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But why does it still bother me?

I finish washing my hands and return to the main part of Gold’s Gym, the Mecca here in Venice. This place has it all, including every machine imaginable. Beyond that, I swear the energy swirling in here from fitness legends past makes me work harder.

Briefly closing my eyes, I thank my body for another good workout. After all, I’m young, but I’m not immune to muscle tears and joint pain. Another workout means another day to make my body and mind stronger—I’ll take as many as I can get.

I glance to my left and right, but Jason is nowhere to be found.

Checking my phone, I see a message from him that says he’s waiting outside in the car. I roll my eyes and adjust the strap of the bag on my shoulder with one hand and dab at my forehead with my towel in the other.

As I emerge into the large parking lot, the sun beams down on my flushed face as if to warn me it’s the beginning of summer. Like I didn’t already know.

Drained, I make my way to his truck, my legs stiff. Couldn’t he have at least driven to the front door to pick me up? I’m not incapable of walking, although my leg workout might beg to differ, and I’m not the high-maintenance kind to demand constant chivalry, butdamn.

What is going on with him?

I slow my pace as a sinking feeling settles at the bottom of my stomach.

He doesn’t want to be seen with me.

I’m the one who suggested we keep our relationship a secret. Since we started dating, I’ve referred to him as “Gym Bae” online, and it’s taken off, much to my surprise.

All I wanted was a little privacy. Before Jason, my dating life was more unreliable than my dad’s Pontiac Trans Am. The pile of metal is older than I am.

I didn’t anticipate how popular the whole secret boyfriend thing would get. I especially didn’t plan on creating a whole brand around the idea, but people seem more intrigued by this mystery than they are the three prisoners who escaped from Alcatraz in the sixties.

I’ve started offering merchandise with a #GymBae logo, and it sells like crazy. At first, I handled all the orders myself, but I eventually had to contact a third party to ship them since my condo was beginning to look like a warehouse.

After a mishap with the first company and a shipment of inappropriate misprints—rookie mistake on my part—I found the right one to take my business to the next level.

This thing with Jason has been an ongoing trend to have fun with my followers, and their wild guesses always make me smile. It’s hard not to when they comment with anyone from married celebrities like Chris Pratt to local bodybuilders.

But last week, I started receiving messages and comments from long-time followers that they’re growing impatient. Some even insinuated it was all a lie to drive more traffic to my page and website.

Although it’s not a ruse, it’s been hard to argue with them. Honestly, I agree that the mystery has run its course, and when I told Jason as much last week, I expected him to be thrilled that we didn’t have to continue being vague and coy online. I believed becoming publicly exclusive would help his following grow too, but even that didn’t sway him.

He insisted we keep our relationship between us. His own half a million followers don’t know he’s dating anyone at all, and when I tried to talk to him about it, he kissed my neck the way I like and distracted me.

When I reach Jason’s truck, I barely have the strength left to hobble into the seat. “You couldn’t pick me up? My legs are toast.”

After he finishes typing on his phone, he winks at me and finally says, “You skipped cardio today, so it did you some good, right?”

I raise my eyebrows and throw my head against the back of my seat as we drive out of Venice Beach toward Santa Monica, the palm trees along the way tall and comforting.

Once we stop in the parking lot close to my condo, more sweat has accumulated on my back, and I’m in desperate need of a bath. A smoothie for energy. And I’m overdue for a massage, which sounds fantastic right about now.

Hoisting my bag up, I jump out of the truck, but Jason doesn’t follow. He’s on his phone again, and when he does look up, he wiggles his eyebrows. “Want to shower together?”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why?” He shrugs, then turns the truck off, and without the added rumble of the engine, my heart pounds even louder in my ears.

“I have work to do. Maybe I’ll see you later.” Scoffing, I slam the door shut.

I march up to my front door, passing the vibrant colors of my flower bed on the way. They usually put me in a good mood, which is why I planted them in the first place, but they’re not doing much for me now.

And my mood worsens when I hear Jason’s truck rev up again right before he drives away. Did I actually think he’d follow me inside and apologize for being an asshole today?

He’s always joked around and made sexy requests, which I used to find charming, but something’s off.

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