Page 9 of Golden

I try to smile back and fail. I’m not a smiler at the best of times, but today there’s no chance. Deciding to cut my losses, I give him a nod and make to continue down the path, but he reaches out and grabs my shoulder.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

The way his pretty blue eyes fix on me, filled with genuine concern, it’s almost enough to make me spill my guts. But I don’t.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just lost in thought.”

Lifting my hand in a half wave, I turn and continue toward the gym. I’m almost to the glass doors bearing the wolf emblem of our sports teams when I realize Sol is only a couple of steps behind me. Catching his reflection, I note the gym bag he’s carrying and die a little inside. Of course, he’s coming to the gym. Why would life cut me any slack?

“You hitting the gym, too?” he asks when I hold the door open for him. “Or swimming?”

“Gym.” Apparently, if I’m not in a dimly lit room with an alcoholic beverage in my hand when talking to Sol, I turn into a caveman.

He smiles again and my heart does a strange little twinge that I definitely don’t want to become a thing. A small part of me is relieved he’s talking to me after how we left things before the weekend. I’d wondered whether my flirting had scared him. Maybe all he needed to do was get laid to act normal around me.

My chest tightens at the thought of him fucking that girl from the lacrosse team. She might be his girlfriend. It would make sense. Guys that look like Sol aren’t single unless it’s by choice.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the gym before,” he says, jogging forward a little so he can reach the next door before me. He holds it open with another one of those goddamn smiles.

“I usually come in the evenings or right after practice,” I say. What I don’t say, is that I choose those times to avoid when the lacrosse team is using the space.

I don’t spend hours in the gym. The cardio I get from swimming is the bulk of my exercise. The gym is to top up strength and maintain tone. An hour, four or five times a week, is more than enough for me. Which is why, usually, I would have finished my session and be back at home by now. Thanks, Dean Mason.

Sol follows me into the changing room, and I thank every star in the sky that I’m already wearing my gym gear, so all I have to do is stow my bag in a locker, grab my water and head out.

By the time I reach the weight machines, my earbuds are in, and the world has been drowned out. My breathing evens as I set the weights and settle down for my first set of reps. It’s easier than I expect to zone out and concentrate on the steady pull of my muscles, sweat beading on my skin. In fact, I make it three sets before Sol crosses my line of vision and then it all goes to hell.

I lick my lips as he stops by the rowing machines to talk to someone. His ass looks incredible in a pair of small navy-blue shorts with black compression shorts underneath. My eyes track the strong lines of his thighs, down to his calves, before dragging back up to take in his broad shoulders and toned arms, displayed in a white, sleeveless tank.

Perhaps he feels my stare, because after a few seconds, he turns and looks at me. Cursing under my breath, I pretend I was in a break between reps and not taking a pervert break.

The fact that he catches me staring is enough to keep me looking the other way for the rest of my session, although, I do take my glasses off, so I won’t be able to see him even if I wanted to.

With a welcome ache thrumming along my muscles, I grab my towel and head to the locker room. All my energy over the last hour has gone into not looking at Sol, and as I open my locker and pull out my bag, I realize I’m not as angry at the dean or the asshole who’s sabotaging The Howl anymore. Yeah, getting up and manually publishing each edition will be a pain in the ass, but it’s not forever. Right?

“Good workout?”

I tense at Sol’s voice, but don’t turn around. “You done already?”

“It was just a bit of conditioning today.”

The sounds of him rummaging in his bag have me wanting to turn around, but I’m scared of what I might find. Athletes give zero fucks about stripping down in a changing room. What if he’s getting naked behind me? I’m very good at not looking at my teammates, but I definitely can’t be trusted not to let my eyes wander if faced with a naked Sol.

“Same,” I say. “We didn’t do well enough at our last competition, so Coach is working us twice as hard.”

“When’s your next meet?”

Surprise causes me to turn before my brain catches up, but thankfully Sol’s still dressed. I glance at his sweat-soaked shirt, clinging to his torso, for the briefest of seconds before finding his eyes. His water bottle is at his mouth, his neck extended as he chugs, and I watch his throat bob with the movement, trying to remember what he asked me. There’s no way I’m showering here now. I’ll do it back at the dorms.

“A week on Friday,” I mutter a few seconds too late to avoid it being awkward.

“Home or away?”

Fuck. I’m sweating. Is it hot in here? I take off my glasses and grab the hem of my already damp shirt, using it to wipe the gathering beads of sweat from my face. I must look a freakin’ mess.

When I look back at Sol, his gaze is fixed on my exposed stomach, his lips parted, and I drop my shirt, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Home,” I reply, sliding my glasses back on.

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