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“No, it’s not.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You shouldn’t lie. You’re terrible at it.”
She struggled for something positive to say. “It’s got good bones. And the tile isn’t the worst I’ve ever seen.” Although it was definitely in the top ten. Top five, even.
“The rent’s cheap.” Caleb looked around in distaste. “That’s the best thing I can say about it. But it’s only temporary.”
Right. Temporary. Just like she was only temporary. Was he slumming it with her like he was with this dump he lived in?
He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the living room. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”
“Yay.” She edged toward the mess, drawn to it like ferrous metal caught in a magnetic field. “Maybe I could just—”
“Nope,” Caleb said, pulling her back. “It’s their mess and it’ll stay until they clean it up.”
The sight of it was physically painful to her. If she had a garbage bag, it would only take a minute to tidy up the worst of it. “Yes, but—”
“Don’t look at it.” Caleb took her by the arm and led her into the kitchen.
“Now I know why you always want to come to my place.”
“The fact that you’re there has something to do with it too,” he said, and she couldn’t help smiling in response.
The kitchen was slightly less revolting. The floor, which was covered in more of the orange tile, was horrifically filthy, but only half the sink was full of dirty dishes. And the Formica counters actually looked as if they had been cleaned sometime in the current millennium.
“I have to cook in here,” he explained. “So I try to keep it relatively sanitary. I refuse to do their dishes though.”
Penny turned her back on the dirty dishes so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the compulsion to wash them.
“You want something to drink?” Caleb asked.
She eyed the vintage avocado Frigidaire rumbling in the corner, imagining what horrors must lie inside. “No, thank you.”
“Probably smart. You don’t want to have to use the bathroom. Trust me.”
Penny turned her eyes to the patio door at the far end of the breakfast nook and the weight bench that lay beyond. “Is that where you work out?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I see?” She headed out to the patio—which was nothing more than a concrete slab—without waiting for an answer. There were two stacks of plates on either side of the bench, and a heavy knurled bar resting in the racks, all of it covered in a layer of rust.
“Do I get a demonstration?” she asked.
He ducked his head sheepishly. “No.”
“Come on. Please.” She gave him her best Puss in Boots eyes. “I want to watch.”
He shook his head in capitulation and stooped to pick up one of the forty-five pound plates. Penny helped him load the other end of the bar, and he lay down on the bench. She studied his form as he set up under the bar. Hands shoulder-width apart, feet flat on the ground, good back arch. Once he unracked the weight, she forgot about his form and became distracted by his biceps. It didn’t appear to be an especially challenging weight for him, but it was enough to make his muscles do amazing things before her eyes. She lifted a hand to her mouth to make sure she wasn’t drooling.
After he’d done a few reps he glanced over at her. “Happy now?”
“Yes. Very.” She moved to the head of the bench and helped him rack the bar. “Is one-thirty-five your usual work weight?”
He looked surprised—either that she could do plate math or that she knew what a work weight was. “No, it’s just for showing off in front of girls. I usually work up to two-oh-five.”
She eyed the rusty old rack, frowning. “You bench out here by yourself without a spotter or safeties?”
“Sometimes I get one of my roommates to spot me when they’re home.”
“And when they’re not?”
