Chapter 5
Jeremiah
Five-fifteen came way too early, but I was already wide awake, staring at the ceiling fan like it held the answers to life’s most pressing questions. Which, apparently, all revolved around one scrawny librarian with messy hair and wire-rimmed glasses.
I’d been doing this for a week now—waking up before my alarm, lying in bed replaying every moment of our two encounters, analyzing every word he’d said, every expression that had crossed his face.
It was pathetic, really, a grown-ass man obsessing over a guy he’d barely spoken to.
But damn it, I couldn’t get Theo out of my head.
His adorably goofy, crooked smile. The way he’d flushed when Debbie called me handsome. How our shoulders brushed for a second when we’d gathered those scattered books. The soft sound he’d made when he’d complimented my arms, then immediately tried to backtrack.
I groaned and rolled out of bed, padding into the kitchen in nothing but my boxers. Coffee first, then gym. Maybe if I pushed myself hard enough, I could sweat out this ridiculous crush that was consuming my every waking moment.
Twenty minutes later, I shuffled through the glass double doors of the happiest place on earth, my threadbare gym where the weights were older than those shriveled men who lived in the mountains of Tibet.
The familiar scent of metal and sweat greeted me like an old friend.
The place was nearly empty at this hour—just me, the owner, Jax, who was perched behind the counter reading some bodybuilding magazine, and one other guy I didn’t recognize squatting far too much weight in the corner.
It was leg day . . . again.
Awesome.
Then again, maybe excruciating pain was exactly what I needed. Nothing cleared my head like the special hell of a proper leg workout. I started with squats, loading the bar with my usual weight and settling it across my shoulders.
The first set felt good. My movements were controlled and focused, the familiar burn building in my quads.
By the second set, my mind was wandering again, drifting back to wire-rimmed glasses and nervous stammering.
The third set was sloppy, a disaster of grunts and groans, punctuated by the occasional curse that might’ve made even Jax blush. I felt my form breaking down as my attention scattered.
Get it together, Jer. This is your happy place. Nothing bothers you in this temple of muscle, sweat, and abandoned dreams. Snap out of it already!
I moved to the leg press machine, cranking the weight up higher than usual.
If I was going to be distracted, at least I could punish myself for it.
The first few reps felt manageable, but by rep eight, my legs were screaming.
Lactic acid flooded my muscles, melting them to jelly.
Sweat soaked through my tank top and coated my face and arms. I was a mess.
And still, my brain wouldn’t shut up.
Why haven’t you asked him out? Why are you so intimidated by a nerd in glasses? Come to think of it, why are you so obsessed with said nerd?
I wasn’t an idiot or shy or scared to put myself out there. I knew how to ask guys out. Fine, it had been a while, but it wasn’t rocket science. Asking a guy out was simple.
Except nothing about Theo felt simple.
Another set on the leg press. Another few inventive curses I was fairly certain weren’t real words. More grunting and unbearable quad pain.
My shirt clung to my chest and back as sweat dripped steadily onto the machine’s vinyl seat. My legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, but I kept going, driven by some masochistic need to feel something other than ridiculous frustration.
Why, Jer? Why are you such an idiot?
Maybe it was because our first meeting had been so spectacularly mortifying. It was hard to follow up “I accidentally delivered your neighbor’s sex toy to your five-year-old” with “Hey, want to grab dinner?”
Or maybe it was because I kept building him up in my head, turning a cute librarian into some kind of unattainable intellectual god who was probably way out of my league.
I stumbled over to the calf raise machine, my legs protesting every step, as though they knew what was coming and were desperate to stop me from even more agonizing torture.
The weight felt heavier than usual, my calves burning after just a few reps.
The gym was hot, Jax being an air-conditioning Nazi of the first order.
Sweat dripped from my fingertips onto the floor mat.
By the time I moved to lunges, I was even more of a mess.
My tank stuck to every contour of my torso.
My abs poked through almost as clearly as my nipples.
In any other context, it would’ve either been obscene or photo prep for one of those steamy romance novels with the “I can’t believe it’s not butter” guy flicking his hair back on the cover.
My legs shook with each step, but I kept going, pushing through another set, then another. The pain was a welcome friend—one thing I could control, one thing I could understand.
I was halfway through my final set of walking lunges when a throat cleared behind me.
“Um, excuse me?”
I turned, breathing hard, to find the guy I’d noticed earlier. He looked to be in his early twenties, tall and skinny with dark hair smeared across his forehead and an oversized T-shirt that hung loose on his scrawny frame.
My heart did something weird and fluttery.
Had the acid drained from my legs to my head?
I braced myself on the machine as I faced the guy.
