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I just adore the way this huge man turns into a puddle of goo when asked about his wife and baby. According to Bobby, Mike’s had Becky up on a pedestal since high school. And now he’s put baby Caroline firmly on top of Becky’s pedestal. I already feel bad for whichever guy thinks he can look at that girl in sixteen years.
“I’m so glad you’re all well. I worried. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
He shrugs it off easily. “We’ve been around, just busy. Everyone’s busy. Least of all you, huh? How’re the wedding plans coming along? Becky and I can’t wait.”
Our guest list is so simple, it’s ridiculous and might be the first and only wedding in the history of the world where we just didn’t give a shit what everyone else thought. There are no ‘but we were expected to’ invites. None for the extended family we never see or like.
Unless you’re in our day-to-day life and actually bring pleasure and enrichment to our lives, then you don’t get an invite. So that basically brings it down to the Kincaids, the Harts, a few select work colleagues of mine, and anyone who attends the gym that we’re friendly with.
I smirk. I’m so excited for the wedding. “Super busy,” I agree. “Lots to do between now and then. I’m actually here looking for Iz. She’s my slave for the night, but I think she’s hiding.”
He chuckles. “Find your girl, Kitten. A bit of hard work gives a girl character, and that Isabelle has way too much sass, anyway.” He steps back with a laugh and readjusts the wraps encircling his wrists. “I better get back to work. Becky’ll kill me if I stay here too late. You have a good night, okay? And I’ll see you next weekend. Call us if you need anything between now and then.”
“I will, thank you. Enjoy your workout.”
He bows like a true gentleman from the Elizabeth Bennet era, then in a direct contradiction, turns away and begins smashing the shit out of a hanging bag.
I keep walking and watch the line of students on the skipping ropes. I miss training more than I ever expected I would. Not the skipping, but the training, the sparring, the camaraderie and ability to punch someone in the face one second, and then when the gloves come off a moment later, everyone is hugs and love.
I especially miss the one-on-one time training with Bobby.
Obviously, we spend plenty of time together at home, but time in the gym is different. It provides us with a completely different connection; something different than making out on the couch and watching movies together.
Everywhere else in the world, Bobby is a big softy who lets me get away with anything I want. But in the gym during our sessions, he doesn’t let me get away with a thing. He wants a hundred push-ups, he gets them. He wants us to sprint across the room and race, we sprint.
He pushes me to be a better fighter, to be fitter, faster, better, and even my bedroom eyes have no sway.
He simply shakes his head – though with a smile – then he adds ten push-ups to my load. I learned to stop complaining pretty quick.
I walk into the long hall and poke my head into a large training room. I’m here for Iz, but Bobby’s here somewhere. He’ll be hot and sweaty and beating on someone, so who can blame a girl for taking five minutes to stop and watch.
Unfortunately for me, my fantasies are doused when I find Jack and his best friend Callum, instead. Jon runs the class of twenty or so teenage boys, and counting out their kicks, he smirks over their heads. “Four, five, Kit, seven.”
I back out with a ridiculous blush and move down the hall.
Stepping into the weight room, I stop in the doorway out of the sight of the mirrors, cross my arms, and watch Jim and Iz work side by side.
Surprise, surprise.
They’re not talking to each other, they just lift and grunt in tandem, and they pretend to not watch each other in the mirror.
Iz’s toned body ripples with lean muscle. Her six pack glistens with sweat as she rolls the weights up. And barely five feet from her, Jim works shirtless with headphones in his ears, his moppy hair sweaty and dangling in his eyes, and his own rippling muscles drawing Iz’s gaze every couple reps.
I just don’t get it.
They’re right there beside each other, but they’re both too scared to make the move. Instead, Iz dates other people to get a reaction from Jim, and Jim refuses to react while she’s in the same room.
Awesome.
Shaking my head, I kick off the doorjamb and move back down the hall. She’ll be done soon, and in the meantime, I can play Marco-Polo and find Bobby. I pass his open office, but he’s not in there. Dropping a smile at the photograph on his desk, I keep moving.
A year ago, I walked into that office as a complete outsider. There were a million photos of his family, and it made me feel like an impostor. But now his desk holds only one framed image. The walls remain littered with images, but his desk holds only the one; me and Bobby in our backyard on the day of Jack’s birthday party. The photo was taken only minutes after we gave Jack his gift, and while the rest of the cameras were focused on Jack’s excited face, Casey kept her phone trained on Bobby and I.
Our faces are so… Happy.
Bobby had his arm around my waist and held me securely to his side the way he always does. His eyes were closed when the photo was taken, his lips on my forehead. It almost looks like he’s worshipping me.
Praying to me.
