Page 40 of Fight or Flight
When I’m finally on the ground after my third climb, my arms are burning and my hands ache in that way that tells me I had a decent workout but could have done more.
Physically I feel a bit better, but my mind is still a mess as I pull my sweater back on and tuck my hairband away.
I should go back to my room and find something to occupy my brain with until I’m tired enough to go to sleep, but the thought of sitting alone while my brother and cousins are off having fun is about as appealing as using a shard of glass to shave.
With a disgruntled sigh, I head back toward campus. Hopefully it’s late enough that the gym is empty because I still haven’t burned off my excess energy, and I need to channel it into something before I lose my ever-loving shit.
“Hey, man,” someone calls as soon as I step over the threshold of Hamilton House. “Congratulations.”
Schooling my expression into a casual mask, I glance over at the group of guys clustered near the old concierge desk that’s become a muster point when guys are waiting for each other.
“Thanks.” I toss them a smile, even as dark energy flows through me at their interruption.
“Does this mean you’re the guy to talk to if we want better room assignments next year?” another jokes.
I huff out a laugh but don’t slow my steps. “Might want to talk to one of the others about that,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Unless you’ve got something good to offer for the favor, then definitely come talk to me in June.”
They all laugh but thankfully keep their traps shut as I cut across the main foyer and tap my ID on the sensor next to the door to the basement stairs. It takes a few seconds for the telltaleclickof the lock disengaging, and I’m so on edge that even that slight delay is enough to send a wave of annoyance through me as I yank the door open and hurry down the stairs.
The hall is completely deserted as I make a beeline for the gym, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I push the door open and find it empty.
I’m already yanking off my sweater and shirt as I make my way to the cardio section. As much as I want to beat the fuck outof the many boxing bags around, it’s best I start with something like running so I can burn off the bulk of my energy first.
Tossing my sweater and t-shirt over the barre attached to the mirror next to the treadmills, I hop up on one and turn it on. The conveyor belt starts moving under my feet, and I crank up the speed until I’m running at an easy pace.
The treadmill has dozens of features that can tell me every detail about my run, from my pace to how many calories I’m burning. It also has a myriad preset speed and incline combos I could choose based on what kind of workout I want and what I’m training for.
I ignore all of them and focus on the steady thud of my shoes hitting the belt and wait for the endorphin rush that will hopefully help clear away some of the darkness lingering inside me.
The door to the gym bangs open, and I have to bite my lip so I don’t smile when Shane freezes in the doorway, a look of utter disbelief on his face.
“In or out, bro,” I call when he just keeps staring at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m real or some sort of fever dream.
He shoots me a dirty look and stomps into the gym.
A smile tugs at my lips as he heads right for the treadmills and climbs onto one that’s a few over from mine. I don’t bother hiding that I’m watching him as he starts the belt, then cranks it up so it’s moving at the same pace as mine.
He doesn’t spare me a second look as he starts running, and I take a second to check him out since he’s doing everything in his power to pretend I’m not here.
Taking my time, I trace my eyes over his wide shoulders and thick arms. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, which gives me a great view of his muscles as he pumps his arms in time with his steps. He isn’t cut and doesn’t have crazy definition, especiallycompared to how he looked in high school, but he’s big and strong, and I know exactly what those muscles are capable of.
His shirt is too loose for me to appreciate his long, lean back and barrel chest, but the flare of his round ass and thick thighs are on full display thanks to his tight black shorts. Heat moves through my chest, and my stomach tightens as memories of exactly how that ass filled my hands and how those thighs felt when they were wrapped around my waist flood my consciousness.
I don’t understand why, but Shane is the only person who’s ever held my interest for more than a few minutes, or at most, a few hours. And he’s the first person I’ve ever wanted to hook up with more than once.
Maybe it has something to do with our dynamic. Maybe it’s not him I’m interested in, but the push and pull of the rivalry we’ve fallen into. Fighting with him is a rush, and trading verbal spars with him is exhilarating, especially when he finally snaps and unleashes his rage on me. And watching him come apart under me and knowing I’m the only guy who’s ever seen him like that is satisfying on a level that goes far beyond sexual gratification.
“Are you done?” he asks in a flat voice, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead of him.
“Depends what you’re asking about,” I say casually.
“Checking me out.”
I give him another once-over because I know it’ll get a rise out of him. “Now I am.”
He glares at me but quickly returns his gaze to the wall when I grin back.
“Why are you here?” he asks and cranks his speed up a bit.
