Chapter 29
“HELLO, MY STRONG FRIENDS!” Diego announces, smile broad and brilliant as he addresses the camera mounted above the screen Grant set up for us.
“Tonight, we have an additional challenge! You remember Ellie, who has been such a help on these livestreams. This time, we’ll be working without her input.
At least, not her words, because she can’t speak! ”
I wave, smiling behind the piece of gaffer’s tape over my mouth. It seemed better than the bandanna Ian offered, which was a little too close to gag territory for comfort.
Mark’s idea of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” is as rooted in improv as I’d feared.
Three of us will be working without one of our senses, as Diego takes on the role of host and commentator.
I’m the designated “speak no,” with Alistair, in a pair of noise-canceling headphones, as the activity’s “hear no.”
I peer around Alistair to check on Ian, who’s donned a sleep mask to round out our hamstrung trio as “see no.” Tonight’s recipe called for an air fryer, one of the few kitchen devices I have yet to procure, but, as Diego pointed out during planning, one Ian does have.
A few texts later, not only had Ian offered to let us use said air fryer, but had said that we were welcome to stream from his kitchen, and would it be okay with Diego if he participated? I could swoon.
Diego frowns at the screen, lips moving slightly as he reads a comment.
“No, Suica99, I don’t equate this with the silencing of a strong female.
And”—he squints to read on—“I don’t think she feels this way?
Ellie!” He wheels toward me, the portrait of worry.
“You aren’t suppressing your voice or compromising yourself in concession to the patriarchy, are you? ”
I roll my eyes. No.
“Well, that’s good. I would never want Ellie to do that. No one should, with any woman in their life! Next, we have Alistair, who a lot of you remember because you’re saying that you’re sad that he is wearing pants. Sometimes, people need pants.”
I nudge Alistair, who frowns at me before realizing he’s been introduced. “Oh, hey, hi, Diego fans!” he shouts.
In his own headphones at the command center he’s erected in Ian’s living room, Grant flinches.
In another installment of Ellie’s Massive Oversights, I learned today that he’s pretty damn tech-savvy, having shot, edited, and produced Diego’s more involved posts.
He scans the area around him, grabbing a lump of grip chalk from the coffee table, and chucks it at Alistair.
Alistair bats it out of the air in time to avoid getting beaned. “Dude!”
Grant points to the earpieces of his headphones, then makes a thumbs-down gesture. Quiet down, you asshole, he mouths.
Alistair wrinkles his nose. “Dick,” he grumbles, but it’s at a normal volume. He elbows me. “I’ve got an audiobook on. Have you tried them? They rule.”
Naturally, I’m dying to know more, but Diego gets back in front of the camera. “You might be wondering about the last member of our party. It’s the great Ian Hammond! Ian, please introduce yourself.”
Ian raises the mask to his forehead, giving the camera a wave with his free hand.
“Hi, everyone. As Diego said, I’m Ian Hammond.
If you’ve been lifting for a while and follow the sport, you might remember me from—really?
” He interrupts himself as my favorite photo, The Roar, takes over half the screen.
Grant brays a laugh from his corner. The chat erupts in fire emojis.
Diego winks at the camera. “I guess sometimes people don’t need pants.”
Ian shakes his head. The image disappears. “Now, I own and operate Firehouse Fitness in Austin, where I have the privilege of working with Diego. He’s an excellent coach and a talented presenter, as you know, and if you don’t mind my saying so here, Diego, I’m really proud of you.”
My heart squeezes. I look at Diego on the screen, and he’s trying to hold back a smile, fully retreating into humility mode.
“You’ve come a long way from the college freshman who just wanted to improve his bench press.” Ian points to the camera, then gestures to the Built Box spread in front of us. “You’ve earned this. I hope you know that.”
Diego opens his mouth to reply, then closes it. He clears his throat, and after a few seconds, nods, standing straight, his chin high. “Thank you, Ian. That’s good to hear.”
Ian nods, and my heart soars as I watch Diego take another couple of breaths to collect himself. I smile behind my tape. And to think that this moment of unfiltered masculine affection is being shared with an audience of dudebros.
Alistair pokes my arm. “Are we starting?”
Diego laughs, giving himself a little shake, and Ian pulls the blindfold back over his eyes. “Friends, that was really cool for me. Okay! Onward with our cooking!”
He explains the session’s questionable approach to executing buffalo ranch chicken chalupas. “Will they be successful?” he asks his audience. “Will there be danger? We don’t know! But we’ll find out together!”
He remains smiling in the corner of the frame as the three of us… wait.
