, thoughts of Kenya had danced in his head. He knew that he wasn’t over her, and there was nothing he could do about it. Parking his car across from the restaurant, Maurice dashed across the street and came face-to-face with Kenya.
