"Yeah."
I tilt my head to one side. "Really?"
Walker's laugh lights up his dark eyes. "Yeah. Really." He leans in to press his lips to mine.
"I can't believe he beat you."
"I let him win."
"Did you though?"
"That's cold, sweetness."
My lips curl into a smile. This is okay. And, as much as Walker likes to pretend like nothing affects him, his friendship with Dean clearly means a lot.
"I better change," he says.
I nod. "I can't be the only one in shorts."
He gives me a long once-over. "Any way I can convince you to wear these forever?"
"I'm sure you can think of something."
* * *
Dean hops onto the treadmill to my right. "Whatever you imagined, it's bigger."
Walker jumps onto the treadmill to my left. He makes a point of rolling his eyes. "Nobody is interested in your dick."
"Nobody? You want to put money on that?" Dean asks.
Walker laughs. "Sure. How much?"
"Nah, I can't stand to see you lose in front of your girl again. It's pitiful." He looks to Walker. "You casual with that information now?"
"Yeah." Walker turns up the speed on his treadmill until it's matching mine. "I'm not in high school. It's not a big deal."
Dean shrugs fair enough. He looks to me as he amps up his speed until it's just a little faster. "You agree?"
"No, actually." I slide my hoodie off my shoulders, hang it on the railing. This is beyond weird. They went from frosty to friendly in two minutes flat.
"Damn. Your girl's already contradicting you. So much for the honeymoon." Dean chuckles. "Good game, though, getting you here in those tiny shorts."
"You looking at my girl's shorts?" Walker's voice gets faux threatening.
"Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?" Dean raises a brow, faux threatening back.
"Fuck her in the next room." Walker winks. His voice is easy. Effortless.
Dean isn't even a little out of breath either.
Damn tattoo artists and their pristine fitness.
My cheeks flush.
"He talks about you a lot. It's fucking obnoxious," Dean says. "As bad as Brendon."
"Is that really possible?" I ask.