He looked exactly like Theo might look in gym clothes—nervous, out of place, but determined. He chewed his bottom lip a moment before mustering the courage to speak, his head ducking as he did.
“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I’m kinda new to this whole weight-lifting thing, and, well, I was wondering if you could spot me on the bench press? I don’t want to, you know, accidentally crush myself, and I think the bar might do that without any weights.”
He let out a self-deprecating, nervy chuckle that was so familiar it made my chest ache.
“Yeah, sure,” I managed, grabbing my towel and wiping the worst of the sweat from my face and arms. “We were all new sometime. Happy to help.”
I followed him to a bench where he’d set up what couldn’t have been more than ninety pounds—barely more than the bar itself.
“I know it’s not much,” he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. “But I’m working up to it. Slow and steady, right?”
“Form over weight. That’s the rule, right?” I assured him, taking position behind the bar. “You’re doing great just by being here.”
As he settled onto the bench and gripped the bar, I found myself studying his face.
He was strikingly similar, yet different from Theo—with sharper cheekbones and lighter eyes.
Still, something about his nervous determination, the way he bit his lip as he concentrated and stuck his tongue out one side of his mouth, reminded me so much of my librarian that it was almost painful.
My librarian. Shit. What the hell? Where had that come from? I shook my head like a dog after a bath. The image of Theo in my mind’s eye refused to budge.
“Ready?” he asked.
“I’ve got you,” I said, focusing on the guy beneath me. “Take your time.”
He pressed the weight up slowly, his form pretty decent for a beginner.
“That was good,” I said as he completed his set. “Really good form.”
“Thanks.” He sat up, breathing a little harder than the light weight warranted. “I’m Albert, by the way.”
“Jeremiah. Everyone calls me Jer.”
“Nice to meet you, Jer, and thanks for the spot. I was really worried about getting squished under there.”
We finished his workout, and I found myself focused for the first time all morning, giving him tips on form and encouraging him as he worked through his beginner routine. By the time we were done, he looked exhausted but proud.
I hobbled out to my car, climbed in, and let my head bang against the steering wheel. This couldn’t go on. Theo had invaded my mind like a tiny mental barbarian intent on taking down the whole Roman empire of my brain.
The fact I invoked Roman anything told me just how messed up I really was.
I couldn’t even point to Rome on a map. Hell, I didn’t even own a map.
I drove home with my mind churning, determined to come up with a plan to see Theo again, to ask him out and actually win a date. We might click—or not—but I had to find out. I had to know. I had to talk to him, to see his eyes light up, to kiss his lips—
“No, no, no!” I said aloud, letting my head bang against the steering wheel as I waited for the eternal light to turn green. “No kissing. No sex. No nothing but talking and getting to know him. He’s a good guy with a daughter, not some sex toy.”
That made me laugh.
Sex toy.
Like the one he’s stirring pasta with because of me.
I laughed again.
Which made me smile.
Which made me forget my legs and their gelatinous muscles.
Theo made me smile.
The thought felt like a meteor striking Earth . . . except my head was Earth and the meteor . . . hell, I didn’t know. Theo just . . . did something to me . . . to my insides . . . my innards . . . to whatever the parts were that got excited about meeting a boy.
God, why was I so stupid sometimes?
How was I going to do this? I needed a plan.
I could try timing my deliveries to the library to coincide with his lunch break, but that felt stalker-ish. I could show up at the school with some made-up excuse, but that seemed even more invasive—the man was trying to work, not deal with delivery guys with unresolved feelings.
But showing up at his house felt even creepier than those “how to kill your husband” shows on Lifetime.
Every option I considered made me sound more desperate.
Then a voice I knew far too well, one I’d heard since I was old enough to speak, whispered in my head. You should just accept that it wasn’t meant to be, it said. He’s far too smart for an idiot like you.
I winced. The damn voice always struck too close to the mark.
Maybe those two brief encounters were all the universe intended to give you. You’re being an idiot trying to force something more.
“Stop it!” I shouted, earning a confused look from a woman in an old Fiat.
I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on Theo’s eyes. They were so kind, so sincere, so open. They made my breathing still and heart calm. They made me smile. By the time the light released us, the voice was gone.
When I pulled into my driveway, I sat for a moment, staring at my hands on the steering wheel. This was ridiculous. There was no good answer to this mess I’d created in my head. I didn’t want to give up, but—
I was halfway to the front door when it hit me. I nearly tripped up my steps.
Of course!
Why hadn’t I thought of that before?
I grinned, suddenly energized in a way I hadn’t felt all week. This was perfect. It was natural. Nothing about it felt weird or pushy or stalker-adjacent at all.
It was cute, even.
And if it worked . . .