Page 55 of Muscle Cub

We filled our drinks, and I followed Austin to a booth in the far corner next to a group of young women wearing Tri Delt T-shirts. They ceased talking as Austin approached. He said hello to them and slid onto the bench with his back to them.

When I sat across from him, I caught a brunette fanning herself with her hand. I couldn’t help but smile. Same, girl. Same.

Austin picked up our conversation. “So about you feeling out of shape. Most people, when they hear terms like ‘working out’ or ‘getting in shape,’ think ‘strength training.’ I saw you picking up heavy shit, no problem. But if your heart rate’s jacked up, and you’re having a hard time catching your breath, that’s not about muscles you can see.” He was cute in lecturing mode. “You want to focus on building some cardiovascular endurance. Nothing major to start out with. Take a walk. Once a day, preferably outside, not on a treadmill. Alternating speeds is actually most effective for conditioning, so you could also jog intermittently.”

I made a skeptical noise and sipped my tea.

“Whatever pace feels doable. You’re a writer. Call it a walking meditation. Staring at the sky and communing with trees also helps with accessing the creative flow state.”

I lifted my brows. “I’d be willing to try anything that might help with that.”

Austin studied me. “Writer’s block?”

I twisted my lips, reluctant to confess another issue. “Some people claim it doesn’t exist, but when it’s happening to you, it’s all too real.”

“Walking every day religiously for thirty or forty-five minutes will totally help. Do it for three months, and I promise you, you’ll start to feel all kinds of things shifting.”

I liked Austin’s serious, earnest side. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes had almost disappeared, but his furrowed brow was every bit as charismatic as his smile.

A thin, harried guy appeared, carrying a heavy tray. He randomly but evenly divided the plates between us because he didn’t know where to put everything. Austin thanked him and dragged most of the dishes to his side of the table after he left. “Have whatever you want,” he said.

“I’m good with my wrap.”

We chewed quietly for a few moments. I’d forgotten how good food tasted after a hard workout. “Obviously, I’m not a trainer, but I’ve taught for a while, and I know what it takes to motivate people. You have the unique ability to be both commanding and likable. You build people up and inspire them to be better."

“I don’t know about all that.” Austin looked down at his food, a shy smile on his face. “Working out’s the one thing that’s given me a sense of purpose this past year. It’s something I can control, that doesn’t depend on anyone else, that helps me feel strong physically, mentally, and spiritually. A lot of jocks end up teaching gym because it’s the one job you can count on to be connected to sports programs, but I got my bachelor’s in health and physical education because I wanted to teach kids how to access that strength earlier in life.”

“That’s… a worthy purpose.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, some people don’t want somebody like me teaching their kids.”

I frowned. “You said you’d burned a bridge…”

Austin waved dismissively. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it some time.”

I waited in case he wanted to say more, but I didn’t press him.

“You know, I made a rule this summer,” he said, “that I wasn’t going to try to keep anything going outside the campground.” He took a bite of lasagna.

Damn, that was an abrupt change of subject. I raised my eyebrows. “Okay.”

He took his time swallowing and wiping his mouth. “I hooked up with a guest last year. I thought it was more than a vacation fling, and… I was wrong. I made a total fool of myself. Got my heart fucking crushed. And clearly, I suck at rules because I’m talking about an ex on our first date.”

Our first date. I shouldn’t have been surprised he’d said it so casually, but my heart raced.

“But what can I say?” He sighed. “I’m a hopeless romantic. If I feel something, I gotta find out what it is, even if it turns out to be nothing. The way I see it, one day there’ll be a spark, and then it’ll keep going, keep becoming more. If you take a forever love story and a weekend fling and lay them out side by side, those first few days—those first few chapters—are gonna look awfully similar, right? In the beginning, you can’t tell the difference. The spark has the potential to turn into something more until it doesn’t. When I meet the love of my life, then later look back on the story of how we met—just being honest, here—it’ll probably look a lot like my other hookups. I can’t imagine being with somebody I’m not attracted to from the jump. People think it’s a game or a hunt, but for me, it’s a search. I keep finding guys who are dicks, but I only need one who’s not. I’m compulsively hopeful. So when there’s a spark, I blow on it.” He chuckled, amused by his own choice of words. “And I intend to keep blowing until it either catches fire or goes out.”

I snorted softly and smiled. If this wasn’t a spark, I didn’t know what was. “Then why make a rule this summer?” I asked quietly. Why break it for me?

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Moment of weakness, I guess. Fear. I thought maybe it’d be easier.” He narrowed his eyes, but they still twinkled. “Turns out, it was impossible.”

I shifted in my seat, and my foot bumped his. I surrounded his shoe with both of mine and squeezed. “Should we get out of here?” And see where this keeps going? I forced myself to hold his gaze and not look away.

He slowly and emphatically nodded.

I slid out of the booth and offered him my hand. Even after he stood, he kept holding it, right there in the middle of the busy restaurant, both of us grinning like fools.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said.