Page 30 of Faking Summer
"Thank you. I take pride in my eat-whatever-I-want diet. But, I'll see you later?" she asked, stepping off the machine.
"Yeah," I answered, my breath catching as I slowed the pace on my treadmill. "I'm going to run a bit longer, but I'll get out of here soon."
She nodded and grabbed her water bottle, then turned away. I let my focus narrow back to the screen in front of me, hoping to beat the goal I reached yesterday.
And thenhecame.
It was subtle at first—the sly way he slid into place on the machine next to mine. He wore a simple black hoodie pulled over his head, and still somehow it accentuated his broad shoulders. His dark sweatpants clung to the contours of his legs. And as he began to walk, I didn't even have to see his face to know who it was.
"What are you doing here, Reese?"
When I side eyed him, I saw that the hair peeking out of his hood was damp, like he’d just been through some intense workout. "You're in the Blue Devils’ gym," he said, smugly. "You know I work out here."
"Well, the committee gets to work out here too, but why are you at the treadmill next to me when there's a dozen others?"
"Aren't we dating?" His large hand gripped the side of his machine. "Or has it not started yet? How does this work exactly?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never fake dated anyone before."
"Well," he began, his voice smooth for being on a treadmill, "shouldn't I have your number at least?"
He flashed that dangerous grin of his. A part of me wanted to tell him hell no, to guard the sanctity of my private life from the intrusion of this man who was never up to any good. But another part of me—the one that recognized I would probably need his number at some point knew he was right.
“Do you really need it?" I countered, my breath uneven. "I'll be training your sister every Tuesday and Thursday. I can keep you updated on our arrangement when I see you."
Reese's stride didn't falter next to me; the slow, confident way he walked was aggravatingly composed. He turned his head, green eyes catching the fluorescent lights overhead, making them glow emerald.
"Did you tell your parents about 'us' yet?"
"I was actually going to talk to them when I got home… but knowing my sister, I'm sure she already told them something, and they're definitely going to want to meet you."
"Lucky for you, parents love me," he said, casually. And of course they did. Reese had the kind of charm that could disarm a Navy SEAL.
"We’ll see. You've never met mine."
"Stop underestimating me," he said, narrowing his eyes. He stretched his long arm across my machine, slamming his fist down on one of the control buttons. The belt jerked to a halt beneath myfeet, forcing me to grab onto the handrails to keep from stumbling forward.
"What the hell?" I blurted out, my balance wavering as much as my composure. But Reese, unfazed by my annoyance, simply slid his phone out of his hoodie pocket and held it out.
"Number," he demanded.
I snatched the phone from him, my fingers tapping aggressively on the screen. My frustration clawed its way up my throat as I punched in the digits. "Here," I said, shoving the phone back into his hand, our fingers brushing for a moment. "But I don’t know if I can actually go through with this."
He pocketed his phone, his eyes locked on mine. For a fleeting second, I allowed myself to really look at him—to take in the sharp jawline and the intense green eyes that seemed to see right through me.
The flash of dimple in a self-assured grin was the last thing I expected. "You'll be alright," Reese said, the words rolling off his tongue with that hint of humor. With a tilt of his head, he added, "I'll text you later."
Without waiting for my response, he brought his water bottle to his lips, tilting it back as he gave me a final glance. The muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed, a simple act that somehow captured the essence of him—smooth, controlled, effortlessly powerful.
As he walked away, I was struck by the way he just… got exactly what he wanted. And I was powerless against it.
At home, I stepped through the front door and tossed my keys onto the keyholder. My mother was nestled in her favorite armchair, the soft glow from her reading lamp hovered over her as she read her latest romantasy novel. My father's attention was consumed by the TV screen.
"We haven't seen much of you lately," my mother said without looking up.
"I know," I confessed, adjusting the purse on my shoulder. "I've had committee stuff. And my schedule is full at the dance center."She sipped her tea, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, ponderous and assessing, even as she maintained her focus on the book before her. The dance center had become my sanctuary, a place where rhythm and movement drowned out anything else.
"Uh huh," she murmured, her response carrying a note of skepticism. "Your sister seems to think something is going on with you and Reese Carrington," she said casually. "But I told her there's no way that's true."
