“Uh, one-ninety. On a good day,” I say, my cheeks turning red. I don’t know why I asked, and I don’t know why I told him.
“How the fuck can you do that? You’re, like, the size of a child. You really are hard core,” he sighs. I ignore his child comment and let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“Not really. I’ve been training since I could walk pretty much. I did a lot of gymnastics growing up, to improve my arm and leg strength,” I admit.
The silence stretches between us as we become a mess of heavy breathing and grunting. After alternating on the bench press, we move back to the floor space, changing between weighted squats and sit ups. It brings a strange sense of comfort being her with him. I usually try to work out on my own in these private gyms but knowing someone here is a lot nicer than I thought.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I groan at Miles for what feels like the thousandth time. I'm a picky eater and I'm a picky person. Watching someone continuously do something wrong is one of my pet peeves.
“I think I know how to do a squat, Wren,” he retorts, still standing weirdly in front of the mirror. I go towards him, standing in front of him so he can see me in the mirror.
“Watch what I’m doing,” I say, meeting his eye in the mirror. He just blinks at me as I spread my legs to decent position, make sure my back is correct and I squat down low. I didn’t think about the proximity until I feel my ass brush against his shorts. I watch him inhale before letting out a shaky breath. I grab his hands from behind me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“You don’t seem like a very visual learner,” I murmur as I place one of his giant hands onto my lower back and the other on my stomach. “Can you feel how my back isn’t leaning too forward?”
He doesn’t say anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and nods at me in the mirror. “Just feel that when I go down, okay?” He nods again. Slowly, I lower myself down to the squat position, holding it for a few seconds before coming back up. “See?”
I repeat the motion again before moving away from him. I watch him do it himself until he’s got the hang of it.
We mostly work another round in silence until were both on the floor. Miles slides his phone to me before laying down in front of me. I hold onto his feet while he does his first round of sit ups.
“I found some…questions…on BuzzFeed...that we should… know the answers to if we’re going to be a fake couple,” he breathes. I laugh at his persistence to work out and talk at the same time. I open his phone.
“You should put a password on here, you know?” I say.
“I’ve got nothing to hide,” he challenges. Fair enough. “They’re in my Notes.”
I scroll through his phone and open the Notes app. I skim through the questions, not sure what I was expecting. They are all relationship based or weird icebreakers to get to know each other. He sits up from his position because I can no longer hold his feet. We sit facing each other, cross legged, looking sweaty and dishevelled.
“Okay,” I draw out. “This will be fun. First question. What was the first thing you thought about me when we met?”
Miles runs a hand through this hair. “Honestly, all I could think about was how hot you are.”
“Miles, be serious,” I say, poking him with my foot.
“I am!” he replies. I poke him again. “Fine, when we met at the party, I just wanted to keep you talking to me. To keep you interested. I had already recognised you from school and the photos in the dean's office, but I don’t know. When we started talking, I guess I just wanted you to like me, and I could tell it wasn’t going to be easy.”
His honestly catches me off guard. I’ve always been aware of the way I come across to other people but still hearing him point it out like that makes me feel a little uneasy. I take in a shaky breath, watching his eyes dance across my face. “Thanks for being honest.”
“What about you?” he asks, nudging his foot into mine.
“My first thought was: God, I hope he doesn’t die right now because that would suck,” I start, remembering the night at the party, watching him convulse over the sink. He chuckles lightly. “And then, I thought you were pretty annoying but you’re more tolerable now.”
“Just tolerable, huh?” he says, plucking the phone out of my hand. I roll my lips between my teeth and nod, trying not to smile. “Okay, I’ll take it. Did you go through any phases growing up?”
“Oh my God,waytoo many to count,” I say, shoving my hot face into my hands.
“Tell me now. I want to know what little Wren was like,” Miles pleads, pulling at my hands. I try to ignore the way the electricity shoots up my arms from his touch.
“Well, my first phase was making everybody call me Wren instead of my first name,” I say shuddering. He looks at me, his eyebrows drawn.
“Wait? What?”
"Amelia is my first name, and my middle name is Wren. I hated the way Amelia sounded so I told everyone to call me Wren and it stuck.” I shrug my shoulders and he just stares at me in awe.
“Okay, so what was little Amelia Wren like?”
