31. Hotaru
“Two more. You’ve got this,” Arlo prods from a scant millimeter behind me.
The gym is my favorite place in the whole world. Not because it sculpts my body into a weapon. Because this is the closest Arlo gets to touching me. Of course, I’m amped to go every damn day.
Most guys like curls and bench presses.
Squat day is the best day.
To properly spot a lifter on squats, the spotter must stand behind the lifter, get close, and move in tandem with them. Their arms have to be up and around the lifter’s torso, and their hands hover just above the lifter’s chest.
If they can’t get the weight, the spotter engages. They grab onto the lifter’s chest and help press them up.
“Great. Fucking great. One more. Here we go.” Arlo’s huffed breaths skitter over my neck.
I’d have a boner if there weren’t six plates and the bar on my shoulders.
The only thing that scares Arlo more than touching me, is the possibility of me getting hurt. So in the gym, he pushes aside his fear to keep me safe.
I haven’t failed a lift yet. I don’t want to put him in an awkward position. But fuck if I’m not tempted. Damn tempted.
The bar clinks against the frame as I rack the weight.
“That was great.” He moves around to the stacks of weights that line the wall. “Ready to go up?”
“Yeah, you first.” I take the plate from his hand and put it on my side while he loads his on the other.
He grabs the bar and shakes his legs out. The quad muscles wobble under his taut skin. I hammer my fists lightly into my own, welcoming the sting from tiny tears in my muscles. It distracts from the utter deliciousness of Arlo’s untouchable body.
I hope today is the day he needs my help moving the weight.
“Ready?” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bend of his arm.
“Yep.”
Ready whenever you are.
I let him shoulder the weight and get into position, and then get so close I’m nearly hugging him. “Four reps. Nothing to it.”
On his third rep, I feel a presence behind me, but don’t look. I’m completely focused on Arlo and his lifts and his ass, nearly brushing my thighs.
Nobody’s perfect. Especially not me.
“One more. Strong core and go,” I urge.
The veins in his neck bulge. His muscles strain, but he lifts it without getting stuck.
“Nice.”
It’s not me that’s said it. It’s the person standing behind me. The voice is deep and familiar.
Arlo racks the weight and we both turn to find Nate with his thick arms on full display in a cutoff T-shirt. They’re crossed casually over his barrel chest. Every inch of his skin is tanned, even the part of his face that hosted a beard last year. He’s clean-shaven and fully grown into his large body.
“You two have been hard at work over the summer, while I ate too much.” He slaps his belly that isn’t a belly at all. Shame stings my cheeks because that slap and the slight jiggle of his middle have my attention.
“Where’d you go?” I ask, just to be polite. Nothing more.
Yes, he looks good. Yes, we have a bit of history. No, I’m not looking to carry it over into this school year.
“Portugal. My grandparents own a small resort on the west side of Lagos. I work there every summer. My parents think I go for the girls in bikinis.” His gaze hoods and slides over the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to my chest. He chuckles. “I go for my Avó’s cooking.”
Arlo steps forward, almost imperceptibly in front of me. Between me and Nate. His stance is relaxed, but the message is clear.
Back the fuck off.
My heart flutters inside my rib cage. My chest puffs, and a smile is about to crack my face wide open.
Then Arlo speaks.
It’s a string of words that don’t compute. A foreign language. I don’t know what he’s saying. But it seems…calm and civil. More than that really. Almost animated and excited. And not in the “don’t fuck with my man” kind of way.
My smile sours before it endangers my face.
Nate’s mouth goes slack for a second of shock, and then it blooms, stealing my smile. He rattles off something I don’t understand. Back and forth they go, and I’m left staring.
Arlo has never spoken to another student before.
The words, though I don’t understand them, feel like a betrayal. Like he’s giving a part of himself away. The only part that was all mine.
I turn and add weight with a little more force than necessary. The weights clang together, echoing in the large room. I shouldn’t even be adding weight yet. This is quite a jump. I don’t much care.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt your workout,” Nate says, when I can fucking understand him.
Too late, motherfucker.
“It’s Hota’s turn,” Arlo pipes in English.
I grit my teeth and focus too hard on returning the clips to the ends of the bar.
Nate props a heavy shoulder on the unused rack beside ours. “I didn’t know you could speak at all, much less Portuguese.”
“Me neither.” I grip the bar, purposely not looking at either of them.
“He knows I speak, and I wouldn’t say I speak Portuguese.” I can feel Arlo’s heat behind me.
Sure sounds fluent to me.
