Page 171 of Gym Bros
I lied. And it wasn’t a white lie. It was a big lie. I allowed him to think I was something other than what I actually am because I liked his version of me so much better.
I fell in love with him on purpose. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t an oops—now I’m fucked. It was a luxury I allowed myself a little bit more of every day until I refused to live without it anymore. And I took it. I stole his love under false pretenses, and it’s not something I can just give back.
It’s something I’ll be ripping away. It’s something Ihaveripped away.
My hair is a slept-on-wet disaster, so I pull it back in a ponytail holder and study my swollen eyes.
I dab some concealer on. I have no right to cry in this scenario. My feelings are the last thing he needs to deal with. I brought this on myself.
The drive to his apartment is nauseating. I brought water, but one sip makes me want to hurl, so I leave it mostlyuntouched. When I arrive, I check his location again. He’s still here. Or at least his phone is.
I fight back what wants to be more tears and take a few breaths before getting out of the car and letting the cold, gray November afternoon slap me in the face.
I know his building code, so I let myself in, then slowly make my way to his second story door. Bracing myself for anything, I knock.
The door opens after a few seconds. Beauty rushes toward me, but Samuel puts his leg out to stop her. I look up at his stone-cold face.
This is probably the look The Beheader got yesterday before he had his ass handed to him.
“Can I come in?”
He steps out of the way. As much as Beauty wants me to pet her, I don’t. I take a few steps inside, and Samuel closes the door. When I turn, he’s leaning back on it, arms folded. There’s not a hint of emotion on his face.
His eyes are icy, and his jaw is set. He’s shirtless with all the bruises I knew about healing and some I didn’t blooming. His knuckles are scabbed and swollen. His sweats hang low on his hips, and he’s barefoot even though it’s cold in here.
He’s terrifying and beautiful. All the tenderness in his eyes I’ve learned to take for granted is gone.
“I should have told you,” I say.
He nods.
“It wasn’t onlymysecret to tell, but I should have told you.”
He frowns and breaks eye contact. His face twists through a few different grimaces, and he heaves in a breath. “I get why you didn’t, but it doesn’t change…anything.”
“I know,” I whisper.
When he blinks and looks at me again, there are tears in his eyes. “I can’t believe he’d do this.”
I swallow so hard it hurts. I don’t have a clue what to say.
“I mean, I can.” He clears his throat. “But I guess I actually fucking believed him when he denied it. Do you get how fucked up this is?” he asks.
I want to ask which part, but I only manage a slight nod.
“Who’s better in bed?”
“Samuel…”
“It’s a fair question. I’m guessing him because he’s got so much fucking experience…apparently.”
“You’re nothing alike,” I say, and I wish I could take it back the second his gaze narrows.
“No? I was always told we look a lot alike.”
This brings me right back to the first time I saw his foreskin. Were we here or at my place? Because I did think that, didn’t I? And when he called me angel. The way I’d frozen.
“I can’t speak for him, and I don’t want to,” I say. I take a deep breath before continuing. “But what I have to say for myself is that before I met you, I was really, really lonely. Every day. All day. Constantly. I did things I don’t think I would have done if I’d been happy, but I wasn’t. Happy. I was overwhelmed and anxious, and I felt like a mannequin. Like no one saw me.”
