He hesitated, then nodded.
We changed and met downstairs in the empty fitness center. Packy stepped onto the treadmill without a word, and for the next half hour, I might as well have been working out alone.
After cardio, we moved through stretches and core work, going through the motions instead of pushing ourselves. When we started lifting weights, Packy broke the silence.
“Careful, Rossi.” He was watching me set up for chest flies. “Those dumbbells weigh more than your ego.”
I snorted. “Impossible. I lift with confidence.”
He made a big show of mocking my form, and when I finished my set, I gestured at the light plates he loaded onto the bench-press bar.
“Sure you can handle that much weight, grandpa?”
He sighed. “Buddy, I was benching this in high school.”
“Exactly. Nine years and zero progress.”
“Fuck you, Nix.”
“In your dreams.”
He met my eyes. “Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”
My stomach flipped, but I forced a laugh. “Keep dreaming.”
We called it after an hour. I grabbed my water bottle and headed for the towel rack. Packy got there at the same time, and we reached for the same towel. Heat shot through me when our hands touched. Before I could stop myself, I pressed my fingers against his. He started to pull away, then didn’t.
The room faded as our eyes locked. Warmth spread through my chest, making it hard to breathe.
He licked his lips, and like that long-ago night by the lake, I wondered if he would kiss me. But like before, he blinked and stepped back.
“Guess that’s your towel,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.
“Guess so.”
Had I imagined the whole thing? Impossible, since he seemed as disoriented as I was. We spent a moment looking anywhere except at each other, but as soon as our eyes met, he licked his lips again and leaned closer.
Fuck. Is he actually going to do it?
I closed the distance enough that, if he wanted a kiss, he could take it. Packy was straight. If this was going to happen, he had to make the first move.
The air seemed full of possibility until he let out a breath and moved away again. “Good workout.”
Goddammit.Disappointment hit so hard I had to force myself to say, “Yeah, it was.”
Once again, he looked away, then back at me. “So, we fly to Kansas City in the morning.”
I nodded, not wanting to let him dodge what had happened, but not knowing how to bring it up. “You’re getting better at this outreach stuff.”
“Maybe I’m just getting used to you.”
“Yeah?”
He broke eye contact and grabbed his towel. “It’s either that or kill you.”
We laughed, but my head was still spinning. He was joking, deflecting, and keeping it light. But what about the moment before, when our mouths had been inches apart, and neither of us moved? I had no clue what that was about.
Thank God he pulled away, though. Kissing Kirby Paquette would have been a disaster. We’d barely stopped fighting, and a kiss would have destroyed the fragile truce we’d built.