“You speak it better than I do,” Nate insists. “I only ever practice when I’m there.” Awe turns his voice thin. “I can’t believe you stayed at my family’s Lindo Ponto de Praia.”
I can’t believe Arlo is talking to another fucking student, much less that he’s stayed at Nate’s family’s whatever it’s called.
If he traveled, it was with his family, before he was unable to touch.
What if he and Nate have been together before? What if he’s used me to get closer to Nate? What if?—
I know I’m spiraling. I know it makes no sense.
But there’s no stopping it.
“It had to have been before my parents let me work there,” Nate continues. “If I saw you, I’d remember.”
Does that comment make me feel better or worse?
I heft the weight onto my shoulders, hoping it will kill the irritation boiling inside me. I back into Arlo’s front. I don’t apologize. I don’t wait for him to get ready. I lift. I’m only supposed to do this weight twice, but I keep going, repping five before my legs threaten to give out.
“Shit,” Nate huffs. “You just repped my max, Hota.”
Arlo’s hands wrap around the bar a breath from mine. He helps me get it to the rack. I don’t acknowledge Nate’s comment. Instead, I cling to the bar, chuffing oxygen. My quads and ass burn like they’ve been set on fire. That allows my irritation to ebb.
“How was the ACT?” Arlo asks, releasing the bar and turning toward Nate. “You took it back in June, right?”
Just like that, irritation gnaws at my nape once more.
“Not as high as I want, but good enough for Oklahoma State,” Nate says.
My entire body perks. The burning fades to the background, along with the gnawing at the base of my neck. I turn toward them, still holding tight to the bar to keep myself upright. “OSU?”
Nate nods and splits a lopsided smile between me and Arlo.
“As in…the US?” Arlo grabs his nape, flashing the girth of his bicep.
Showoff.
“As in the college that has one of the greatest wrestling programs in all of the United States,” I grouse.
“The best,” Nate corrects with a grin. His gaze slides off me and over to Arlo. “So are you going to try out for the wrestling team this season? You look like you would be great at it.” His eyes linger on Arlo’s body.
The unfamiliar pressure throws itself against my chest. It makes me want to step between them and shove Nate back a step or two.
“No,” I bark. “But he is going to finish this last set. Unless he’s wimping out?”
Arlo’s head jerks toward me. His intense brows are scrunched together as he outright dissects me. “I’m not wimping out.” He steps up to the bar and wraps his long, thick fingers around it. “How many did you get?”
“Five,” I grumble.
“Nate!” Someone hollers from the other side of the gym.
“All right, Arlo, leave some weight for the rest of us. See you at practice, Hota.” Nate laughs and waves as he hurries toward the far side of the large room.
Arlo starts lifting before I’m in position. He reps three before I get there. Then two more. He pauses and takes a deep breath. It widens his chest. The wet fabric of his shirt kisses the sensitive skin of my forearm.
He should be heading for the rack, but he’s not. I know he’s going to try to show me up. His legs shake under the oppressive weight. The veins in his arms are popping like he’s a comic book character.
My fingertips tingle, waiting a millimeter away from his pecs in case he fails.
This will be the time he needs me. This will be the time I get to touch him again.
Arlo takes another deep breath and stands up the weight once more just to show me he can.
Disappointment marries my irritation in a rushed ceremony.
I grab the bar and help him rack it. He releases the bar to step away. I don’t move from behind him. “What the hell are you doing?” I rasp into his ear.
His jaw flexes. “I was just talking.” His face shifts closer to me only a hint. “What? I can’t talk to Nate?”
“You haven’t spoken to any other student in this school besides me.” I swallow, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of my voice. “You can do whatever you want to do with Nate.”
He dips low under the bar and turns to face me on the other side of it. Sweat clumps his light brown hair, making it look dark and ominous. Beads of it glisten across the bridge of his regal nose and above his kissable lips.
“You’re jealous?” Arlo breathes.
“No shit.” I shove away from the bar and begin stripping the weights from it.
“I’d never touch him.”
I shrug like I don’t care and toss another twenty-five-kilogram plate onto the weight rack, knowing full well I’d throw it through the wall if he touched Nate.
“You can, though,” Arlo whispers.
“So you’ve said.” I ignore him and finish clearing off the barbell while he stands there and watches me for too long. We used too many plates.
I reach for the bar to stow it too, but it doesn’t budge. My gaze flies up to see why. Eight knuckles are small mountains on the bar with white caps. Our eyes meet. There’s hope in his.
“You can touch him like you touched Miss Booth.”