Page 123 of Gym Bros
His lips press together. “Congrats.”
“Thanks.”
His index finger moves over the tines of one of his forks. “I’m happy for you. Really.”
That’s not exactly what it feels like, but I can tell he wants to be happy for me. “Also,” I say, “My dad wanted me to tell you he says hi, and he asked how you were.”
Calyx’s fork tips up and flings backward, onto the floor.
19
CALYX
I’m not sure which I want to talk about less. The fact that Samuel could have gone back to fighting as early as today or the fact that Marcus is bringing me up in conversation with him. I think I might like to circle back to the leering sommelier.
I take a moment to pick up my dropped fork and set it to the side. Where is the fucking wine, though?
“Did you tell him anything?” I ask, trying not to sound as horrified as I feel.
“About us? No. He was the one who brought you up.”
That decides it. I want to talk about sparring. “Did you fight anyone today?” I ask.
“Yeah, but just striking. Nothing on the ground,” he says.
“Was that how you were injured? On the ground?”
He nods. “I know we’ve only been doing yoga for a few weeks, but it’s like my body suddenly remembered how to be flexible, and I think it’s gonna make a huge difference in terms of my resilience.”
“How often do you get hurt, though?”
“This was my first major injury,” he tells me.
I shake my head. That’s not what I asked. “I’m not justtalking about major injuries. I’m talking aboutanyinjuries. Bruises, cuts, concussions.”
“I’ve only had one concussion, and don’t worry about the bruises. It’s just part of it.”
“Meaning you have one now?”
“Notright now, but I might have a few tomorrow.”
I wilt in my seat. I don’t like this. I stare at him, chewing the inside of my lip, desperate for the wine. I’m loathe to admit that half of my issue is the fact that someone else is touching him and getting a physical reaction out of him. But the other part definitely has to do with him being in pain.
He was so miserable when we met—when he was hurt, and his lower back was all stuck together. I don’t like the idea of grabbing him somewhere he’s bruised and having him wince away. And I especially hate the idea of anything potentially happening to his face.
“Are you gonna get those cauliflower ears?” I ask.
“Eh…maybe. Those take time, though.”
“You’ll have to grow out your hair.”
“Can’t,” he says. “Don’t want anyone pulling it.”
“Okay, Samuel.” I sit forward, banging my hand on the table and nearly sending another piece of silverware flying. “Is this really the only thing in the world you want to accomplish with your life? Like there’s really nothing else you can think of that could possibly fulfill you?”
He gives me a gentle, patient look, but before he can say anything, the sommelier returns, and I go through the ritual of tasting and approving the wine while he undresses me with his eyes and Samuel glares at him so hard it’s a miracle the side of his face doesn’t burst into flames. I give him a polite, dismissive nod and he tells us the waitress will arrive shortly to talk to us about the menu.
I drink my wine and return my gaze to Samuel, waiting for my answer.
