Page 29 of The Other Guy

I extend my hand down to him and help him stand. “Maybe next time go easy on me, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” he jokes, using a towel off the bench to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Damn, getting old sucks.”

“You’re not old.”

“Tell that to my body. I won’t be able to move the rest of the week.” More groaning and whimpering can be heard before he stands up straight and shoots me a cocky grin. “Got ya, didn’t I?”

“What the hell?”

“I’m not sore. Your father is in perfect condition. Better than you, it seems.” He does a few stretches, arms above his head then lifts his shirt and pats his flat stomach. “See? I’m practically a thirty-year-old with how good of shape I’m in. Just ask your mother.”

“Gross.”

He laughs and I narrow my eyes and see his nose twitch, a sure sign that he’s lying.

With a loud laugh, I throw my head back. “I don’t even know how to deal with you anymore.”

He moves to sit down then seems to think better of it and leans against the lockers. “I like to keep things interesting.”

“That you do. Don’t you want to sit down?”

“I won’t get back up.”

“Come on. Let’s go get you a protein shake.”

He points a finger at me and mock gasps. “Don’t curse in front of your father.”

I press my lips together to keep from giving him the satisfaction of making me laugh. “Sorry to offend you.”

“You should be,” he teases and changes his clothes back into what he was wearing when he arrived. He’d put on a pair of basketball shorts and it didn’t escape my notice that a few of the women in the gym did a double take when they saw him without a shirt on.

“Real food, son. Where should we go?”

“What are you hungry for?”

“Doesn’t matter as long as I don’t have to drink the meal.”

“So picky.”

He shrugs a shoulder and checks his phone before sliding it into his front pocket. “My cross to bear.”

I sigh and breathe out a laugh. He’s something else.

“Need to stop at my office first then we’ll head out.”

“Gotcha.”

I grab my coat and phone from my office, Dad leaning against the door checking his phone again.

“What’s up with the phone?”

“Huh?” he asks, not looking up, fingers flying across the screen.

I step closer to him and he still doesn’t take his eyes off… “The phone, Dad. What’s up? You’re never glued to it like this.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

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