I really should have vetted this idea.
“Is anything happening?” Ian asks.
“What?” Alistair asks, semi-shouting again. Another piece of chalk flies toward us, and he dodges it. “Dude, if his back is to me, I can’t read his lips. Are we starting?”
I tap the recipe card. I can’t convey “aloud” with my eyes, so I make a thrusting gesture with my left hand, projecting it away from my face. He frowns. I point past him to Ian, then cover my eyes with one hand to indicate his handicap, and tug on an ear with the other.
“Oh!” Alistair points to his headphones. “It’s The Death of Ivan Illych. Do you know it?”
I’m going to lose my mind.
Diego shakes his head, addressing the camera. “Friends, we may be in for some trouble.”
For the next few minutes, I’m inclined to agree, but once Alistair catches on, things start to progress.
He takes on sauce duty, mixing and intermittently grumbling something about a “bourgeois Russian cog”—Mr. Illych, I presume.
I intercede when necessary, mostly acting as eyes for to Ian, who is tasked with patting the chicken dry, and guide his hand to make sure the ranch seasoning he sprinkles over the chicken gets distributed evenly.
We risk letting him try chopping some breast meat after its initial round in the air fryer, but after I make one too many high-pitched warning sounds, he suggests that Alistair take over.
“How’s this look?” Ian asks, indicating the chalupa he’s assembled. It’s a little messy, but most of the filling has made it into the Built Box proprietary blend grain-free tortilla.
I pat his arm approvingly, and while I’m in the neighborhood, discreetly press my knee against his below the prep table.
We haven’t talked about how public we’re going to be about this, and while I suspect that the guys would just roll with it, certain gym members are already more invested in the prospect of us getting cozy than is healthy.
I’d rather not have to deal with their expectations while I’m still trying to understand my own.
Ian makes a low rumbling sound—oh, my favorite—and I—
Alistair is watching us. So is Diego. A cursory peek into the living room reveals Grant peering around his laptop screen. All three wear matching looks of confusion.
Until Alistair doesn’t. “Oh, no shit!” he bursts, and Grant shoves his headphones off with both hands with a “Goddammit, dude!”
Using the business end of his knife, Alistair points back and forth between Ian and me. “You two are doing it!”
I freeze, Ian going still against me.
“We are not… doing it.” Ian says, with an angle of uncertainty that makes the technically accurate denial more scandalous than the accusation.
Alistair laughs. “Whatever. You’re definitely doing something.”
“What are you— Oh!” Diego interrupts his question to read off the screen. “It’s from BarbaraSells4U. I bet that’s Babs! The coffee group was going to do a watch party at Tom’s.”
What!? I scramble forward to read the screen. Alistair’s theory has inspired a number of strangers to comment, but I focus on specific names.
BarbaraSells4U: I KNEW IT!
HelenNOTofTroy: When did this happen?
BarbaraSells4U: YOU WERE SO OBVIOUS SATURDAY! HOW DID I NOT PIECE IT TOGETHER?
TOMMYnumber$: I knew
HelenNOTofTroy: Why are you typing? We’re in the same room.
TOMMYnumber$: HAHAHAHAA
HelenNOTofTroy: Why am I still typing?
TOMMYnumber$: Ellie’s going to have to be more discreet when she slips out the back stairs at Firehouse.
The back— My shoulders drop. Thursday, after nap time. Ian had walked me out via the back door, so we wouldn’t be seen by anyone coming in for the one thirty class. We’d lingered in the doorway for a minute… or more. I just needed another feel of his pecs.
I shuffle back to my spot beside Alistair, and Diego places a hand on my shoulder. “Ellie, if you need privacy, let me know. I can wear my headphones. For volume. If that’s something…” His cheeks flare scarlet. “That you do?”
I fold my arms on the table and bury my face in them. Christ.
“Could we please change the subject?” Grant asks. “You’re making this weird.”
“This is getting a lot of engagement,” Diego observes. “Ellie, do you think that this is useful to Built Box?”
I let out a muffled scream.
“But you like her?” I hear Alistair ask, overloud.
“I like Ellie a lot, yes,” Ian says, a self-conscious laugh in his voice.
My heart skips. I turn my head in his direction, peeking over my arms. That half smile of his hooks the corner of his mouth, and I prop my chin in my hands, wildly curious about what’s inspired it.
Alistair’s uncovered one of his ears. “Rad. Who made the first move?”
I bury my head again.
“Ellie!” Diego calls. “The comment section thinks that was very incriminating.”
I growl. The comment section can eat me.
