Page 13 of I Blame the Alcohol

“Well, I didn’t say there wasn’t entertainment.” Pulling my eyes away from Stella’s meticulous prep work, I look to see Stephen watching me closely.

“Oh yeah?”

He nods, “There’s an ongoing bet on who the lucky guy will be.”

Dread coils deep in my stomach as my eyes flick back to my camo-clad gym buddy. Stella catches me looking and taps her watch with an exaggerated huff that I can hear from across the room.

“Who’s the lucky guy for?” Holding my breath, I throw Stella a friendly wave that I know will grate her nerves. She gives me a glare that could burn a hole through an iceberg.

“O’Brien, of course. Since you’ve been out of commission, the number of early morning regulars have jumped, and almost all of them have taken a turn asking out your Mrs.” A dark eyebrow disappears into the chaos of curls, looking at me questioningly.

I raise a brow, giving nothing away, “Stel would kick your ass for calling her my Mrs. She doesn’t belong to anybody, and she can handle herself.”

Like hell she will.

I’m already formulating a plan as I give the room a sweep, assessing the new faces scattered among the first floor.

“If I were you,” My focus is no longer on Stephen as I give him one last pat on the back. “I wouldn’t place my bets on anyone other than Stella.”

Especially if I have anything to do with it.

“Aw, you underestimate me, Cody. I’m going to win this bet. You just wait and see.” Chuckling to himself, Stephen waves me away and retreats to the computer hidden behind the counter.

I take a collecting breath and wander over to my usual spot in the weight room section. The new faces regard me curiously but no one comments as I make myself comfortable on the bench press. I always use the bench tucked in the corner for a couple of reasons, one of which being the vantage point I get over the free-range section.

I wasn’t lying when I said Stella can take care of herself, but it helps to know I can be there if she needs me. It’s what her brother would want, and I’m not about to let him down.

Stella

When you hear the term gym buddies, most people picture two friends who hit the gym together, perform some sort of team exercise, and hold each other accountable for achieving fitness goals. That is the definition you would find on Google, and more or less the response you would get from a Canadian survey.

And yet, for Cody and me, that’s not it.

We don’t goto the gym together and we certainly don’t workout together either. He despises any form of cardio – yet somehow manages to run around a lacrosse field every day – while I am not the biggest fan of repetitive, heavy lifting. Cody is a typical gym buff, while I am the queen of HIIT.

I guess you could say because we are always atthe gym at the same time, ergo, we are gym buddies. It doesn’t make sense, but it works.

And sometimes the things you can’t explain are the ones that hold the most meaning.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, chest heaving as I count down the seconds between my burpee sets. My heart felt like it was going to explode when I started my fifth round, but that doesn’t stop me from finishing the next set.

Part of the process is pain. Without pain, you have no process. Without a process, you have no results. Are you about to settle for no results, Stella?

“No.” I force the word out between my gritted teeth, pushing myself to do an extra two sets. There’s no point in finishing a workout if you aren’t going to challenge yourself. And if there’s one thing my father raised me to do, it was push past limits.

I finish the second bonus round and flop to the ground in a heap. My lungs feel like they're on fire while my limbs feel shaky. I give myself a whole minute to breathe then launch into my core workout.

Once I’m satisfied every last fiber in my body has been used to the point of exhaustion, I finally call it a day. Closing the workout on my smart watch, I use the next five minutes to put everything back where I found it, using a rag to wipe away stray sweat goblets.

“You missed a spot.” The voice that has been missing these last few weeks reaches my ears and I have to stop myself from squealing with joy.

Be subtle, Stella. Cool, calm, collected.

Be the cucumber.

Tucking my excitement back into the depths of my sore core, I settle for a smile that stretches from ear to ear before turning around.

Sweat glistens along Cody’s forehead, his blonde fauxhawk untouched from his workout. A quick glance at the veins protruding through Cody’s forearms tells me it was some sort of arm day today.

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