She turns around. “Hey, Dylan. Ready?”
I was expecting questions. That she would demand answers about who was in my room, but instead, I got nothing.
She turns to Marina and says, “Catch up later.”
Marina nods. “See ya’ll later.”
I turn on the treadmill and start walking.
Cecily starts hers and walks beside me in silence.
After a minute, I can’t fucking take the awkwardness between us, so I turn up the speed and start sprinting.
“Your ankle’s better,” Cecily points out after twenty minutes.
I stare at her, feeling the burn in my ankle.
I turn off the machine and walk over to set up a bench with weights. I get everything ready and lay under the bar. When I grab onto it, I don’t focus on the energy simmering between Cecily and me. I stare up, getting ready to push weight.
I’m here for one thing.
“Push,” she says, even though she increased my weights by ten pounds. “Harder!”
I listen, muscles shaking as I push the weights above my head. I make a noise at the top as she demands I take it slower. She keeps her fingertips on the weights, guiding how slow she wants me to go. And it fucking burns. I feel my muscles tearing, and holy fuck, it’s the best fucking therapy.
“Again,” I say once I’m done.
She points at the lower weight, but I shake my head.
“You should be resting in between sets,” she says.
“I said again. Let’s go,” I grit, not listening to her professional advice.
I grab the bar and push as hard as I fucking can, but my muscles are fatigued. At the top, I can’t fucking take it anymore. We take off the ten pounds. She doesn’t judge. She just guides me and fixes my form when I need it.
After six reps, I walk around to catch my breath. She takes off more plates for her turn. In the mirror, I watch her push hard. At the top, she makes a noise. A familiar noise that makes my dick throb. I turn around and look at her.
When she places the bar on the rack, I glance at her cleavage. She stands and starts doing squats right away. Looks like I’m not the only one fighting demons. She holds a kettlebell, squatting in perfect form. She’s watching herself in the mirror, so I add the weights back on and take the bench to start my next set.
We work in silence, close to one another, for the next few exercises.
When I can’t fucking take it anymore, I say, “Are we going to talk about Saturday?”
She shakes her head. “We’re friends, Dylan. Whatever you do when I’m not around isn’t my business.”
I help her clean the weights and put them away.
She can’t be serious.
She shrugs after a moment. “I feel like we barely know each other, you know?”
I glare at her. She knows me better than most people, but I don’t mention it.
We leave the gym and walk to our vehicles.
She says, “We both know what this is. If you have a girl, it’s okay, smut. I can’t be mad, even though…”
“What?” I ask, resting against my tailgate.
