Page 61 of Between the Lines

He puts me through the remainder of his usual routine. Some weight loads are half of his, most are a third. It’s humbling to realize how quickly I get tired. Toward the end, I’m sweaty, I haven’t asked a single question that I need for his book,and Aiden has barely gotten winded. Despite doing most of his exercises right alongside me.

I’m slouching, seated on the floor after completing my last sit-up. “Why,” I ask and reach for my water bottle, “do you do thiseverysingle morning?”

He does another biceps curl. “I don’t. Only four times a week.”

I roll my eyes. “Right. Only four times a week. How come?”

“Why not? Why do you read books or write in your spare time?” He does another curl. His dark hair is damper at the temples, and there’s a flush along his high cheekbones now. It’s starting to get to him. Now, at the very end. “It’s good for me. The mind stays sharp by keeping the body healthy.”

“Is this just another aspect you like to control? You know, you can’t control what other people do, but you can control what you do?” I ask. It’s a frequent characteristic I’ve seen as a memoirist. People who do great things, truly amazing things, often require significant personal sacrifices.

They are usually control freaks.

Aiden’s lips twitch. “Mm-hmm. You’re stalling, Chaos. Finish the last set and then you’re done for real.”

I lean back and start the slow, painful sit-ups again. My entire body feels like it’s on fire. “You missed your calling,” I say in between heavy breaths. “Clearly you want to be a personal trainer.”

He reaches for a neatly wrapped towel and runs it across his face. Wiping away sweat that’s barely there. Just a faint sheen that somehow makes him look healthier andmoreattractive. “A shame indeed. Two more, then we’re done.”

“Done,” I mutter. “Your day has only just begun.”

A true smile spreads across his face. It’s so wide and so genuine that it transforms his features. His visage morphs from the sometimes intimidating handsomeness into something real.

“I don’t know what I like best, Chaos. You when you’re all chirpy and positive, or when you’re grumbling. Now come on. You’re done, and we need to get ready if we’re going to make it.” He extends a hand and pulls me up to stand.

“What about breakfast?” I ask.

“There should be premade shakes in the fridge. We’ll grab some on our way out.”

I can only get half of mine down, sitting in the passenger seat of his giant jeep and driving down the winding roads of Bel Air. It tastes like equal parts protein powder and vegetables. Aiden finishes his before we even cross Sunset Boulevard.

He only has one hand on the steering wheel. The sleeve of his suit jacket has ridden up a bit, showing a thick watch. “You know,” I say. “I should be the one driving, if we’re truly doing this right and all.”

“Nice try.”

“If I’m to live as you.”

“Want to go on a joyride, Chaos? We can do that after work.”

I play with the hem of my dress. “How will this work today? Am I pretending to be you on the phone? Answering emails like you, ordering Eric around like you?”

“I don’t order Eric around.”

“No, you’re right about that, actually,” I say. “He orders you around.”

Aiden chuckles at that.

I tilt my head, looking at his profile. The furrow between his brow is entirely smoothed out. “You’re in a good mood today.”

His eyes slide to mine briefly, there and gone again. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“Torturing me in the gym lifts your spirits? I don’t know what that says about you, but okay.”

He chuckles again. “Drink your shake, Chaos.”

I look down at the thick contents. “I think I prefer mine with lots of strawberries, bananas, and no powder at all.”

“Of course you do. We all do. But this one is better for you.”

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