"How's coasting by on talent working out for you?"

You aren't sure how it escalated this far. One minute Tashi was on top of you, laughing into your mouth about Art, and the next it's blown up into this. Her stretched out on her yoga mat, needling you for the fact you dared to suggest you talk about anything other than tennis.

"Do you have any idea how frustrating it is having to listen to you complain on the phone every week about all the ways you're getting screwed over on tour? How can you possible think that's a good use of my time?" She continues, driving the knife in deeper with each word.

"Excuse me for inconveniencing you," you snipe back.

"You are," she shakes her head. "I need to be alone now. I'll see you after the match."

"No." You don't miss a beat in your reply.

A flicker of surprise crosses her face, but she schools it quickly as she dips into another stretch. "What?"

"I'm not going to the match," you seethe. You're so close you can see the spark of anger in her eyes at your defiance. "Not if you think you can just dismiss me. I'm not some fucking lapdog who's gonna sit around and let you punish me. I'm not Art."

She laughs, but it's a hollow sound.

"I mean, maybe you need someone like that—someone who's gonna hop on board with your life and be Mr Tashi Duncan," you add. An unfair blow towards Art, but you're too frustrated to care about that.

"That's what you think I want?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at you.

"Yeah. A member of the fan club," you snap back. You're too clouded by frustration to really think about what you're saying. But both of you know you aren't wrong. Tashi has never known how to handle someone who won't bend to her every whim in the way that your best friend does. Maybe Art is better suited for her than you are.

"You're not a member of my fan club?" Tashi rises then, her honey-brown eyes darkened in challenge. Neither of you are willing to yield; almost chest-to-chest, staring at each other, the air crackling with unresolved tension.