Page 8 of Sweet Caroline
It’s still weird to hear him say he’s divorced. At least it was amicable—which is also weird, to me anyway. I’ve never managed to stay friends with an ex.
“Okay,” I say, lifting my chin. “Catch you… what, Thursday, I guess?” Gus’ shift work always fucks with my head. I don’t know how he copes with working twenty-four hours straight.
“Yeah. Send me a selfie or something when you get here tomorrow.”
I do a mock salute in response.
“And not a pic of your ass this time, dipshit.” He chucks me on the shoulder and heads for the shower.
“You said you wanted proof I got my ass to the gym!” I call after him, but he doesn’t look back.
Gus could work out at the station instead, but he knows the accountability is good for me, so he tags along whenever he can swing it. Plus, we both have physical jobs; working out together keeps us on our game—and helps keep me sober.
I unlock my phone and pull up the Lump-sized lobster costume I found online, tapping my way through the checkout.Something to celebrate their bachelorhood? Honestly, any excuse to dress up that ridiculous fucking cat. I double-check I got the biggest size, make sure the shipping address is set to Gus’ house, and place the order.
Lumpster. Nice.
Beside me, the moaner drops his weights with a loud crack and I flinch. My amusement instantly evaporates when I watch him walk off without wiping down his machine, because of course he fucking doesn’t. I clench my fists, then let go.
The guy’s probably in his twenties but has kind of a dad-bod going on. Curly blond hair sticks out from under a newsboy cap—of all fucking things to wear to the gym. He doesn’t seem like your average gym rat. I hope with every fiber of my being that means I won’t have to put up with his weird bullshit again tomorrow—sounding like he’s gonna come in his pants on the damn treadmill.
Reminding myself to focus on my workout, I scroll through my playlists.
I’m pulling my headphones back up when I catch sight of a blonde near one of the stationary bikes across the room. I haven’t seen her here before; I’d definitely remember her if I had.
You know that phrasea sight for sore eyes? I’m suddenly living it. Everything offensive around me dulls, my senses now tuned to supple curves and long, toned legs. I let out a slow exhale.Fuck me, she’s got a nice pair of legs.
But she also looks like she probably spent more on that fancy-ass water bottle dangling from her manicured fingers than I did on whatever random T-shirt and shorts I grabbed on the way out the door. I glance down to double-check my shirt isn’t on inside-out. Thankfully, I seem to have had two functional brain cells to rub together when I zombie-lurched out of bed this morning.
Catching myself staring, I thumb at my phone and crank my music, now needing to drown out two very different distractions.But I’ve barely finished one set of lunges when the moaner rolls up beside me again and grabs a couple twenty-pound dumbbells, setting up at the bench to my right.
Lord, give me the strength.
I get through another set of ten reps before letting my attention wander again to the stationary bike. Well, technically, to the bike’s current occupant.
Her curly hair is tied up in one of those on-purpose messy buns girls do, with little ringlets framing her face in all the perfect places. It’s lessI woke up like thisand moreI spent an hour in the mirror getting this right. One neon yellow sports bra strap peeks out from under a loose-fitting crop top that slips off her shoulder. When she leans forward onto the handlebars, I remind myself not to look down her top. This gym has reached its creeper quota in spades today; I don’t need to bethat guy.
Plus, I’m sure the last thing she wants is some scruffy dumbass like me ogling her. She looks fancy and put-together—my polar opposite.
When the moaner gets back on his bullshit beside me, louder than before, I cut him a wary glance. I have half a mind to say something, but I let it slide; I don’t have the energy to take on a gym creep before six-thirty in the morning. This guy isn’t gonna scare me off, though. I return to my lunges, determined to put my head down and wrap this up so I can get to work.
Finished with my last set, I rack the dumbbells and wipe my brow again, unable to resist flicking my gaze to the bikes as I let my T-shirt drop—and try not to react when I catch a certain someone looking back at me.
She quickly averts her eyes.
We both do, though I can’t suppress a private smirk.
Caught ya.
Focusing on my reflection in the mirror, I stretch my quads, frowning as the moaner ramps up again beside me.
Fuck, buddy. Give it a rest.
I’m determined to block out his weird ass.
Ass.
That girl has a great ass.
