Page 34 of Exes Don't

“Del?” I squeak just before he scoops me up in a teddy bear hug.

“Anton said he saw you, but I thought he was joshin’ me. What are you doing here, girlie?” he asks when he sets me down. “Cheerleading?”

“I hung up my cheerleading sneakers a while ago.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I haven’t exactly been sneaking around the facilities, but I also haven’t been drawing attention to myself. I’m not surprised Del and the guys haven’t noticed me. But I’m wondering why Anton hasn’t told his teammates about the feature article. Has he not had the chance? Is he embarrassed about it? About me, as the author of it? I look up at Del and sidestep the question, buying myself some time. “I heard you were traded.”

Del nods. “This is my first season here.”

“The southern boy is still getting used to the weather.” One of the other guys gives Del a playful shove. “Introduce us to your friend, Delany.”

“She’s more Bates’s friend than mine.” Del flicks his gaze over his shoulder and then back to me, question marks in his eyes. “Or she was.”

I imagine the cogs in his mind turning over, trying to figure out what’s going on. Del knew Anton and me when we were a couple in Mobile. I have no idea what Anton told him when we broke up. If he painted me in a bad light, which he had every right to do, then why is Del being so nice to me?

“He’s actually who I’m here to see.” I pin a smile on my face, deciding it’s best to get out ahead of it. No need for Del to start asking questions. He might come across as a big oaf, but he’s incredibly smart. I hold out my hand to the guy standing next toDel, who I know is TJ Wilson, the River Foxes’ running back. “Rose Kasper. I’m a journalist working on a feature piece on Anton.”

I shake the hand of a couple other River Foxes and then turn back to Del. “I should get going so I don’t keep his majesty waiting.”

I use the formal title intentionally. Because I’m a professional journalist here. But the guys all snort and chuckle. I arch my eyebrows.

“When you’ve seen a guy in nothing but his skivvies, royal titles sort of go out the window,” Poe, the team’s star tight end, explains.

“That, and I can torch him at Mario Kart. Dude plays as Toad.” TJ rolls his eyes. “Who does that? I’d never trust him to run a country. Yoshi forever.”

They all laugh.

“You know,” I say when they quiet, “since the piece I’m writing is supposed to be a full exposé, I’d love to get your take on Anton. Would you be willing to let me interview you? Maybe I could sit in on some less formal group hangouts.”

Del turns to his teammates. “If Anton’s cool with that, sure.”

“I make for very good press.” TJ winks at me.

“Good.” I laugh. “Is Anton here?”

The wall of oversized men separates down the middle, and I get my first real look at the weight room.Roomis not exactly the right word for the state-of-the-art facility that stretches before me. There are several rows of squat racks making neat lines through the room with large weight discs of every size stacked alongside each. Opposite the squat racks are the bench presses. There’s a rack of dumbbell free weights as well as several rowing machines. Speakers are embedded in the walls above the giant, twelve-foot mirrors that ring the room, but there’s no music playing right now. It’s completely silent, except for the whir of one machine. Anton is running on a nearby treadmill.

He hasn’t looked our way, which leads me to believe he’s got headphones in. I relish the chance to observe him. His shirt is off and flung over the arm rail of the next machine over. He’s not sprinting, but he’s keeping a good pace. His strong legs churn as his arms pump in time. His back glistens with perspiration, which seems to highlight his muscles. I’m staring. I can’t help it.

This is not the first time I’m seeing Anton shirtless. We used to swim together all the time in the Gulf. I could probably still sketch a pretty accurate picture of the contours and grooves of his upper body. What I can’t tear my gaze away from is something new.

There, in the upper corner of his back, directly over his left shoulder blade, is a tattoo. I’ve never seen it before, and my heart begins to beat in time with Anton’s stride. It’s pounding so strongly I’m afraid it’s going to dash right out of my chest.

Because his tattoo is in the shape of a rose. There’s no mistaking it for any other kind of flower. Immediately I’m trying to come up with some reason for him to have my namesake flower tattooed onto his body. Because,whoa baby,it cannot be for me.

Maybe he’s developed a strong love for Axl Rose and the Guns N’ Roses’ classic hit “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” Such a banger, right?

Or maybe he discovered a late-in-life passion forBeauty and the Beastand wanted a reminder of the enchanted rose.

Maybe he’s into horse racing. Don’t they drape the winning filly with a cascade of roses after, like, the Kentucky Derby or something?

TJ makes a finger-whistle that pierces the silence of the weight room and cuts through whatever noise-canceling earbuds Anton has in. He punches a couple buttons on the treadmill and glances over his shoulder as he slows to a jog. His eyes immediately land on me.

I’m standing in the center of a half circle of his teammates, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Not after seeing the tattoo. I will not, under any circumstances, draw attention to it. I cannotthink about it. I refuse to consider that it could be about me. If I do…well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be pretty. It could possibly entail me throwing myself at Anton’s feet and begging him to love me and take me back. That cannot happen. He’s a prince. I’m a nobody. More than that, I’m lying to him, and Anton deserves better than me.

I’ve broken into a total body sweat. My chest is tight. Is this what it feels like to have a heart attack?

“You’re early.” Anton grabs his shirt and yanks it over his head, striding toward us. He eyes his teammates. “Are y’all behaving?”

“We told her she could come to our next guys’ night.” Del grins at Anton. “For the article.”

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