“Right behind you, moo.”
“I bet you like that,” I say over my shoulder. Usually, I don’t second-guess my smart ass remarks, but what I just said sounded flirty and sexual and like I am implying something.
We get through two sets before Marina walks into the gym.
Dylan is panting from his second set when she pops over.
“Hey.”
“What’s up, Marina?” Dylan says.
“Hey, Marina,” I say, glancing at Dylan. His eyes are on her.
“Are y’all almost done already?” she asks, setting herself up next to us.
“Yeah, I have one more set.”
Dylan nods. “Same.”
I notice Dylan watching me, but I ignore him, reaching for my weights. I start to do my Bulgarian split squats, and my legs are screaming at me to end this torture. But I don’t stop. I keep going until I reach fifteen and start on the other side.
“I need to take your advice, Cecily,” Marina says, throwing off my focus. “You’re growing a dump truck, girl.”
She’s not wrong. And right now, with this pump, the muscle is hypertrophying a few inches.
“Fourteen. Fifteen.” I squeeze, push harder. At the top, I drop my leg and exhale. “Holy hell.”
Dylan is starting his set, so I spot him.
“Are you going until you burn out?” I ask.
He pushes to the top and nods.
I stand there, knowing he’s not going to drop the bar. I catch Marina’s eye on his bulge. When her eyes meet mine, I don’t look away.
“So, the hockey game is tonight, right?” she asks.
I look down at Dylan, who is pushing beyond his limit and in no mood for small talk.
I ignore her, waiting for Dylan to be done. After another minute, he sits up. “Yeah, the game’s tomorrow. Not tonight. You coming?”
She beams. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
This little gym crush she has used to be entertaining, but I know Dylan is only being friendly to her like he would anyone else. Me? I’m not like that.
For my last set, I do hip thrusts until my core shakes, my legs tremble, and my glutes feel full.
I leave these two to hit the locker room and drench my face with water. I can’t help but check my phone, searching for emails that don’t exist. Maybe I should set a solid rule for myself and turn off my phone every weekend, unplug. As soon as the thought enters my mind, it leaves. I can’t stay relevant or on people’s minds if I miss a day of posting. With how fast-moving social media is, I need to stay active daily.
When I cut around the corner, I bang into a chest. “Shit. Sorry.”
It’s Dylan, so I roll my eyes.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Waiting for you. You good?”
I nod, walking off. “How’s Marina?”
