CHAPTER 3 #2
As Jeremy struggled to do an adequate number of star jumps, as he sweated through a round of ever-dreaded burpees, as his arms shook with his attempt at a single push-up, his gaze bored into the back of Sam’s head.
This man was annoyingly energetic, while Jeremy felt as if he were emerging from a bog.
‘Okay, class, I have been told that you must “woo” now,’ crackled the harsh voice of the instructor over the microphone. ‘So, what are you waiting for? Woo in unison. No? Okay, suit yourselves. Twenty more star jumps.’
Sam, of course, was the lone voice to ‘woo’, segueing from the punishing set of burpees they were doing into the ordered jumps with a joyful yell. He even clapped his hands once to the beat of the rights-free Ariana Grande knock-off Davina’s tinny speaker was blaring.
Jeremy took a tiny amount of joy in the fact that Sam’s clap was incredibly off-beat.
He knew it was too soon to say this with certainty, but he was starting to suspect he hated this Sam character.
If looks could kill, his would have at least been causing an uncomfortable prickling sensation on the back of Sam’s neck.
Jeremy had never really needed to physically exert himself before and, as the class progressed, his breath became more ragged, sweat flowed into his eyes making them sting, and his mouth tasted like blood.
Sam, in comparison, looked to be thriving.
His buttocks in his tight little gym shorts practically quivered with enthusiasm, his tuck jumps and marching soldiers were done not only with energy but with flair.
As he kicked into another series of movements (which Jeremy stumbled blindly through, several beats behind the rest of the class) he had the gall to add a little hand flourish.
Sam didn’t come across as particularly gay, but with that one hand movement, Jeremy had to wonder if he was.
Jeremy wanted to scream, but he could barely breathe.
The class passed through a painful forty-five minutes that somehow simultaneously slowed to each aching second of physical pain and sped by like no time had passed.
While all other participants cooled down with gentle stretches, Jeremy lay flat on his back, panting, worried his heart was going to burst out of his chest, his legs and arms boneless and limp.
As he looked up from his position on the cheap, upsettingly aromatic carpet, a face passed over him slowly, like an eclipse.
‘Hey, well done. You survived your first Davina class,’ said the face.
Jeremy blinked rapidly, trying to focus, and, with something like panic, he realised he was looking at Sam’s face from the front for the first time.
The front was one of the more intimate ways you could look at someone, he decided in a daze.
Jeremy noticed his eyes first – they were currently crinkled with humour, surrounded by well-worn laughter lines and thick eyebrows, and were instantly mischievous, green like deep forest pools.
They locked with Jeremy’s easily, casually.
Sam had waves of brown hair pushed back from his face by a sweatband that showed off his forehead and the strong angles of his face.
It wasn’t a classically pretty visage, although some of his features – his eyes – were pretty.
But the stubble, the eyebrows like stretched wings, and the proud nose all gave his face a wild, masculine look.
It was an interesting face. Jeremy couldn’t quite make an instant judgement – and Jeremy loved instant judgements.
Was it handsome or pretty? It was definitely a lot.
‘Umm.’ Jeremy blinked, dazed. ‘I actually died halfway through but she looked at me and my heart started up again on its own out of fear.’
Sam smiled, huge and welcoming and spontaneous, and perhaps it was the endorphins coursing through his body after his first physical activity in decades, or the blood pooling in his feet, or sheer exhaustion, but the sight of that smile hit Jeremy like a wave, a fizzing feeling that swept over him like that one surge that splashes over sunbathers, cold and refreshing and utterly unexpected.
Jeremy’s breath stuttered in surprise. Those eyes and that huge smile transformed Sam’s face from an eclipse into something more like the sun turning towards him.
Then Sam held out a hand, clearly offering to help Jeremy get up.
‘Oh, thanks,’ Jeremy blurted, scissoring himself into a sitting position, and then jumping to his feet unassisted. ‘Sweaty hands,’ he explained.
‘That’s super weird,’ said Sam, gesturing to his own incredibly sweaty face. ‘You should see a doctor.’
It was Jeremy’s turn to smile a little, readying his response, but before he could manage it, the guy in the pride T-shirt had grabbed Sam’s arm, and those eyes and that smile turned away from him.
Jeremy watched them chat for a second before picking up his towel and his water bottle and beginning to limp away. What an asshole, he thought. What a show-off. What a piece of shit.