Page 193 of Hooking Up
Dean nods really.
"At the gym," Walker says.
Dean chuckles. "Done."
* * *
This is a rich people gym.
It's ridiculous. The sunset streams through the wide windows, falling over rows of pristine ellipticals, treadmills, and stationary bikes.
The weight section occupies the other half of the room. It's all mirrors and adjustable benches and guys grunting through sets.
It's way beyond my level.
Walker nods to the guy at the counter. "My girlfriend wants to try the place out."
The guy waves me throughcool.
We move into the gym. Dean motions to the empty mats in the weight section.
Walker nods.
They're saying something.
I have no idea what the something is. Only that it's some friend/guy/tattoo artist code I'll never understand.
Walker tosses his cell and keys on the floor. Kicks off his shoes. Peels off his socks.
Dean does the same.
They stare.
Walker holds up three fingers. Then two. Then one.
They lunge at each other. Grapple into a wrestling headlock. Then they're knocking each other to the ground.
Dean's pinning Walker.
Then Walker's pinning Dean.
They grunt through a dozen positions.
It would be hot as hell if it wasn't so weird.
No… it's still hot.
But weird.
What the hell?
They're a tangle of limbs, jeans, cotton t-shirts.
Then Dean is pinning Walker. And Walker is tapping the ground for mercy.
Dean jumps—actually jumps—to his feet. He nodsokayand offers his hand.
Walker pushes himself up and shakes.
