Page 20 of Give My Everything
The thing I like about cycling is that I get to be around other people, but I don’t have to talk to them. I just put in some headphones and people leave me alone.
Maybe it makes me weird that I want to be around people and not engage with them, but it’s what I like.
Which is why I got a membership at Jim’s Gym.
It started as a joke back in the seventies, a small-time club for a group of friends who wanted a private place to get together to work out without having to deal with interruptions. The man who opened it was James Tillman, hence the name.
It didn’t take long for Jim’s Gym to become an exclusive, invitation-only kind of establishment everyone wanted access to since Hermosa Beach is what it is—a place completely consumed with status.
I might not put a lot of stock in that exclusivity shit, but Idovalue select services that help me manage what little time I have free for exercise.
Which is why I find myself at Jim’s five or six days a week. Three days of cycling, two days of muscle toning, and Saturdays I allow myself to just enjoy my own time on a bike outside of any expectation.
I’m usually able to crank up my music and turn off the outside world. My mind goes blank and I can just enjoy the noisy solitude of my workout.
Today, though, all I can think about is last night with Remmy. That kiss. The way she looked at me afterward.
I stretch my arms over my head, my legs moving slowly as I finish the cooldown and allow myself a chance to look around the gym.
It’s early for a Saturday—only a few minutes after six—so there aren’t many people around. The other members are scattered here and there, jogging on treadmills, lifting weights. The first group class of the morning just started, a yoga class in a room with a huge glass wall.
I’ll admit, I generally avoid working out at this time because I know I’ll be watching a group of women stretch and flex through that wall, which the bikes face, and I don’t have time to be distracted by women or their bodies.
I have too much on my mind, and time in the gym is supposed to be the single hour each day when I can focus on exercise, enjoying the exertion and thinking about nothing else. Too bad Remington Wallace and her delicious fucking lips were on my mind the entire ride.
I kept that kiss chaste for a reason. The last thing I need is for there to be messy emotions between us. Even emotions that arise solely from something physical need to stay firmly tucked away. But that kiss…Shit.
Her lips tasted like the grapes she spent the entire evening nibbling on. Grapes and sparkling water.
When we were texting earlier in the evening, she made it sound like she was pretty much on board.
Let’s talk.That’s all she sent to me.
Are you accepting?
She responded an hour later.Heading to the club for an event with my family. I still need some convincing.
It sounded kind of flirtatious, like she was into it but just wanted me to jump all in.
So, I tracked her down and convinced her.
Clearly I went about it the wrong way if I’m to take at face value her emotional response to me showing up at the annual Wallace Media function and telling her mother we’re dating.
I’m just…not used to people not agreeing with me, especially when I know for an absolute fact that something is the right choice. Which this is. For both of us.
I knew I’d need to apologize if I wanted to turn things around and get us back on a level playing field, but when I prepared to give her the apology—the one-offSorry, it won’t happen again—the very basic words evaporated.
Looking at her as she paced the foyer, emotion brimming from her every nerve and vein and pore…I knew it wasn’t enough. Whatever was going on inside her mind was…I don’t know. Something bigger. Her response was more filled with feeling than I had ever anticipated, and a bullshit response wasn’t going to cut it.
So Ididn’tapologize. I didn’t promise to never do it again, because that would be a lie. I know myself. I know I can’t make an assurance like that and expect anyone to actually believe it.
Instead, I said exactly what I was thinking. I tried to make sure she believed me when I said I regretted how I approached the start to that evening and assured her I’d try not to do it again without talking to her.
Because those are words I mean.
Those are words that are true.
And if Remmy and I are going to be in a relationship like this one—where almost everything is a lie—the truth has to be something we cling to, for our own sanity.
