6. Orion
Orion
Damn. The gym is kicking my ass this afternoon.
Most days I hate thinking about going to the gym.
I hate stopping what I’m doing to come here.
I hate finding a parking space and getting out of my car.
I always choose the closest parking spot possible, but the short walk from my car to the door is always enough time for me to think of at least a million things I’d rather be doing.
Once inside, I hate making small talk with the person at reception, and I’m not a fan of the locker room either.
I hate the first ten or fifteen minutes real fucking hard, but usually something clicks after that, and I get into it.
It’s the endorphins, I guess.
Or it’s the man sweat that clings to the walls in places like this.
Or the little groans shredded guys make when they lift.
It could be the way Jordan lifts his top to wipe the sweat from his brow after a set.
He uses both hands to do it, lifting the hem of his T-shirt and burying his entire face for a few seconds.
A few seconds when his eyes are completely covered and he can’t see me looking.
When his abs are exposed and he’s breathing hard. A few seconds when—
Look, it’s not important what makes it click. That’s not the point I’m making. The point is that usually, once I’ve been at the gym for a while, I get into my workout and stop hating it.
Not today though. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’ve felt off all day.
A bit removed from reality. Feels like I’m moving slowly, and things are coming at me fast. There’s been a dull pressure at the base of my skull since this morning, and since getting here, it’s started to spread up the back of my head.
Maybe I’m dehydrated.
I lift my water bottle to my lips and glug several large gulps before switching places with Jordan. I lie back on the flat bench, my head spinning unpleasantly from the change in altitude, and Jordan gets into position to spot me.
“You’ve got this, bud,” he says for the second time this session.
I circle my fingers around the barbell, just outside shoulder width, before adjusting my grip and taking a deep breath. “Factually untrue. I don’t got shit, and you know it.”
I clench my shoulder blades together and drive them into the bench as Jordan helps me lift off.
I let the weight settle, but damn, it feels like a block of concrete today.
I unlock my elbows and the bar descends slowly until it almost touches my chest. I exhale and start pushing, only to discover that I’m in a battle against gravity—and I’m losing.
Muscles burn faster than usual, and after a few reps, I hit a wall.
The weight won’t budge. Not an inch.
By the time the workout is over, Jordan is looking at me strangely. “You feeling okay? You don’t look all that good.”
“I’m fine,” I say sharply.
I’m about to tell him there’s nothing wrong, that I just need an early night, when he changes the subject. “You keen to hit The Pardon tonight in that case?”
He waggles his eyebrows in a way he thinks is very convincing. It isn’t. It makes him look ridiculous. When I’m a hundred percent over my little problem with him, I won’t find it adorable at all.
“Come on.” He jabs me in the side a couple of times, dancing in my peripheral vision like he’s a boxer or something. It also shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is. But we are where we are. “It’ll be good. Rowan and Riley are gonna be out for sure, and Andy and West might come too.
“Hell n—”
He makes his eyes big and uses the same tone moms use when bribing their kids with ice cream to do something they don’t want to do. “Summer’s going to be there.”
My face feels a little numb when I speak. “Will she?”
My insides squeeze uncomfortably.
I haven’t done anything wrong. I asked a question, that’s all. I asked for confirmation about the physical whereabouts of a girl I know. I didn’t say anything blatantly untrue. I didn’t.
Still, I taste the lie on the tip of my tongue, bitter as bile, as I swallow it down.