Page 48 of Knot Going Down
He shakes his head, ditching the sad look for a forced smile and a shrug. “Maybe go pro. I do not need to make any decisions immediately. But I would like to still play rugby. If I can.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes as we both do another set of squats, falling into a matching rhythm. When he finishes, he sets down the weight and re-ties his hair in a messy knot at the top of his head. I’ve never had my hair long like that—I don’t think I’d like it. But it suits Lucas. Every time I see him, he looks like he just stepped off the beach. You’d think it wouldn’t go well with his champagne scent, but his scent is really more peach bellini, and something about that just fits with the whole bohemian look he’s got going on.
Lucas finishes his set with a grunt and drops the dumbbells with a dramatic flair. “You sure you do not want to switch to something more your speed? Like chair yoga with the silver foxes?”
I don’t even pause between reps, welcoming the jab at our age gap and the way it shifts his sad puppy expression into his usual smile. The grey hair at my temples has been there since I was in my early thirties and doesn’t faze me one bit. “Says the guy who almost had a cardiac event on the treadmill yesterday. I’m only thirty-six. Let me know when puberty hits, and I’ll congratulate you on finally being able to grow chest hair.”
Lucas’s burst of laughter is like sunshine through a cracked window. Warm, unexpected, and impossible not to turn toward. “The treadmill is a medieval torture device. I do not train for Everest. I train for sprints and horizontal cardio.”
I snort, finishing my set and re-racking the weights. “Horizontal cardio? That what we’re calling missionary these days? I thought such a young buck like yourself had a little more creativity in him.”
Lucas smirks and slaps his thigh. “These legs carried me to Paris and straight into Emily. No treadmill required, and plenty of creative ideas.”
That digs a little, but the glint in his eyes is all play. I haven’t asked Emily exactly how she knows the guy who offered her adeluxe suite sea voyage, but Lucas’s interest in her is clear. He hasn’t made any effort to hide it. But it oddly doesn’t spark the same territorialism in me that Knox’s lust-filled gaze does.
I bump my shoulder against his. “Yeah, and straight from her into the cruise buffet.”
He clutches his chest like I wounded him. “Ouch. Low blow to attack my vacation carbohydrates.”
“I’m sure they will still be there when you go back for thirds at midnight.”
Lucas grabs his water bottle and takes a drink. “You are just mad I got there first.”
I roll my shoulders, letting the heat of the workout bleed into my voice. I’m not sure if we’re talking about the desserts or a sweet little blonde. Did he get there first? Have they hooked up? More than sparking jealousy, the thought makes my cock wake up and take notice. “Mad? Nah. I’m just pacing myself. You ever heard of delayed gratification?”
“Is that what you call it when you stare at her like she is chocolate cheesecake, but touch her like she is a sugared doughnut and you do not want the sugar to blow off?”
We’re definitely not talking about desserts anymore.
I shoot him a look. Am I being too careful with Emily? Taking things too slow? I don’t want to examine that too much. It might lead me to asking questions I don’t want to answer.
“You’re just as hungry for her,” I say, dropping the pretense and turning the focus off me.
He laughs, low and genuine. “True, my friend.”
I like that he owns up to it. No hedging or hiding. Just honest interest.
There’s a beat of silence, not uncomfortable, but heavy enough to feel like something hangs between us. Like Emily hangs between us.
Another blonde that's less sweet and more spice flits through my thoughts. I’ve seen the way Lucas looks at her, too.
“She is something, huh?” Lucas says, bringing my mind back to Emily. He stretches his arms overhead, flexing muscles he absolutely knows I can see in his sweaty t-shirt.
“Yeah.” I grab a towel and rub it across the back of my neck. “Emily’s… something. Driven, kind, terrible at mini golf. Way too good for either of us.”
He grins. “Speak for yourself. I have charm and a jawline that could cut glass.”
“And I’ve got a retirement plan and emotional maturity.”
Lucas barks out a laugh. “Damn,velho. You might win.”
“Velho?”
“It means… bro,” he says too quickly, a secret smirk on his lips.
I raise my eyebrows and glare.
“Fine, it means old,old man. It seemed fitting for you.” He jabs at me with an elbow before jumping away with a smile.
