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We each took a treadmill, slowly picking the pace up every couple of minutes, and I kept one eye on Panther and the other on everyone else stealing glances our way. Some of them stopped by to see how Panther was doing and to throw a dig my way—which I returned, naturally—and I didn’t miss the questions in their eyes at why we’d come in together when we were usually at each other’s throats.
“Shit.” He’d been steadily running for a few minutes, but Panther hit the decelerate button repeatedly, slowing down the pace to a walk. When he looked my way, I saw the frustration. “Everyone is gonna see.”
I slowed down to match his pace. “See what?”
“That I’m weak. That my body’s no good right now.” He rubbed his forehead, clearly annoyed at himself. “Did they all have to be here?”
“Hey.” I hit the stop button and stepped onto the side of the treadmill, facing him. “You’ve never given two shits what anyone here thinks. Why start now?”
“Because I’ve never been out of breath from running for five minutes.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty pathetic. It’s not like you’ve gotten thrown out of a plane or been in the hospital or anything. Stop being such a goddamn slacker.”
Panther tried to bite back a grin, but I could see it.
“I hate cardio anyway. Let’s go work on your dick.” When Panther’s eyes rounded, I put my hand over my lips. “Did I say your dick? I meant your strength. Easy mistake.”
“Or you’re just easy in general.”
“Something I’m pretty sure you won’t be complaining about as soon as you get your”—I lowered my eyes below the waistband of his shorts—“strength back.”
“Quit it,” Panther muttered, but when I raised my eyes back to his, he licked at his lower lip.
“Or?”
“Or you and everyone else in this gym is going to see which part of my body needs zero help in the rehabilitation department.”
I chuckled but let it go for now, because if I kept up with this line of conversation, Panther wouldn’t be the only one announcing what kind of workout he was interested in doing—and news flash, it had nothing to do with the equipment in this gym.
“How about we go and check out the weights?” I suggested as I stepped down from the treadmill. “We’ll start off easy, and I’ll spot you.”
Panther grabbed his towel and stepped down beside me. “Spot me, huh?”
As we headed to the weights area, I shrugged. “Seemed the politest way to say ‘perv on you.’ Plus, you told me to quit it.”
As we came to a stop by the chest-press machine, Panther eyed me. “This isn’t really the kind of machine that needs you to spot me.”
“I know, but who says a couple of frenemies can’t do reps together?”
“Frenemies?”
“Well, everyone here thinks we hate each other. The least I can do is kick your ass and confirm I’m a heartless bastard competing with the injured comrade.”
Panther snorted as he moved around to the back of the machine and set it to the weight he wanted. “But you’re not really?”
“Of course I am. Don’t you know me at all?”
Panther sat down and gripped the handles in front of him. “I know you better than you want me to, and if you ask me, you’re really standing here watching over me because you’re worried I might hurt myself. That means you care, by the way. In case you’re unfamiliar with the emotion.”
My mouth fell open, but when nothing came out, Panther pushed the handles away from his chest, extending his arms, before slowly reversing in a smooth, controlled move.
“I’m not unfamiliar,” I finally said. “More like…allergic.”
15 Panther
ALLERGIC MY ASS.
Solo could act as big and tough as he wanted around everyone else, but when it came to the two of us, I knew better. Just like me, he was feeling things he’d never felt before, and there was no way it was just sex—that ship had sailed somewhere around the second night he’d stayed in my room. The night he’d ended up stretched out in my bed with his body entwined with mine.
Yeah, this relationship—or whatever it was—was barreling along at breakneck speed, and though it was scary as hell, when it came to people like us, what other speed was there?
As I stared at him in the mirrors, I caught sight of Gucci watching us from over on the rowing machine and said, “Your pal, Gucci. He know about us?”
Solo had pushed aside the question earlier, but something about the way Gucci’s attention kept flicking between us made it pretty obvious he wasn’t watching to see if his friend was about to kick my ass on the weight machines.
Solo raised his eyes, and when Gucci quickly looked away, he shook his head. “You gonna be pissed if I say yes?”
“I’d be more pissed if you lied.”
