Page 123 of Riding the Pine

Being back at the gym is fucking hard.

Sweat’s streaming into my eyes, the blood’s being cut off to my brain, I mean boobs, by this shrink-wrap torture device they call a sports bra, and my body is burning under the strain of all fifteen pounds on the lat pull down machine.

It doesn’t help that there are two freshmen in the corner on the treadmills who keep looking over at me like I’m some kind of famous person they’ve spotted on a trip around town.

Ares was here for a while. He tends to like hanging out in this gym instead of the fancy, schmancy team gym. If the roles were reversed, I’m not sure I could stand the stench of the hockey team’s gym, either.

I finish out my fourth set of lat pull downs and contemplate increasing the weight. I stare at it for a moment, scowling while I decide whether or not I should level up on my first day back. I got my cast off a while ago, but I languished in my misery for a while longer before feeling mentally in a place where I could re-enter the land of the gym.

This shit isn’t for the faint of heart.

Pretty sure there’s sweat running into my butt crack.

“Don’t do it.” Scott’s voice breaks the quiet from behind me. I don’t wear headphones in the gym anymore, maybe I will again someday, maybe one ear bud, or maybe I’ll start going to a gym that plays ambient background music. But for now, I like being able to be more aware of my surroundings than the dude with Bose, over-ear headphones in the squat rack.

“Why not?” I don’t look back over my shoulder, instead I eyeball the twenty-pound weight.

“Because it’s your first day back, Bright Eyes. If you break yourself on your first day back, you’ll end up bitching at me for days about how sore everything is, and it’ll be harder to get you back to the gym.”

“And why am I here again?” I sweep some of the sweat out of my left eye.

“Because you’re hella cute in that sports bra, yoga pants combo.” He grins at me.

“I hate working out.”

“Only for a while. Once you get into the swing of it, you’ll like it again.”

My head’s already moving from side to side as he’s talking. “Spoken like an athlete.”

“Want to do some bench press? I’ll spot you.” He jerks his thumb toward the bench.

My heart leaps. “Yeah?”

He points at me. “Empty bar.”

My stomach falls. “Fun hater.”

“I’ll happily hate fun if it means I get to love you.”

I open my mouth, pointing my finger into my throat, and make vomiting noises.

“I love when you’re gym-pissy.” He shakes his head, leading me to one of the three benches sitting side-by-side.

The Freshmen girls have moved from the treadmills to the Stairmasters, but they keep casting glances across the gym at Scott and me.

I sit on the edge of the bench, facing into the work out space, lean back, arch my spine, and accept the dumb bar from Scott. “What’s this? Fifteen pounds?”

He doesn’t answer, instead he simply says. “Press.”

“I’ll press this bar up your butt.”

He winks down at me. “I might like it.”

That makes me laugh. “Go workout. I don’t need a spotter for an empty bar.”

He tsks at me. “Always the independent one. I’ve already done my workout. I’m here to take my girlfriend to lunch, but she won’t hurry up andpress.”

I grunt and do five sets with an empty bar, and he humors me for two sets with a little extra weight on the bar. I told him I want to take back control of my life, and this was part of it. I want to build up my strength at the gym, start self-defense classes, and make sure I never have tosurviveagain.

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