Page 10 of Wingmen

I thought you were going back to Tampa, he sent.

might stick around for the summer, Elliot replied.IDK gotta check out the facilities first

What makes you think I want you hanging around my gym?

will you just tell me the name? believe me dog I’m not looking to spend time with you. I’m just doing recon. I bet i can find somewhere better anyway

Dustin scoffed and sent,Good luck, with the address attached. He lay on his back and squeezed his eyes shut as Tom aggressively massaged the scar tissue around the mess of screws and wire holding his knee together. The phone pinged and he opened them again.

you fuck that girl last night or what

Charming. Such a way with words, this kid. He sent back a trophy emoji, hating himself as he did, and Rodriguez responded with100and a trophy of his own.

Congratulations, Dustin sent.Tie game.

LMK if you wanna rematch viejo, said Rodriguez.

After the workout Dustin walked to Elaine’s Cafe for a smoothie before his afternoon sessions. The sun was up and the air was clear and Portland was as beautiful as it ever was, but he had this nagging little thing poking him in the back of the head now.

Why the fuck had he sent Rodriguez that address?

Because you know your gym is the best and you wanted to prove it.

So fucking stupid. He really needed to stop trying to one-up this kid. Elliot Rodriguez in Portland? All summer? If it happened, it would be a goddamn nightmare.

Two days later,Rodriguez was at the gym.

He was the first thing Dustin saw when he walked in, and Dustin just stopped in the doorway with his sunglasses on and his duffel bag over his shoulder and said, “No.”

It was mid-afternoon on a Tuesday which, granted, wasn’t when Dustin usually came. The place was busy, and Rodriguez was warming up on a foam roller in joggers and a navy t-shirt, talking to a coach Dustin didn’t recognize. He glanced up as Dustin came in, and as though he hadn’t even seen him, went back to his coach.

Dustin went to the locker room and shucked off his bag, fuming. How did he even get over here? This wasn’t within walking distance of Elliot’s hotel – that hotel wasn’t far fromDustin’s apartment. Dustin had driven here in the same rental car he had every summer. Rodriguez must be hemorrhaging money on Ubers.

He went back out to a mat and sat down to stretch. Elliot was on the rower across the gym doing power intervals with a tight, percussive rhythm that Dustin could see was impressive from all the way across the room. Dustin faced the other way so he wouldn’t have to watch him.

“Isn’t it a day off for you, Bennet?”

He looked up. Tom was stacking dumbbells by the mirror.

“Taking it easy,” he said. “Just needed to move.”

Tom finished stacking the dumbbells and stood watching Rodriguez a moment, probably seeing the same impressive form that Dustin did. Then he went back to his office, saying over his shoulder, “I’m timing your rests, so make sure you do them.”

“It’s a rest day! You’re not even getting paid to train me.”

“And you’re not even supposed to be here, so I guess I’m being a real sweet, real generous guy by letting you stay.”

Ten minutes later, Elliot’s coach – whose name he’d overheard as Marisol – dragged an agility ladder made of rope and wooden slats into the middle of the main floor, and laid it out. Rodriguez stood at the beginning of it, stretching his quads.

Dustin tried not to watch as he ran his first drill. But he couldn’t help it.

The kid was at the end of the ladder in what felt like four seconds – and then he immediately came back in reverse, even though he hadn’t been told to. Like a cheeky little cunt.

Marisol clicked her stopwatch. “Ten point three nine.”

“Ten?” Rodriguez looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

Marisol, whose no-nonsense energy reminded Dustin a lot of Dr. Wu, pitched him a look. “Do it again if you think it was wrong.”