Chapter 7 Jace #2
Taking my time, I trace my eyes over his wide shoulders and thick arms. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, which gives me a great view of his muscles as he pumps his arms in time with his steps.
He isn’t cut and doesn’t have crazy definition, especially compared to how he looked in high school, but he’s big and strong, and I know exactly what those muscles are capable of.
His shirt is too loose for me to appreciate his long, lean back and barrel chest, but the flare of his round ass and thick thighs are on full display thanks to his tight black shorts.
Heat moves through my chest, and my stomach tightens as memories of exactly how that ass filled my hands and how those thighs felt when they were wrapped around my waist flood my consciousness.
I don’t understand why, but Shane is the only person who’s ever held my interest for more than a few minutes, or at most, a few hours. And he’s the first person I’ve ever wanted to hook up with more than once.
Maybe it has something to do with our dynamic.
Maybe it’s not him I’m interested in, but the push and pull of the rivalry we’ve fallen into.
Fighting with him is a rush, and trading verbal spars with him is exhilarating, especially when he finally snaps and unleashes his rage on me.
And watching him come apart under me and knowing I’m the only guy who’s ever seen him like that is satisfying on a level that goes far beyond sexual gratification.
“Are you done?” he asks in a flat voice, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead of him.
“Depends what you’re asking about,” I say casually.
“Checking me out.”
I give him another once-over because I know it’ll get a rise out of him. “Now I am.”
He glares at me but quickly returns his gaze to the wall when I grin back.
“Why are you here?” he asks and cranks his speed up a bit.
“I’d hope it’s pretty obvious that I’m going for a run.” I turn my speed up to match his. “Otherwise I’m going to start questioning how you managed to graduate at the top of your class.”
“How do you know I was near the top of my glass?” he asks suspiciously.
“Was it a secret? Because if it was, then your school probably shouldn’t have published it in their newspaper, on their website, on the—”
“You looked me up?”
I give him a wicked grin. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Weirdo,” he mutters.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“But why are you here now? Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your big appointment?”
“Shouldn’t you?” I ask pointedly. “It’s not like I’m the only one who got the news tonight.”
“Yeah, but the difference between you and me is that I don’t want it.”
I huff out a laugh. “Really? You think I want to be a leader next year?”
“You don’t?” He tosses me a surprised look, glancing away as soon as our eyes meet. “It seems like the perfect role for you.”
“And why is that?”
“Don’t narcissists like being in charge?” His words are accompanied by a sugary-sweet smile.
This time my laugh comes out as a snort. “You think I’m a narcissist?”
“Are you saying you aren’t?”
“Nope, not a narcissist, but I can see why you’d think so.”
“How about a megalomaniac?” He bumps up his speed.
“Getting colder.” I up my speed to match his.
“An asshole?”
“Yes, but that’s not a diagnosable condition.”
He rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds like “Whatever.”
I turn my speed up a bit, and he immediately matches it.
“Why don’t you want to be leader next year?” he asks after a few beats of silence.
“Because the idea of spending my time trying to wrangle a bunch of entitled frat boys is about as appealing as wearing a condom made of poison ivy. What about you? Why don’t you want it?”
He grimaces. “That’s a little more graphic than I would have said it, but pretty much the same reason.” He pauses. “Did you know they changed the rules before today’s announcement?”
“Nope.” I crank my speed up by a tiny bit. “Did you?”
He increases his speed so we’re once again matched. “No. I had no clue. But my dad knew.”
“Mine too.”
We run in silence for almost a full minute. Shane’s breathing grows more labored with each passing second, but he doesn’t slow down.
“About what happened the other night…”
“The you cheating at cards part? Or the you humping me on your floor part?”
He steps off the belt and looks right at me for the first time since he started his workout. “Are you going to tell anyone?” he asks bluntly.
“No.”
“No?” He blinks at me a few times.
“No,” I repeat. “I don’t make a habit of outing people.”
“Why not?” he asks as he steps back onto his treadmill and resumes running.
“Why don’t I out people?”
“Yeah.”
“Because there’s no point.”
“But…”
“Outing someone would mean I give a fuck what people around here think of me, and I don’t.
Plus, the only thing it does is cause drama, and I hate drama.
If guys want to pretend like they didn’t happily drop to their knees for me or bend over and beg for my dick, that’s a them issue.
” I toss him a quick look. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
“Both of them?” he asks dubiously.
“Yup.” I crank my speed up to a sprint.
Shane follows suit, and the room is filled with the sounds of our ragged breathing and the slap of our shoes hitting the belts.
This pace is way too fast to maintain for more than a few minutes, but I push past the tightness in my chest and the burning in my legs and keep going.
“Fuck,” Shane gasps and slaps the stop button on his machine. The belt slows down, and he stumbles off it and sinks to his knees, his chest heaving and his face red from exertion.
