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My stomach sinks and I give a half-hearted, “Yippee.”
Xander leans over and presses his lips to the side of my forehead. “Don’t dread it too much. I’ll be there.”
I grin. “Mmm, you shirtless and sweaty. That sounds promising.”
A clatter sends me looking in the other direction. Cade’s pushed his plate away and shoved away from the table. He doesn’t say anything as he stalks out of the room. Rae gives us an apologetic look and shrugs her shoulders.
“He’ll get over it.”
I sigh. I really hope she’s right.
I lost the bet. Thea made it to the gym for a second day, but I’m pretty sure she’s miserable and questioning her life choices.
“This. Is. Too. Fast,” she pants, trying to keep up with the treadmill.
I glance at the number. “You’re only going four miles an hour. I think you’ll survive.”
“Fuck. You.” She gives me the middle finger.
I chuckle and cross my fingers over my chest. I’ve already finished my workout and came over here to cheer—okay, taunt—her on.
“If it’s any consolation, your ass looks great in those shorts.” I bend my head, getting a great look at said ass.
“I’m. Going. To. Punch. You. In. The. Face.”
I chuckle. “Just think about all the McFlurrys you can eat now.”
“Fuck. You. And. Fuck. McFlurrys.” She’s growing even shorter of breath now.
“I’m pretty sure you already said that.” I lean against the rail of the empty treadmill beside her. “Five more minutes.”
“I’m. Going. To. Die.”
“You’re not going to die.” I shake my head. “I kind of like you, so it’s insulting that you think I’d let you die,” I joke. I’m pretty sure she growls but it might’ve just been her trying to breathe. Who knows? “Have you talked to Cade about dinner yet?” It’s Friday night and we’re supposed to be going over to my parents’ house for dinner.
“No. You. Do. It.”
I shake my head. “I tried. He won’t talk to me. He’ll barely even look at me.” I sigh.
More time. He needs more time.
“I’m. Going. To. Kick. Him. In. The. Balls.”
“Settle down, fighter,” I tell her. “He’s coping. He’ll come around.”
This time I know for sure that she does growl.
“He’s. Being. A. Douchebag.”
I can’t really argue with her there. I didn’t expect Cade to throw us a party for this, sure, but I didn’t expect the silent treatment, either. We’re not five. But, on the other hand, I suppose the silence is better than him punching me in the face.
“Two minutes.”
“Ugh,” she groans. “Two. Minutes. Too. Long.”
I laugh. “You can do it.”
The seconds tick by, and when the two minutes are up, Thea immediately stops the treadmill and hops off, leaning over and pressing a hand to the stitch in her side.
