“No,” I yell. “I am not getting up in the middle of the night to work out. I don’t work out, period. Not during normal hours, and I’m definitely not waking up four hours early to do it. You can do as you please, but don’t involve me in your insanity.”
“Exercise is beneficial for health and wellbeing,” he says, like he’s reading the information from a brochure at a doctor’s office.
“I don’t care,” I answer flippantly.
For the first time since I opened the door to him yesterday morning, he looks utterly confused. It’s the most expressive I’ve seen him look, and a messed-up sense of glee at having provoked such a reaction in him bursts to life inside of me.
“But—”
“No, Knight. I don’t like working out. I don’t like getting up early. I don’t like rigid schedules.”
“But—”
Interrupting him again, I shake my head. “Did you work out this morning?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, his lips flattening into a line.
“Then what’s all this we business about? You can do your thing, and I’ll do mine while we try to figure out if we’re an us or just a you and me,” I declare.
“No,” he says sternly, making my body buzz to life.
“You can’t just say no,” I say with a huff.
“There is no me and you anymore. There’s only an us now, and I want you with me.”
I try to find the words to deny his claim, but I can’t. Maybe that’s because he’s right, and we really are an us, or maybe it’s because I’m so easily led that I’m falling headfirst into this fantasy life he’s created for us. Regardless of which one it is, I say the only thing I can think of. “I’m not getting up at five a.m., and I’m not working out with you.”
“I’ll set up a cot in the home gym, then you can sleep while I work out,” he finally says, nodding like that’s the perfect solution.
“Just leave me to sleep while you do your thing.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“You’re being insane. What did you do this morning?”
“I did my calisthenics workout in the bedroom. It wasn’t…” He pauses. “Ideal.”
“Look, you can start your day at whatever time you like, but I’m not getting up before nine a.m., unless I have a really good reason.”
“What constitutes a really good reason?” he asks.
“Special occasions, catching a plane, an earth-shattering orgasm,” I joke, laughing.
“Okay,” he says, nodding like he just decided something, but I have no idea what.
“Thank you for cooking for me, but I don’t usually eat breakfast. I just grab a smoothie on the way to my first appointment.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Energy drinks are the most important meal of the day,” I say with a smirk. I don’t know why I’m deliberately trying to provoke him, but I can’t stop the urge to push him to react—to see what makes him flip and what he’ll do when he does.
“No energy drinks,” he says sternly.
“Dude, I get them shipped by the crate from Amazon.”
A vein in his forehead pulses, and I have to fight the urge to smirk.
“I am not your dude,” he says coldly, his eyes narrowing a little.