I also stop my machine and step off it, my hands on my thighs as I pant just as hard and loud as him. I haven’t pushed myself like that in a long time, but it was worth it to outlast him.
“You’re an asshole,” he mutters and shakily climbs to his feet.
“You’re not wrong,” I tell him. “But what have I done since you came in here that would make me an asshole? Was it when I was just minding my own business, and you decided to come in and talk shit about me being appointed to the same position you were? Or maybe it was when I said I wasn’t going to out you and I’d keep your secrets? ”
“That was a general statement.” He wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt, giving me a view of his stomach and chest, and I’m not subtle as I check him out again.
He yanks the bottom of his shirt down. “Are you done now?”
“Done what? Checking you out?”
“Done in here,” he rolls his eyes. “But yeah, are you about done that too?”
“Not even close. On either front,” I tell him and push my hair back from my face.
He offers no response, instead stomping over to one of the hanging sparring bags.
I cross the gym floor and stand in front of the bag next to him.
“Really?” he asks through clenched teeth as he unleashes a series of quick jabs on his bag. “You have to use that one and can’t possibly use one that isn’t right next to me?”
“Not my fault you picked the same one I want to use.”
He stops hitting his bag and turns to glare at me. “You’re either an idiot or a glutton for punishment.”
“Well, I’m not an idiot, so I guess we’ll have to go with door number two.”
“Why do you like pissing me off so much?” he demands.
“Because it’s fun.” I roll one shoulder in a shrug. “Which is pretty much the reason I do anything, FYI.”
“Are you trying to goad me into attacking you again?” He crosses his arms over his chest, making the muscles in his arms pop enticingly. “Because it’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not trying to do anything,” I tell him. “And I only piss you off so much because you let me.”
“What?” he splutters. “Are you saying it’s my fault you’re an asshole?”
“No, I’m saying that I’m only matching your energy. It’s only fun when you fight back, so if you stopped reacting to everything I say, then I’d stop saying it. I can only piss you off if you let me, and from where I’m standing, you enjoy it as much as I do.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” I take a step closer to him. “Because I don’t think I am.”
He drops his arms and glares at me. “You’re delusional if you think I enjoy any of this.”
“Really?” I take another step closer. “Because I recall a few moments the other night where you were definitely enjoying yourself.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
“Why? Do you not want to be reminded that you put hands on me first? Or maybe you forgot how you were the one on top of me, who rubbed off on me. I might have started things, but you sure as fuck finished them.”
He cuts his gaze to the doors of the gym and swallows, his throat working as his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Are you afraid someone is going to walk in and hear me talking about how hard you came while you were frotting against me? How you’re the one who finished us off?”
“No,” he mumbles, but the way he flicks his gaze to the doors again says otherwise.
“Don’t worry, Shaney. I’ve got you.” I shoot him a little wink and cross the room so I can tap my master card against the sensor that logs our comings and goings.
“What the fuck is that supposed to do?” he asks as I stand in front of him again.
“It locked the door.”
He lets out a dubious snort. “Yeah, right. You must think I have the IQ of a potato if you believe I’m going to fall for that.”
“Go ahead and test it.” I wave at the door.
He rolls his eyes and stomps over to it like a kid who’s been sent to his room for a time-out, and gives the door handle a hard yank.
“What the fuck?” he exclaims when it doesn’t budge.
“Told ya.”
“How did you do that?” he demands and pulls on the door again.
“Well, there’s this invention called a lock. And a while ago, someone figured out the technology to make it electronic, and—”
“I mean, how did you lock it with your ID? That’s not a thing. No one else can do that.”
“I can do that because this isn’t my ID.” I spin the card over my knuckles a few times.
“Then what the hell is it?”
“A dummy card.”
“A dummy card?”
“Yup,” I say as he comes to stand in front of me again. “It’s a clone of the master card and has all sorts of fun features. One of them is the ability to lock doors that no one else can lock.”
“How did you get that?”
“I have my ways.”
“Did someone give it to you?” he presses.
“Depends what your definition of give it is.”
He shoots me a flat look.
“A master card was temporarily put in my possession,” I tell him. “And I cloned it before returning it to its rightful owner.”
“How did you clone it? Only Axel and Carter have that kind of authorization.”
“You don’t need authorization to clone a card. You just need the right tech.”
“And you have the right tech?”
I nod.
“Really? You expect me to believe that you know how to clone cards?”
“I really don’t care what you believe,” I tell him. “I’m just answering your question.”
He holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Stop being an asshole and give me the damn card.”
“You want it?”
“Obviously.”
Not breaking eye contact with him, I slip the card under the waistband of my sweats and slide it down the front of my boxer briefs. “Then come and get it.”