“It was fairly synchronous,” Ian says. “But I had it bad for her early on.”
Oh? I risk another peek. He’s still smiling, but it’s different. Sweeter. Soft.
“Like, when she came to Firehouse the first time?” Diego asks.
“More like… twelve hours before that? I went into the bathroom at your place, and there was the ‘whole-ass woman’ Alistair had told me was looking to move in. All he said was that she liked cheese, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.
“She was…” He’s smiling. Smiling so much, in fact, that the mask bunches over the rise in his cheeks. It’s only when I feel the tape tugging against my face that I realize that I’m smiling, too.
“Regal,” he concludes.
“Regal is a good word for Ellie,” says Diego. “Ah! And Babs says that smitten is a good word for both of you! Oh, that’s so sweet! This is getting so many hearts!”
“And these are gonna be sick!” Alistair cheers, pointing at the arrangement of fully assembled chalupas on the plate in front of him. He finished the entire batch. Sneaky. “Let’s air fry these up!”
We relieve ourselves of our self-imposed handicaps to eat, and after we’ve expressed an appropriate amount of enthusiasm for the chalupas, which are, as per Alistair’s prediction, indeed sick, Diego signs off.
While I did avoid the comment section for the remainder of the stream, I appreciate that there is nothing further from my roommates on the subject of whatever it is Ian and I are “doing.” Classic Dawghouse.
At least, not until after we’ve cleaned up and the guys start to head out.
Diego smiles at me, then peeks down the stairwell, which Ian and Grant headed down to load up the equipment Grant brought over.
“Ellie, if Built Box thinks more of you and Ian would be good for numbers, would you be up for it? Viewers were really responsive.”
“Take your leftovers,” I say, pointedly shoving a to-go container into his chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Oh!” A hint of his fuck-with-you face slips in. “A sleepover?”
“Goodnight,” I say, and he descends, grinning.
Alistair steps up, his eyes on the floor, then he tugs his headphones around his neck. “Uh, sorry if I blew it for you guys.”
I wave off the apology. “It was going to come out eventually. I’m more interested in Ivan Illych. Why?”
“It’s recommended reading for med students. Like, to help see patients as actual people? I dunno. Have you read it?” I nod, and he tosses up his hands. “Do we ever find out what’s killing this guy? It’s driving me nuts!”
“It’s been a while, but…” I think back. “What if it’s less about what’s killing him, and more about how he’s being treated, and how he comes to terms with his impending death?”
“Huh.” He frowns thoughtfully, which is a new look for him. His eyes widen. “Oh! Shit, I’ll have to start this all over again.” He sighs, tugging the headphones back over his ears. “Hey!” he shouts, and jogs down the stairs. “I’m gonna walk home! For more book time!”
I leave the door open in anticipation of Ian’s return, then move farther into the apartment.
I eye the window beside Ian’s bookshelf, which overlooks Tom’s porch next door.
I edge closer, peering into the dark. I haven’t dared look at my phone.
Heather and Mark will have left who knows how many texts decrying my betrayal—and reminding me that I owe Mark twenty bucks—and I’m sure Helen and Babs have more thoughts than they shared in the chat.
Ian’s steps sound on the stairs, and he comes back in, a wry smile on his face. “They ambushed me,” he says, joining me at the window. “They’re very protective of you. Diego demanded to know what my intentions are.”
“If you said pure, I’m going to be very disappointed,” I say, papering over the opportunity for that conversation.
His responding rumble is enough to distract me from my guilt. “How’s your mouth after taking off that tape?”
I angle my head up, and he runs his thumb over my lower lip. I close my eyes. Divine. “Fine. I put ChapStick on first, so the tape wouldn’t stick as much.”
“Good thinking.”
I smile as his thumb continues to stroke my lip, and curiosity gets the best of me. “Why’d you do this tonight?” I open my eyes. “I thought you didn’t want to reward Built Box with your presence.”
“There’s a chance that even a has-been like myself can have some industry pull. Might as well lend it. And after you asked me about not wanting to be involved, I realized that I hadn’t explained my reasons to Diego. Now he knows. Besides, I wanted to be around you.”
He makes the admission so freely that my jaw drops, but I turn it into a grin. “Is it because I’m so regal?”
He hooks a finger into the waistband of my shorts, and I let him tug me closer, reaching up to twine my arms around his neck. “You’re the one who declared herself queen.” He bends down, and I angle my head up for a kiss.
He stops just shy of my lips. “But I like smitten even better.”
I close the space between us.
I like smitten, too.
Too much.