Page 42 of Fight or Flight
“Mine too.”
We run in silence for almost a full minute. Shane’s breathing grows more labored with each passing second, but he doesn’t slow down.
“About what happened the other night…”
“The you cheating at cards part? Or the you humping me on your floor part?”
He steps off the belt and looks right at me for the first time since he started his workout. “Are you going to tell anyone?” he asks bluntly.
“No.”
“No?” He blinks at me a few times.
“No,” I repeat. “I don’t make a habit of outing people.”
“Why not?” he asks as he steps back onto his treadmill and resumes running.
“Why don’t I out people?”
“Yeah.”
“Because there’s no point.”
“But…”
“Outing someone would mean I give a fuck what people around here think of me, and I don’t. Plus, the only thing it does is cause drama, and I hate drama. If guys want to pretend like they didn’t happily drop to their knees for me or bend over and beg for my dick, that’s a them issue.” I toss him a quick look. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Both of them?” he asks dubiously.
“Yup.” I crank my speed up to a sprint.
Shane follows suit, and the room is filled with the sounds of our ragged breathing and the slap of our shoes hitting the belts.
This pace is way too fast to maintain for more than a few minutes, but I push past the tightness in my chest and the burning in my legs and keep going.
“Fuck,” Shane gasps and slaps the stop button on his machine. The belt slows down, and he stumbles off it and sinks to his knees, his chest heaving and his face red from exertion.
I also stop my machine and step off it, my hands on my thighs as I pant just as hard and loud as him. I haven’t pushed myself like that in a long time, but it was worth it to outlast him.
“You’re an asshole,” he mutters and shakily climbs to his feet.
“You’re not wrong,” I tell him. “But what have I done since you came in here that would make me an asshole? Was it when I was just minding my own business, and you decided to come in and talk shit about me being appointed to the same position you were? Or maybe it was when I said I wasn’t going to out you and I’d keep your secrets?”
“That was a general statement.” He wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt, giving me a view of his stomach and chest, and I’m not subtle as I check him out again.
He yanks the bottom of his shirt down. “Are you done now?”
“Done what? Checking you out?”
“Done in here,” he rolls his eyes. “But yeah, are you about done that too?”
“Not even close. On either front,” I tell him and push my hair back from my face.
He offers no response, instead stomping over to one of the hanging sparring bags.
I cross the gym floor and stand in front of the bag next to him.
“Really?” he asks through clenched teeth as he unleashes a series of quick jabs on his bag. “You have to use that one and can’t possibly use one that isn’t right next to me?”
