Page 62 of ILY
“I think I might go into town for a bit. I’ll pick up something for dinner on the way home, okay?”
He groans. “No food.”
I bring his hand to my lips and kiss his palm. “Sorry.”
“Mm?”
“Sorry,” I say, pitching my voice a bit louder. If this is going to be a common occurrence, I might need to show him how tactile sign works. Plus, I have a feeling he and Otto would get along like a house on fire. This thought is slightly terrifying because if that happens, Otto might convince him to start raising bees, which, hell no.
Although that implies Thorne would stay here with me and not go back to Portland, and…
No. I’m not dealing with those feelings right now either.
I slide from the bed, and his hand flops to his side, unmoving. He doesn’t even twitch as I get dressed, comb my hair, take what feels like the world’s longest piss, then find my keys on the dresser.
I don’t bother saying goodbye. He looks peaceful for the first time in a while, and I don’t want to ruin it. It’s a nice day out anyway, and while I could scour a hardware store for more ways to eradicate vicious, vegetable-stealing rodents, the gym sounds better.
I hate the gym, but Thom is right about it being great for working out stress. If I can sweat out some of my Michael-induced rage, I might be able to think a little more clearly.
Besides, while being with Thorne is a great workout, it’s also been a lesson in how I’m not nearly as strong as I need to be if I want to lift him up and manhandle him a bit.
Which I do.
Very much.
The drive isn’t far, and I’m not exactly in gym clothes, but I’m pretty sure no one will judge me for sweats and a T-shirt. I don’t see Thom’s car in the parking lot, but Dex’s annoyingly large truck is there, and a few spaces away, I’m pretty sure I recognize the very sleek, black BMW that belongs to Roman.
I can’t help a tiny smirk. I swear the man is a masochist because every time he swears off something he claims causes him pain, that thing suddenly becomes an addiction.
If he’s not a masochist, then he’s a glutton for punishment.
Breezing through the door, I swipe my barcode tag on the little box sitting on top of the counter and glance around. Once upon a time, this place was unfamiliar. I’d walked in onenight, desperate for something to take my mind off my current situation.
And then I’d met Thom.
He turned into so much more than just a personal trainer. It’s sometimes weird to have friends—ones who care. Ones who worry. Ones who downloaded my security camera app so they can see firsthand how Michael is tormenting me.
It makes me feel like even though most of my life is chaos, at least I have somewhere to belong. I have people who are at least trying to understand.
“Leaf!”
I turn to see Dex walking toward me, holding a very large plastic water bottle and a towel around his neck. Oh hell. This must mean he’s teaching a class, and Dex’s classes are terrifying.
“Hey, man,” I say.
He gives me a slow up and down. “You look like you need an abs workout.”
I pull a face. “That’s what you said last time I came in. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your torture chamber.”
He laughs and claps my bicep. “Come on. You had fun. Cycling is good for your core.”
And my ass and thighs, but I don’t know if the pain is worth it.
I’d much rather take a ride on Thorne’s dick. Much more satisfying.
“Anyway, I’m doing a beginner abs class right now. There’s only like six people in there, and two of them are retirees. You can handle this.”
I absolutely do not fucking believe him, but in all honesty, if I’m going to build up the strength to lift Thorne and throw him around a room, I’m going to need all the help I can get.
