Cecily: Definitely.
I close the app and tend back to my chicken and green beans.
The guys are going on and on about playing against Oregon this weekend, specifically about their center and defense, Maddox and Hunter.
We talk our shit, eat our food, roust each other, and then sooner than I know it, I’m in bed, anticipating the game this weekend and the party after.
8
Cecily
The rest of the week flies by. I had a big project due Friday, and I think I aced it. I pitched myself to a few previous companies I worked with and a couple of new ones. Then I find myself at the gym walking my ten thousand steps without having to deal with the weather outside. I fall into a familiar rhythm with myself, greeting the familiar faces at the gym, the grocery store, and my apartment complex.
My best friend, Alix, lives over an hour away, so it’s rare that we ever hang out. So, on weekends like these, I fantasize about going to college parties but always chicken out. The last one I went to reminded me why they’re not my scene. Drunk kids everywhere. There’s always a horrible smell in the air, and I’m convinced it’s hormones. Maybe going to a party with Dylan wouldn’t be so bad. The more I think about it, the more the idea seems fine. I would set ground rules that I won’t drink, but Icould go to make friends and hang out with people my age. The next time he asks, I will say yes.
I settle on my couch, putting on a comfort movie, and scroll endlessly on my phone. I schedule a few things for next week, set goals for the new month, and, for the most part, rot in my pajamas.
By the time Monday rolls around, I’m full of energy and ready to push Dylan’s limits. I arrive thirty minutes early again, excited to watch him break a sweat.
To my surprise, he arrives twenty minutes early. I jump off the treadmill and meet him at the counter.
Gavin greets him and then looks at me. “Hey, Ce. You know you could work here as a personal trainer.”
I smile at him, tapping the counter. “Thank you, Gavin, but I’m so busy. I’ll keep that in mind, though.”
He gives me a longing look, so I shift my attention to Dylan. “Ready to die?”
He chuckles. “That’s not funny.”
“You’re laughing,” I point out.
He shakes his head, still snickering. “Not funny.”
“How was your weekend?” I ask nonchalantly as Cory eyes me.
I acknowledge him. “Hi, Cory. Hope you had a good weekend, sir.”
Cory doesn’t reply.
Dylan says, “My weekend was good. Yours?”
I walk backwards. “Good. Yeah. I didn’t see you here Saturday or Sunday morning, so I thought that might be a good sign.”
He smirks, changing the subject. “What’re you killing me with today?”
We focus on breathwork, and I make him do some Pilates while giggling internally at how much he’s struggling through it. Then I get him on board with not lifting weights. We do body weight exercises until he starts sweating.
“God,” he murmurs. “Do you run a Pilates YouTube channel?”
I laugh. “No. That’s a good idea, though.”
He lies on the ground and winces. “You totally should. Jesus, Cecily. What did you do to me?”
“You can handle it, you big baby.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can handle that ever again. Let’s stick to weights.”
I lay next to him and get into position for my abdominal abomination. He follows, but it doesn’t take long before his entire body starts shaking. I assist him, telling him he is not allowed to give up. By the time we’re done, he falls on his back, breathless.
