I stop at the doors. For some reason, I can’t face her. “You too,” I say without looking, then leave.
The walk to my new gym isn’t very far, but it feels like it’s on the other side of the world suddenly. Maybe that’s because all of my thoughts are on Prisha’s sudden reappearance in my life and the way she regarded me. Really, she should be proud of me now. No one’s talked back to Mr. Milton that way and survived. Hell, he even seemed to like it. Not to mention that my attitude was the catalyst that got everyone’s brain juices flowing. Prisha and I used to talk about how someone should set him straight someday. Didn’t I just do that?
I guess nothing I do will ever be good enough for her.
Just one glance of her all-knowing eyes, and I feel like I’m supposed to be ashamed of something. Isn’t shame the exact emotion I’ve been trying to rid myself of over this past year? Screw that. I won’t let her make me feel ashamed. I’m better, stronger, and more confident than I’ve ever been in my life.
For someone who knows everything, she sure seems to know nothing.
It’s a good thing we’re not friends anymore.
I push through the doors of Weights & Mates with such aggression, it causes the walls to shake. I go straight to the locker room to change, claiming a locker right next to my buddy, who’s already half-changed and tying his shoes. I’m so ready to sweat my ass off tonight for the cause. I start fishing around inside my backpack for my workout clothes.
“Uh, are you even gonna say hi to me?”
I glance down at Jonathan on the bench. “Hi.” Then I continue fishing.
“Damn. You’re in a mood.”
“Weird day at work. Just try not to walk in the crossfire, I can’t help it today.” I find my shorts and tank finally, yank them free, then start changing.
“I’ve got some details added to my tat yesterday. Wanna see?” He watches me change for a moment, forgetting his shoes. Then he frowns. “Hey, what’s going on with you?”
I pull off my shirt and pitch it into my locker like I’m angry at it. “Weird day at work, I already said.”
“You’ve barely looked at me.”
I sigh and turn to my friend.
What was once my emaciated twin comprised of nothing but skin and bone, is now a firm-bodied man with a toned yet slender swimmer’s build. Though his eyes still appear permanently shrunken in terror, he sure doesn’t look like a twig anyone can snap in half anymore. He’s sporting black gym shorts and a loose Nirvana t-shirt with the sleeves torn off—which is how I instantly spot all of the details that have been added to his half-sleeve tattoo that covers his left bicep. It definitely had an unfinished vibe before. Now it looks like a full, vibrant scene of tension between a demon and an angel, encircled by thorny vines and fire.
I lift my eyebrows. “Nice.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty sick, huh?” He gives his arm an inspection. “Still gotta add some more color to the flames. Not quite satisfied yet, but I like the artist’s work. Last time my big brother saw this, he looked terrified of me. Mission accomplished.” His eyes meet mine. “Really, you can tell me what’s going on. Maybe I have advice.”
His advice is a sad, inadequate replacement for Prisha’s. Anything Jonathan suggests for me to do begins and ends with some form of our mantra we developed the day we met: just do what you feel like and apologize for nothing. Needless to say, it doesn’t apply well to every situation in life.
“I already have the perfect advice for myself,” I tell him, shutting my locker. “Work out until nothing’s on my mind but my dick and whoever I’m gonna stick it in tonight.”
Jonathan—who is the literal dictionary opposite of a prude—grins with approval. “Hell yeah!”
The pair of us head out to the main gym. We go straight for the free weights and claim a pair of benches, where we start our usual sets with the dumbbells. When we move to the bench press, I spot him, encouraging him like a trainer. He does the same for me. We’re like an oddly perfect team of losers who got sick of losing and did something about it. Now we’re winners. A full year of commitment and dedication later, we’re part of the crowd that used to shove us out.
Now, no one shoves us out.
“Ready to get out of here?” he grunts after we finish a round of squats. We’re drenched in sweat.
“Yeah. Hitting up King’s tonight?”
“Always has the best mix of hot babes for me and loose guys for you,” Jonathan reasons. “Whatever new club we tried last weekend sucked. Shouldn’t mess with the tried and true, know what I mean?” He gets his things and makes his way to the locker room. After a second, I grab my own towel, fling it over my shoulder, then turn to head there myself.