10. Reid
Reid
“Alright, run me through it one more time,” Drew says as beads of sweat fall from his temples to the floor. “I don’t think I got it the first time.”
“Feet flat on the floor, keep your ass on the bench, and if you’re lucky, I’ll make sure the bar doesn’t crush your pretty face,” I say, and Drew glares at me.
“Not the bench press. The situation with Quinn,” he grits out as he goes into another set.
I knew what he meant; I just like giving him shit.
“I asked her if she wanted to be my date to the upcoming weddings,”
“She turned you down. Flat if I remember,” he grits out.
“And then she came crawling back when she needed a favor. A much larger favor,” I say, and after three more reps, Drew gives, and I take the bar from him. He sits up, and another wave of sweat drips down his body.
“Just how big is this favor?” he asks, grunting as he reaches for his water bottle. “Like, how much money are we talking? What’s it take to run a place like that?”
“Well, the building is more or less paid for. But there are employees who do have a few advertising, accounting, and counselors they partner with.”
“So a decent amount,” he says and I give a more-or-less nod.
“Alright. And you’re okay with that?” he asks.
“I’m indifferent,” I answer as we make our way to the sauna.
It’s always the last thing we hit up on a gym trip and low-key my favorite.
It’s a lot of work not looking fifty when you’re forty eight but I like to think Drew and I do a good job of it.
It also helps that work is as stressful as it is.
Men need a place to take out their stress, and considering murder is frowned upon, the gym is a good alternative. I’m kidding. Sort of.
“Indifferent to throwing away your money at a cause you don’t support?” he asks. “There must be something else going on.”
“Like what?” I ask as we sit down on the wooden steps of the sauna.
“Well, think about it. It seems counterproductive for you,”
“Not really,” I say, resting my elbows on my knees and craning my neck from side to side to release tension.
“People can’t get divorced if they don’t get married first. And considering all the people Quinn works with are considering divorce if the therapy doesn’t work out, I’m technically creating future clients. ”
I grin and Drew does too, but he’s also rolling his eyes.
“Seriously though,” I go on. “It’s all a bit triggering for me,”
“I was wondering about that,” Drew says.
“Just the word therapy…or marriage counseling. If that had been an option…” I trail off, biting my tongue because I don’t know if I want to go there. I never go there. Even if it is just with Drew and we are in a wooden box, that is most likely soundproof.
“You tried,” he says.
“I know I did,” I say, head hanging, my gaze on the steaming rocks below us. “More than I should have.”
“Love can’t be one-way,” he says.
“No,” I say. “It cannot.” With that, I take in a slow breath and let it out again. “It’s also no fairy tale. And people should know that. Quinn needs to know that.”
“Spending enough time with you should help with that,” he chuckles, and despite the mood the current conversation has me in, I crack a smile. “I really do drive her nuts,” I say with my eyes shut and my head back against the wall.
“I bet,” Drew says.
“I can’t help it. It’s just so easy. I’ve never had a woman dish it so hard.”
“Well, you know what they say. If they can dish it, they can eat it.”
And she does. The tennis match conversations Quinn and I have leave me winded with a sore arm.
“And what’s her take on love, exactly?” Drew asks.
I look up at him and I can literally feel the perspiration trickling down the crevices of my abs.
“What do you think? She’s got her head in the clouds. She probably spent her childhood playing with dollhouses and reading romance books. Her idea of relationships is based on Hallmark Christmas movies.”
Drew chuckles. “Sounds like every woman. The first movie Cass and I watched together was The Holiday.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” I jab a finger in his direction. “Movies like that, stories like that, they lead women, and sometimes men too, to believe that if you just have this spark of connection, it will carry you through a lifetime of problems.”
“It won’t,” he says.
“Exactly,”
Thank you.
“Love is an action, not a feeling. Compromising, honesty, listening to understand not listening to respond, transparency and hard work get you through the obstacles. The spark, the connection, the things about them that will always make you smile no matter how many times they do them…that’s just something to circle back to. But it’s not the spine.”
I only snort at that. “Anyone who thinks romance can get you through life doesn’t have a spine.”
“How about we talk about my wedding,” he says.
Fair enough. This conversation is making it hard for me to detox.
“You’re the best man,” he reminds me.
“I know,” I nod. “And why you chose me is beyond me.”
“Because you’ve been my best friend since high school and for whatever reason, I’ve kept you around,” he says and I grin.
“All that being said. We have a lot of shit to take care of still. You know, I always thought women took like a year to plan weddings. I only proposed three months ago, and it’s coming in fast. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s trying to tie me down,” he chuckles.
“You said it, not me,” I mutter.
Drew flips me off. “She loves me. And I love her. And we’re wearing salmon.”
“Fucking hell, man.”
“It makes her happy. And it’s a small task, really. No one wears their wedding tux twice.”
“So we’re wearing fish suits. Got it,” I nod, and Drew stands up.
“It’s getting hot in here. I’m going to cool off. I suggest you do the same. Figure out what’s eating you and get over it. Nobody likes a grumpy groomsman.”
Is there another kind?
I don’t say that, of course. I really do care what makes Drew happy. And despite my aversion to all things matrimonial, I don’t intend on making his day miserable. I’ll abide by all the best man expectations, and his day will be exactly what he wants it to be.
He is right about one thing. I need to cool off.
Maybe it was the conversation, or maybe I went into that sauna with something I couldn’t fully sweat out.
Either way, I do need to cool off. So when I walk out of the gym and find sheets of rain pouring down on the city, I toss my things in my car and opt for a run.
There’s nothing like running in the rain. Especially when the Northern Hemisphere decides to cool down for a moment. The air is crisp for June in NYC, and I don’t hate it. I’m actually a winter man myself. The colder the better.
I start at a decent sprint in an attempt to shock whatever is eating me out of my system.
But the harder I think, the harder I breathe.
The harder I breathe, the faster I want to run.
The faster I run, the wetter I get. And then I find myself thinking of Quinn.
Of how wet she was when I cupped my palm over her pussy.
Of the little gasps she made as she rode my hand.
The way her spiciness turned into a different kind of heat the moment the tension between us shifted.
I slow to a stop, nearly buckling over. I think it’s safe to say the sweat has been washed off. And yet, even with the cool rain soaking me to the bone, I’m still hot and bothered.