The way he gave someone else his attention tonight annoys me.
The way I can’t have him annoys me.
The way he looks so fucking good after a run especially annoys me.
The fact that he evenlikesto run.
Honestly. Who the hell likes to run? He’s a monster, I swear.
Emmett opens the small cabinet near the door, pulling out a hand towel to wipe over his face, and I notice he doesn’t put his earbud back in. As if he’s waiting for me to be the one to break the silence. Expecting me to.
Well, joke’s on him because I’m suddenly petty as hell tonight. I refuse to be the first one to say something. I’d rather work out in silence anyway.
He tosses the towel over his shoulder and heads to the free-weight section, taking a bench—a bench I now realize has his shirt sprawled over it and a set of heavy dumbbells on either side. He must have been in here long before me, and though this is technicallymygym, I suddenly feel as if I’m intruding on hisalone time the way I assumed he was interrupting mine.
That annoys me too. I thought I was here first.
Ten minutes in, we’re focused on our own workouts, neither of us saying a word. The silence wouldn’t bother me so much if I could stop catching his eye in the reflection or if I could find a hint of willpower and stop watching the way he’s moving those dumbbells with ease.
My brain is a little traitor and quickly does the math on how much he’s lifting in continuous reps. It’s half my body weight and he’s making it look easy. Seems like he could easily lift a hell of a lot more if he wanted to.
If he had the right motivation.
Good to know or whatever.
The weights land on the ground in a heavy thump after he’s done with each set, and it doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s not dropping them because he’s worn out and no longer has theenergy to set them down carefully. He’s dropping them loudly because he’s throwing a fit.
And why? What did I do?
Is this because we lost? We lose plenty. Losing every so often is a part of the endlessly long season.
I stop the treadmill and before it’s slowed to a complete stop, I hop off and head for the exit, deciding I’ll come back when he’s done, and I can work out in peace. Without all the noise. Without all the tension. Without all the daggers he’s sending me through the mirror.
My hand is on the doorknob when he finally breaks the silence.
“What areyouso pissed off about?”
Finding him in the reflection, he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees and attention on his phone.
“Me?” I exhale in disbelief. “I’m not the one throwing dumbbells around like a fucking drama queen.”
He doesn’t look up from his phone. Doesn’t answer me.
“Is this because we lost?” I ask.
“I’m just having a night, Reese.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll let you have it alone.” I push the door open to leave.
“You never answered my question.” His words work, stopping me in the doorway. “I know why I’m upset, but I can’t piece together why you would be.”
“Funny.” I spin back to face him. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Finally, he glances up from his phone, and this time he doesn’t use the reflection to find me. He looks me straight in the eye.
His attention draws me back into the room, closing the door again, but keeping my back flush to it.
“I saw your favorite reporter,” I let slip.
