Jerk

“How is that even remotely genius?”

I turn to him. “Because I’m gonna force him to make the first move.”

“Uh …”

“By the time he finally does cave—which is inevitable—he is going to cave so hard, we’ll probably have sex for a week straight. It’s obvious he wants me. And can you blame him? I’m not the guy I was a year ago. He’s about to learn that the hard way.” I smirk victoriously. “The very, ragingly hard way.”

“This sounds like a terrible plan.”

“It’s the most terrible plan I’ve ever made.” I set my weights down. “And that’s exactly why it’ll work.”

Jonathan shakes his head. “That … sounds like the fucking opposite of what you should be doing. You should be getting laid nightly, man. It’s the only way you can deal. Is this Danny guy really worth it?”

I turn to him. He’s the only guy who’s worth it. But for some reason, I just say, “Yeah, his ass is that hot. And it’s the last ass in this town I haven’t tapped yet.”

He chuckles at that, then resumes his workout.

And I stare at the mirror across from me, for a moment not recognizing the guy staring back. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve had sex with as many men as I make it seem like to Jonathan. I mean, sure, the amount of sexual partners I’ve had has increased tenfold since last year, but considering the abysmal lack of a sex life I had before, that’s not saying much. People look at me more. I get a dozen dings on my dating app a day—and that might even be putting it modestly. And I have no fears or insecurities here at the gym anymore. Everything about me is different. Even my best friend is new. I’ve literally traded my life for a completely new one.

Yet sometimes, when I catch eyes with the guy in the mirror, it feels like all of this is just some weird, demented dream I’ll someday wake up from. Like this is not really me. Like I was a fool to ever think it was.

Until I hear: “Hey there, Romeo.”

I turn my head. Danny stands next to my bench in his workout gear: tight tank, tiny gym shorts that glorify the gift of his shapely, toned legs, sporty socks that go halfway up his baseball calves, and Nike sneakers. When he smiles at me, the whole world washes away, and all I know is the pitter-patter of my ridiculously tortured heart.

I ignore that pitter-patter and shoot him a smirk. “Hey there yourself, hot shot.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to say hi, and … tell you I had a great time last night.”

I feel Jonathan staring hardcore at the side of my face, as if egging me on. I give Danny the sweetest smile I can muster. “Me too. Mind if I go ahead and finish my set?”

“Oh, right. Don’t want to interrupt your workout. I should go and …” He chuckles, blushes, then nods at the weights. “… get sweaty.”

“Have fun … friend.” I shoot him another casual smile, then resume my set.

You know. As if Danny isn’t the center of my whole fucking universe.

He hesitates, as if wanting to say something else, then decides against it and goes to the rack. I pay his cute ass absolutely no mind as I lie back and continue to grunt out some more sets. Jonathan shakes his head, likely having no idea what to make of my tactic, and continues his own workout.

I have full confidence in my plan.

But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Especially when Danny starts grunting at a bench near mine, and it does everything to pull my focus. At one point, I nearly drop a dumbbell on my foot as my hopeless eyes glue to Danny’s arms as they flex and pump with his every muscular effort. It’s impossible not to watch. Before he notices my ogling, I quickly slap shut my mouth and snap back to attention on my own workout.

This is me, doubling down on self-denial.

It’s going to work, I insist.

Then moments later, I’m sitting at the fly machine doing my reps, minding my own business, when Danny sits at the machine across the aisle from me. He gives me a mild smile of acknowledgement, then starts doing bicep curls. We’ve both got ear buds in, our brains being blasted with whatever playlists we’ve got going on, yet there always seems to be this invisible tunnel between us. I can’t do anything without him noticing. He can’t do anything without me being finely aware of every last movement he makes.

Someone walks past us—a gorgeous hunk of a man, who glances at me over his shoulder. His eyes linger far too long to be casual. He gives me a greeting in the form of a chin-lift and a wink.