“You’re peacocking.”
The old man with the resistance band has given up on his questionable exercise and is now just standing in the corner, watching us with open curiosity. I nod at him. He nods back. Neither of us addresses the fact that he’s been doing the same stretch for fifteen minutes.
I move to the dumbbells. Bicep curls. I pick up the thirty-fives, then reconsider and grab the forties.
Dean, between reps, mutters, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Worth it.”
I’m not even subtle about it now. I positionmyself where she can see me clearly in the mirror and proceed to do the most unnecessarily intense bicep curls of my life. Each rep slow and controlled. Maybe I flex a little more than strictly necessary at the top.
Delilah’s treadmill pace drops to a walk.
The teenage boy with the five-pound dumbbells has moved closer and is now mimicking my form with an intensity that borders on religious devotion. I pretend not to notice. Dean notices and doesn’t pretend at all—he just snorts.
“You have a fan.”
“Shut up.”
“He’s going to pull something.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It’s going to be your problem when his mom sues you for corrupting her son with your irresponsible weightlifting techniques.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror again—mine and Delilah’s, not mine and the teenage boy’s. This time, she doesn’t look away.
Something hot and reckless moves through my chest.
She hits the stop button on her treadmill, grabs her towel, and heads for the women’s locker room.
Iwatch her go.
“You’re hopeless,” Dean says.
“Completely,” I agree.
“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
“Just don’t get arrested. Jo’s got enough wedding stress without having to bail out the best man.”
“I’m not going to get arrested.”
“That’s what you said the night before senior prom, and we both know how that ended.”
“That was different. That involved fireworks.”
“And a goat.”
“The goat was incidental.”
“The goat was the main event. You’re lucky Principal Morrison had a sense of humor.” Dean racks his weights and grabs his towel. “I’m going to shower. Try not to cause an incident while I’m gone.”
“No promises.”
I finish my workout on autopilot, thinking about the curve of her neck when she looked back at me. The way her shirt clung to her shoulders. The fact that she nearly fell off a treadmill because I made eye contact with her.
