Brett cannonballs in with a yell towards the sky, but my eyes are fixated on Kit giggling and trying to get away. I swallow thickly, breathing deeply through the tightness in my chest. Then I dive under to chase him.
I didn’t realize that would be the last time we were in the lake together.
“Yo? What’s going on here?” Ian asks, stopping at the edge of the sparring mat. I see him put his hands on his hips in my periphery, but I’m not dumb enough to take my eyes off of his brother, Warren.
We’ve been at it for at least an hour. My eyes burn from sweat dripping down my face, and I peeled my wet shirt off a while ago. Warrenis just as sweaty, staring me down from across the mat with a gleam in his eyes and a wicked fucking smirk on his face.
I’m going to feel like I got hit by a truck tomorrow. Not real far off, honestly. Warren Bennet is a solid block of muscle, and he knows how to use each one of them efficiently.
All it takes is me blinking for him to strike.
“Fuck,” I grunt, slapping my hands on his back as he uses his shoulder to try to lift me off my feet like I’m not almost as big as he is. I try sweeping my foot under his, and when that doesn’t work, I wrap my arm around his head and tug on his short hair. It’s a bitch move, but I’m beyond playing nice.
“Are you flirting with me, Briggs?” Warren grits out, ducking and flipping around to break my hold. I suck in a breath a second before he manages to get behind me, using my shorts to lift me and tackle me to the mat, knocking that same breath straight back from my lungs. We both go down, but I’m the one who wheezes. A pathetic sound, but it’s all I can manage with a massive man lying on top of me.
“Dude, you’re going to crush him,” Ian says. Warren rolls off, flopping out next to me. It takes a second, but I eventually find the strength to roll over. Ian appears a second later, looking down with furrowed brows. “What are you doing here, Bowen?”
“Getting my ass beat, clearly,” I say, dryly.
“Why aren’t you at home? With Kit?” My stomach clenches, and I grit my teeth, sitting up. Every damn muscle throbs.
“Am I not allowed to work out?”
“After hours?” Ian asks, hands back on his hips. “And you didn’t even call me? Dude, I try to get you to come hang here all the time.” And before I can respond, he looks over at Warren, who is now sitting up, too, head hanging and trying to catch his breath. “And what are you doing here? Youwere supposed to lock up a half hour ago. Did Morgan kick you out of your house again?”
“Fuck off, Ian.” Warren hops up to his feet and stalks over to the bench where he left his water bottle. Ian watches his brother with a slight frown pulling at his features as Warren waterfalls half the bottle in one go.
“Figured you got enough exercise today with all the swimming you did earlier.” My comment has his head swiveling right back in my direction. I sigh and rub the back of my neck.
“What?” Ian chuckles and tilts his head, looking down at me with a perplexed smile on his face. “Dude, I own a gym. I think I can handle a workout after an hour of swimming. You good, man?”
“Fine.” I clamber to my feet, moving with much less grace than Warren did. I ignore the stitch in my side and walk away from the mat to the machines on the other side of the room, Ian trailing behind me.
Bennets’ Bench Roomwas opened by their dad, Clint, a long time ago. He retired a few years back, leaving the gym to Warren and Ian to run. They’ve done a complete overhaul of the place. Replacing old equipment, adding mirrored walls, new floors, and actual shower stalls in the bathroom. It looks good. Really good.
No help from me, of course. Even when he asked. And asked. What can I say? I’m a shitty friend, and I didn’t help. Didn’t show up very often, despite Ian always asking if I wanted to. If I had time.
I had nothing but fucking time, and we both knew it. He never complained, though, and kept showing up at the cabin to help me with one thing or another. Always with his damn smile and his damn bro hugs and damn impossible personality to dislike. I wanted to hate him. I tried.
The treadmill beeps when I press the start button, and the track slowly starts moving. I wipe my still sweaty forehead with the back of my hand and turn the speed up. The soft noise from my feet hitting the moving treadisn’t loud enough to block out Ian. I’ve never heard someoneelsethink so damn loud.
“What?” I snap, flicking my eyes up to him. The bastard has a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Bro”
“Stop it.”
“Bro”
I sigh, mashing the speed up. Soon, I’m at a decent running pace. Ian steps right in front of the machine. I level him with my best resting dick face, but it only makes his smile stretch wider. Like the Cheshire Cat, he leans closer.
“Are you jealous?” He asks, sounding concerningly pleased with the idea.
“Of what?” I increase the speed more.
“Don’t play dumb with me, man. I’ve got middle child syndrome. I can pick up weird vibes from miles away. Iknewyour ass was watching us earlier. You should have just come out to chill, dude. Kit would have eaten that shit up, and...”
“Kit is still there?” Warren asks, walking up to stand next to Ian.
