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“Oh, yeah. I mean, I realized . . .” My fake laugh trails off as Cameron cranes his neck and squints one eye at me.
“Brooky.”
That tone was clearly scolding. AndBrooky—clearly meant to annoy me.
I let my head fall back on the headrest and drop my arms at my sides with a huff.
“Fine. I’m not really working out at one hundred percent. I’ve maybe been going a little easy, but it’s hard. And truthfully, I don’t know if I would be able to lift this kind of weight without an injury.” My head rolls to the side and my gaze lands on his judgement-free eyes.
“You know, that BS we both rolled out at the party this weekend about motivating each other during workouts wasn’t completely without merit. And you would be surprised how much stronger you would feel with someone rooting you on.” His brow ticks up.
“You? And me? Workout buddies?”
Oh God.
“Not all the time, but maybe in the afternoons. And if I could motivate you on a weekend here and there. Hell, we don’t have to do just gym stuff, either. I mean, I could show you things . . .”
His mouth abruptly stops, the words hanging between us unfinished. A few seconds pass and he breathes out a short laugh, lip curling on the left side just before his eyes flutter closed.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he adds.
“Of course not,” I add, burying the brief awkward moment under our words.
We both grin, the embarrassed kind, and I’m pretty sure my cheeks are as flushed as his. I’m relieved when he turns to his side and looks down, unable to handle the pressure of a shared moment. It makes me feel less ridiculous for squeezing my eyes closed tightly and giggling like a pre-teen.
“I meant there are ways to work out that make it feel less like, I don’t know, work I guess. I can show you if you want,” he offers.
I shake off the butterflies and open my eyes, glancing at him sideways. Morgan is standing in line with him several feet away, and she’s done running. She’s leaning on the treadmill instead . . .watching.She waves, and it isn’t that kind meant to signal that she’s doing good or ready for a break. She means to let me know she sees everything and is reading all kinds of good gossip between the lines.
“Sure,” I say, agreeing before I fully realize what I’ve done.
“Great. So, tomorrow, same time. I’ll see what you shouldreallybe doing in this app thing. And then we’ll take it from there.”
He hands my phone back to me and my palm covers his on the exchange. His ring is missing, probably off for practice, but there’s a slight divot on his finger where it belongs. I was so tuned in to our touch that I noticed. My insides tighten, my stomach dropping like a roller coaster. This is bad.
Cameron runs his towel over his face and winks before heading back to his original side of the gym. A few girls laying on a mat near me whisper, and I don’t have to exert myself by eavesdropping. I know they’re trading opinions about Cameron talking to me. We don’t match, and I get it. He’s . . . well, a bit of a campus hottie. Girls fall for him on the daily, and he’s had his fair share of girlfriends at Welles. And at other nearby private schools. And there was that one girl from Vermont. Or was it New Hampshire?
I don’t date. Ever. Or at least rarely. And my relationships have all been strategic and parent approved. The guys I’ve gone out with have all been from the same circle I spin around in, usually sons of lobbyists, people from The Hill, or well on their way there.
Boring.
Like Gulliver’s Travels, according to Cameron.
I’m thinking about Cameron.
“What was that?”
I knew it was only a matter of time before Morgan zeroed in on me with her special laser-precision brand of questioning.
“Apparently, I’m not exercising right or something.” I grimace and turn my attention to the leg press platform to re-center my foot, knowing full well that Morgan is not going to take that answer without follow-up.
“Uh huh,” she says, leaning against the weight rack part of the neighboring machine, barely in my periphery. I glance at her, but give nothing away, instead putting every ounce of my attention on pushing my new weight amount with one leg. I move the sled about six inches before grunting and letting it slide back to the starting position.
“Ugh!” I grit my teeth and press a fist to my forehead.
“Don’t try to redirect me by playing it up,” Morgan nudges.
I exhale, suddenly defeated for real. My vision rolls toward my friend as I sink lower into the press seat.
