Pushing the bar up,I finish my last rep with Jameson spotting for me. Once I sit up and squirt some water into my mouth, wiping my forehead, he smacks my back.
“Shit, man. That was a new personal best for you.” He squeezes my arm. “Looking all jacked and shit, Hunt.”
I like Jameson. He’s my best friend here, but I’m not in the mood to be touched today. Not after I went and made myself spiral by going to see my old man. So, shoving it lightly, I take another drink and stand.
We had the entire day to get this workout done, so it’s just Jameson, me, and Cash in here right now. It would probably be quiet if Jameson didn’t hook his phone up to the speaker and have it on full blast.
“Holy fucking shit, why do you have it so loud?” a voice yells.
When we all turn, we see Margo strutting in. She’s downright mean, and I know she’s not Isla’s biggest fan—and Isla isn’t hers either. But hurt people really do hurt people. And Margo’s pain is deep. So, as much as I fucking hate that she’s mean to my girl,I understand her on a level that most people probably wouldn’t be able to.
“Dayum, girl!” Jameson smirks at her. “I’m jealous of your sports bra right now. And your shorts.”
“Cut the shit, West,” Cash utters to Jameson, surprising us both because that motherfucker is the least confrontational guy I know.
“I can handle myself, Hale,” Margo sasses. “West, are you looking to get punched in the nuts?” she growls, stepping onto the treadmill. “Because if so, you’re headed in the right direction.”
“If you want to touch my nuts, all you have to do is say it, Pickering.” Jameson smirks before strutting over and unplugging his phone. “Unfortunately, I have class, so the nut massage will have to wait for another day.”
“Punch, asshole. Not massage,” she utters, shaking her head.
“What’s that?” Jameson points to his ear. “I couldn’t hear what you said because my music was so loud that it damaged my ears. But, yes, like I said, massage my nuts anytime.”
This time, she doesn’t answer, and soon, Jameson holds his hand up in a cocky wave to all of us before strutting out. If any other guy talked to girls that way, I’d probably lay his ass out. But it’s Jameson, and it’s his way of flirting, I’m pretty sure.
Besides, Margo can take care of herself.
“I gotta take off too,” Cash says, changing his shoes. “Oh, also, my family is having dinner with the Hardys tonight. It’s something we do a few times a year. So, this is me telling you now so that you don’t find out later and then kill me in my sleep tonight.”
Instantly, my body tenses. It’s only been two days since Isla and I spent the day together and ended up having sex in my truck, parked at the apple orchard, but we haven’t really gotten to see each other much because our school and trainingschedules clash, just sending texts whenever we could. And let’s face it; ever since the encounter with my father, my mind hasn’t been all the way there. But she never even mentioned going to dinner tonight. And sure as hell not with Cash.
“What are you saying, Hale?” I utter, leaning against one of the machines. “You’re going to dinner with Isla?”
He doesn’t even look surprised; he just stares at me. “No, dude. I’m going to dinner with Islaandour families. And relax; we’ve been doing this for years. We don’t see each other in whatever way you’re thinking.”
“Everyone sees Isla that way,” I mumble. “Don’t fuck with me.”
Now, he grabs his workout bag before standing. “Look, Hunt, I told you because I thought it was the nice thing to do, but you’re going all caveman on me and I don’t like it.”
“Whatever,” I say, trying to keep the growl out of my tone.
I can see them now, with their picture-perfect families, hitting it off, their parents trying to push them to be together.
Cam Hardy would probably love for Isla to get with Cash so she couldn’t be with me.
He looks at me once more before sighing and walking toward the exit. When he reaches the door, he doesn’t look over his shoulder, but stops. “I’ll put in a good word, man. But you can’t act like this.” He shakes his head. “It’s not healthy. Not for you and not for her.”
With those words—words that make me feel just about two inches tall—he’s gone. And even though he said he’d put in a good word, I know if I had a daughter of my own, I’d want her to end up with a good guy like Cash. Not an angry, possessive dick like me.
Plopping down on the bench, I don’t look Margo’s way as I change out of my gym shoes and into my outside ones, but whenI stand, I don’t even get halfway to the exit when she adds in her two cents.
“You’re right, you know.” Her voice isn’t taunting as she slows the treadmill from a run to a walk. “What you’re feeling, whatever you’re thinking up there”—she points to her head—“you’re right.” She looks forward. “People like Cash Hale and Isla Hardy don’t end up with people like me and you.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I snap at her, annoyed. As if I don’t already know the answer.
“You know what it means, Hunt,” she answers, point-blank. “They grew up with their mommies making their rooms whatever theme they were into that year, baking warm cookies for when they got off the bus, and taking them on trips to Disney World and the beach.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “Do you really think a bitch like me or a guy who’s been to juvie is going to ever have a seat at their table?”
I hate that everything she’s saying is shit I already know. I fucking hate that ever since I paid a visit to my old man to leave the past behind, it’s done nothing but strangle me, and now, it’s damn near suffocating.
