"Time to give back."
"Bullshit."
All right, my motives aren't exactly pure. But I do want to help. Used to be I could do a lot of shit to help my friends. But now that they're all paired up, it's harder. They never went to me for assistance—most of them dread my assistance—but I always found a way.
Now, their problems are further away. They're off in their own orbits. Ones that only fit two.
"You want to get in her pants," he says.
"Think we covered this." There. That's four. Halfway through this set.
He looks down at me. "You're gonna drop that thing."
"Which is where you come in."
"Call it at six."
"I have eight in me."
"That's what she said."
"Fuck, I missed that." This weight is too heavy. And my head is too tuned to Chloe. The fire in her eyes. The earnest smile. The sigh of pleasure. I need more of it. All of it.
"You like her."
"She's my apprentice."
"You like her like her. High school like her."
I grunt through my fifth rep. Then the sixth. My arms shake. My chest burns. I don't have two more in me. But one?
I've got that.
"You gonna admit it?" he asks.
"You've been watching too many chick flicks."
"Iris hates chick flicks."
"Then all that fucking has scrambled your brain."
"You admit I get laid more than you do?"
"Who calls fucking their girlfriend getting laid?"
He chuckles fair enough. "You know what Leigh would say?"
All right, on three. One. Two. Three. There. I push the weight up.
His hands hover over the bar. He's ready to catch it if I drop the thing. Which is really fucking important. Two hundred plus pounds landing on your chest is bad news.
There's a lot of trust in working out together.
Hell, I trust Walker more than I trust anyone. He's been my closest friend forever. But I'm still not sharing this with him.
Nobody needs to know how I feel about Chloe.
I don't even understand how I feel about Chloe.