Page 44 of Sporty Girls Don't Fall For Loners

Footsteps sound as they descend the stairs. I continue with my workout, not interested in anything they have to say.

“Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here,” Zoey’s voice says.

I look up and find her standing there, dressed in workout clothes. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail.

Her eyes flit to my chest and she bites her lower lip. She quickly looks away.

She hasn’t done anything to hurt me, but I know she shares her aunt and uncle’s view. She doesn’t want me around, so why should I give her the time of day?

“I guess we can share,” she says. “Take turns using the machines.”

I look at her, my eyes hard, then I glance away.

“Keeping fit is really important for football,” she says. “If we want to make it to state, we need to be in top shape.”

I move my eyes to her. “So?”

She gestures toward the machines. “Do you mind if I work out here?”

I scoff. “Last I checked, this is your house, remember?”

She blinks at me. “Okay…it’s not my house. I’m just staying here a little while.”

Right. Because her aunt and uncle would never toss her out and abandon her to the rats.

She wrings her fingers against her stomach. “So I’m going to start there. It’s only fair that we use each machine for a short while so we don’t hog them all.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I was here first and I’ll hog whatever machine I want. You can come back another time.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Why are you being such a jerk about it?”

I shrug. “Was here first.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “We’re both living here. We both have equal rights to the things in this house. Including the exercise equipment.”

I ignore her and continue working out. She just watches me like she doesn’t know what to do. Then she shrugs and goes to a different machine, takes off her hoodie to reveal a tank top underneath, and starts using it.

My eyes linger on her more than they should before I force them away. I try not to think about her, but it’s hard not to when she’s literally only a few feet away from me. She’s tough as she strains herself against the machine. I look at her again, watching as she pushes through without giving up. It’s like her body is begging her to give it a break, but she doesn’t listen to it.

Her arms and legs eventually give way and she leans back with a deep sigh. Sweat shines on her forehead as she breathes heavily. She takes a huge gulp of water from her bottle before starting the next machine.

Her eyes connect with mine. Then they flicker to my chest for about ten seconds before she shakes her head, turning away.

I chuckle to myself. Miss Goody Two Shoes has probably never seen a naked chest in her life.

She and I work out together in silence for another hour before she decides she’s had it and walks away, dabbing her face with a towel.

She makes her way toward the door, but turns around to face me. “You really shouldn’t work out so hard. It’s not healthy. Your muscles need a break.”

I don’t respond as I continue pushing my body past its breaking point.

She wavers at the door, and when I look at her, her eyes are once again darting to my chest. Then she shakes her head as if berating herself, twists around, and walks out.

My body’s crying for me to stop, but I don’t want to. Because the second I stop, my reality will come crashing down on me and I’m too hurt to deal with it.

Eventually, though, my muscles can’t take it any longer and I fall to the floor, fisting my hands at my sides.

Why doesn’t anything work out for me? Will I ever really be happy or am I doomed to be miserable for the rest of my life?

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