The plates clank together as I finish my set, dropping my elbows onto my knees. My sweaty T-shirt clings to my chest. A few of the guys are on the treadmills, but since it’s not an official practice, not too many people are here.
“You ready for the season?” Jasper asks as he strolls in, hitting me with a towel.
Glancing down at my watch, I see that he’s on time. For him, that’s late. On our first day of offseason training, Jasper is usually the first person in the locker room.
“Are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re late.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m on time.”
“Which is late for you,” I clarify.
Jasper flips me off as Bode walks in.
“Why are you pissing off the old man already?” Bode laughs.
“He’s on time.”
Bode eyes me before swinging his gaze back to Jasper.
“Are you feeling okay? You’re never late.”
“I’m on time.” He pushes a frustrated hand through his hair. “Sue me. I slept in a little longer today.”
“But you never do,” Bode says. “Are you sick? Do we need to be worried?”
“Seriously, fuck off.” Jasper flips off Bode this time.
“Someone’s getting cranky in their old age,” Noah jokes as he joins us from the treadmill.
“I’m the same age as you.”
Noah waggles his eyebrows at him. “Yeah, but I have a boyfriend. He keeps me young.”
“That’s your secret?” Jasper crosses his arms over his chest. “Dating someone younger than you to keep you from feeling old?”
“Doesn’t hurt.”
“Weren’t you just in the ice bath?” Bode throws back at him.
“Just because I feel young, doesn’t mean my body can’tdo with some good old-fashioned therapy before we start the season,” Noah says.
I move to the free weights, starting bicep curls as Noah and Bode argue about getting old. Looking in the mirror, I notice Jasper smiling down at his phone. Something that he would have yelled at us about having in the training room, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Something is definitely going on with him.
It’s then that Noah notices. “Hey! You can’t have your phone in here.”
“What?” Jasper looks like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I was texting my massage therapist.”
“No one looks that happy texting their ‘massage therapist,’” Noah says, adding air quotes around the words.
“Unless you’re Bode,” Jasper deflects.
He shakes his head, starting his own set of reps. “Nope. Stevie is an aesthetician. Big difference.”
