“Whatever you do, don’t drop the bar on my face,” Jaylen says with a grunt as I stand over him.
“Don’t drop the bar on your own face,” I tell him. We are at the gym and I’m spotting him while he attempts to lift entirely too much weight. Ever since he started dating a personal trainer, he’s been pushing his limits on the bench. I’m just waiting for the crash landing; in the relationship and at the gym.
“Chloe can bench press almost half as much as I can,” he groans.
“She’s a bodybuilder,” I tell him. “She gets paid to do it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a man. I’m expected to do it,” he says as beads of sweat actively drip into his eyes.
I snort at that. “Whatever you say, brother.”
“Listen,” he says, his face turning beet red. His hair is a dark brown that only looks red in the right lighting, unlike his sister’s; her hair is the color of merlot all the time. I mentally scold myself; I’m trying not to think about her. Especially when I’m standing over her brother wearing nothing but very thin gym shorts. “Just because you are in a dating slump doesn’t mean we all are.”
“Who said I was in a dating slump?” I ask.
“Are you fucking anyone?” he asks.
“Currently, no,” I answer.
“Then you’re slumped.”
“Don’t forget who’s holding the bar over your face right now,” I remind him.
He nods, and I lift it back into place. Jaylen lets out an exasperated breath and reaches for his water bottle.
“What was that? Ten?” he asks in reference to the reps.
“Seven,” I answer. Not that I was counting.
“So, I scored tickets to the Avs game this weekend,” he says as he looks in the mirror. He’s talking about the Avalanche game downtown.
“Sorry, but I already have plans,” I tell him.
Jaylen’s arms drop to his sides mid-flex, and he stares at me in the body mirror. “What’s going on with you?” he asks. “I’ve never known you to pass up a hockey game.”
“Trust me, I would love to go, but I’m going to a wedding,” I say, knowing that I am backing myself into a corner here. I’m going to have to tell him what’s up.
“A wedding, huh?” he asks with a skeptical eye.
“Yeah. I sort of promised someone I’d be their plus one.”
“Jesus,” he snorts. “Who’s getting hitched, anyways?”
At this point, I realize there is no escape route and I might as well just pull the trigger.
“Daniel Colby,” I say, and he laughs again, patting me on the back before taking a chug of water.
“Good one,” he says. “That’s funny. And who’s your hot date?”
“Your sister,” I say, and he shoots me a sideways glance.
“That’s less funny.”
“I wish I were joking,” I tell him, stretching my quads. I can feel his eyes narrowing on me as his mouth goes slack.
“You’re going to Daniel Colby’s wedding, and you’re taking my little sister as your date?” he reiterates.
“That’s the plan,” I tell him.
