Page 28 of Okay, Cupid

My worst fears come true as I make my way into PE at the end of the day.

After we’ve changed and I’ve wiped away my makeup from this morning, Coach Thompson tells us all to gather around. We go through the normal stretches that we went through the previous day, but then he corrals us all together and leads us to this much smaller room just outside the gym.

A room with the floor covered with soft black padding, various benches, racks of weights. Along one wall is a row of treadmills, and along the other wall are dead-lift setups and squat racks. At least, that’s what Huy calls them as he shows me each piece of equipment. And because we’re standing next to each other in the lineup, we’re named spotting partners.

Which definitely wasn’t on purpose.

Wink wink.

“Have you ever lifted before?” he asks.

I show him my bare arms. “Oh yeah. Can’t you tell?”

“Come on, it’s not that hard.” He steadies a metal bar on the weight bench.

“No weights?” I ask.

“You’ve never done this before,” he says to me. “So yes, no weights.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that hard.” I straddle the bench, falling back until I’m face-to-face with Huy’s crotch.

Wonderful.

You know, is it any wonder that playing sports became associated with being heterosexual and a “manly” man? A bunch of hot sweaty bodies colliding with each other, getting all dirty, taking any excuse at all to wear tights, weight rooms spilling over with homoeroticism, all the “friendly” slaps to the ass.

Definitely straight.

“All right, keep your feet behind your knees and flat on the floor, and your hands here,” Huy runs his hands along the bar, pointing to these two textured grip sections. “Keep your back arched slightly.”

I ready my arms on the bar and take a deep breath. I heave and grunt as I lift the bar in the air … and it almost comes right back down. Huy’s literally the only thing keeping me from dying the most embarrassing death imaginable. (Picture it. High school junior’s chest crushed by naked weight bar.)

“Whoa, it’s okay. Arch the bar. Don’t let it come straight down.” He keeps his hand lightly on the bar, helping me lift it up. “Just do five. Think you can?”

I press again, pushing my arms out and stretching them into the air.

“How much do these things weigh?” I grunt through gritted teeth as I continue to try and pump up and down.

“Forty-five pounds.”

“You’re joking!”

“No, my name’s Huy. Nice try, though.”

I groan again, but this time, it’s not from the weights. “That was terrible.”

“Well, that’s the last time I try my material out on you.”

“Thank you.”

“And that’s five!” he says out of nowhere, leading the bar back to where it normally sits.

“Are you serious?”

“Yep, five reps. Congratulations, you’ve done one full set. For you, at least.”

I sit up, my arms aching. “I feel stronger already.”

“Mind helping me put on more?” he asks. “Grab those.” Huy points to the twenty-five-pound weights. I think I can handle those, though it’s tough to line them up at first. Once the weights lock in place, it’s Huy’s turn to sit in front of my crotch. Never have I ever prayed harder for a boner not to strike.