Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Normally, I would have tried to engage him in a little chat to dispel the awkwardness of staring right at each other while we worked out. Except for my horrible attempt at impersonating a reporter during the MMA event, I’d never had a hard time talking to people. But after Layla knocked the wind out of my sails, I hadn’t felt much like socializing.
As I watched, the guy slipped his t-shirt off and slung it over the arm of the machine. Then he began to crunch his very tight, very prominent abdominals, keeping his eyes trained on his six-pack as if to visually confirm that the muscles were engaging. When I realized I was studying his muscles just as intently as he was, I looked away and reminded myself to resume my own exercises.
I could tell a difference in my own appearance during the off season. I kept myself in shape, which was easy considering my natural tendency toward a long, lean muscularity. Baseball, basketball, and football had all been important to me in high school. I’d juggled all three sports until my junior year when it got too much for me. Carrying a full load of Advanced Placement classes and trying to play every sport they offered began to feel like a slow suicide, so I reluctantly dropped baseball. By college, football had fallen by the wayside as well, mainly because I had little chance of doing anything at a big university other than riding the bench.
The decision had also been affected by my desire to focus on preparing myself for a successful career, and also by my secret fear that I couldn’t hang with college-level athletes in such a physically demanding sport. My parents seemed relieved when I announced my plans to drop football. I think we all breathed a little easier knowing I wasn’t going to have to compete with guys who would probably stomp me in the dirt. I did still play basketball, though I often considered retiring that jersey, as well.
Quitting ball wouldn’t be so bad. I could always stay in shape by frequenting the gym, just like the guy I was currently watching work his abs. I mean, he was no Michael Kage, but he looked good.
Dammit, now I was thinking of that stupid fighter again. It felt like he’d appeared in my life for the sole purpose of making me feel like shit in comparison. I had looked at his pictures on my cell phone until I was sick to death of seeing him. Especially the ones where I was in the frame with him.
I wondered what his abs looked like under the dress shirt he’d been wearing at the event. No doubt amazing. Some guys had all the luck. Sure, Kage worked his ass off for that body, but the face… he was born with that. Ever since I’d met him I’d been preoccupied with the idea of getting in better shape, but I knew no matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to attain his level of attractiveness. I wondered if he’d found me attractive, or if maybe he looked at mere mortals like me and felt pity.
And now my girl just dumped me. Can I get any more pathetic?
I hopped up from the weight machine in the middle of a rep, quickly sprayed and wiped the seat and handles, and hurried down the long corridor to the back of the gym. I grabbed one of the white towels off the cart just outside the door to the shower room and went inside.
Leaning over the bench that ran beneath the wall of tall gym lockers, I propped a foot up on it and unlaced one of my sneakers. That’s when the guy from the ab machine rounded the corner, a towel slung over his shoulder along with his shirt. When he saw me, he stuttered to a halt at a locker near the door and began to remove his own expensive shoes, not bothering to untie the laces. I was careful not to look in his direction, but at one point, as I pulled my t-shirt over my head and slung it into the locker, my eyes accidentally found him anyway. To my surprise, he was looking right at me.
He smiled tentatively, and I glanced away like I’d just been caught peeping through the keyhole of a brothel bedroom. Shit. I was usually very careful to not look at other guys in locker rooms, but I wasn’t exactly my usual self that night. I swallowed hard and worked my sweaty shorts and boxer briefs down my legs and wrapped the rough towel around my hips. Then I headed for the showers at the back of the room.
Even though we were alone in the locker room, the guy entered the shower stall right next to mine. I could see his head and shoulders out of the corner of my eye the whole time I was bathing, and I knew he could see me, too. It was awkward as hell, and I found myself wondering why I was in this predicament anyway. Had he purposely followed me into the locker room? Why was I here, anyway? Normally I just drove straight home and showered.