Page 2 of Ripped

“Yeah, unit 3B?”

“That’s me. Connor Hill.”

He checks my name against the info he has, then hands over the heavy bag of food. I can already smell the delicious aromas of the tacos, and my mouth waters as I go inside. I’m starving. Miles had damn well be ready to eat when I get up there because I’m not about to wait for him to start.

The climb up to the third floor isn’t fun on a normal day, but on spin days, it’s murder. Not gonna lie, I have to stop a couple times to wait out the stinging in my muscles. By the time I make it up to the apartment Miles and I share, I’m this close to eating my tacos while collapsed on the floor.

“Babe!” I call out as the door swings shut behind me. “Food’s here!”

There’s a commotion in the bedroom like Miles is stumbling around and cursing under his breath.

“Babe, you okay in there?”

No response. In fact, it’s gone silent. I’m about to poke my head into the bedroom to make sure he isn’t dead when the bathroom door opens behind me. Wait, what? Isn’t Miles in the bedroom?

“Oh, fuck.”

I turn to find Miles standing in the bathroom doorway, wearing nothing but a towel and a look of shock.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, even as my stomach starts to sink.

Miles’s gaze flits over my shoulder and his eyes burgeon at what he sees.

“Hey, Connor.”

The voice is familiar but there’s something off about the way it sounds. I spin around. Wyatt, my best friend from film school, is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s straightening his sweater like he’s pulled it on in a hurry. His hair is standing up on end.

Was Wyatt supposed to come over today? I don’t remember him mentioning anything.

On my left, Miles looks like he’s about to have a panic attack. On my right, Wyatt looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. My stomach is somewhere around my knees, but wait—don’t jump to conclusions.

There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why they’re acting so weird. This isn’t the first time I’ve come home to find Wyatt at our place. He’s never needed an invitation to drop by. We’ve all known each other long enough that Miles and Wyatt consider themselves friends and they hang out without me all the time when I’m busy.

Except their matching guilty faces look so fucking guilty.

“What’s—” The rest of the sentence dies on my tongue. My stomach plummets out of my body. Miles and Wyatt exchange wide-eyed horrified stares that speak so many volumes, they’re practically shouting.

I think I laugh. My precious tacos definitely go splat on the floor. Disbelief roars in my ears and I barely hear one of them say, “Connor, we can explain. Connor, wait!”

I’m already halfway out the door. Maybe if I run backward fast enough, I can rewind the last five minutes and pretend I didn’t see what I saw.

I crash into a wall while flying down the stairs. I trip over myself at some point and a slight twinge flashes through my ankle. I run past someone and almost knock them over. I don’t stop until the cold wind is biting at my cheeks again.

What. The fuck. Just happened? Am I dreaming? Did I take something and now I’m hallucinating? Is this some kind of sick, twisted joke?

If I turn around and go back upstairs, they’ll be ROFL-ing and yelling “April fools” or some shit. Or better yet, it’ll just be Miles, pouring cheap boxed wine with Drag Race all cued up on the TV. He’ll smile and give me a kiss and we’ll settle down on the couch with our dinner. That is how this evening is supposed to go. Not whatever crap that’s left me on a darkened sidewalk in the middle of the night.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I scramble to pull it out.

Miles: Babe, come back. Please. It’s not what you think.

Wyatt: Connor, I’m really sorry. We need to talk.

Nope. No fucking way. Absolutely not. My hands tremble as I shut the phone off and stuff it into my pocket again. I am not going back up there. Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

Their faces. Fuck, their faces are burned into my fucking retinas. Guilty, but not the right kind of guilty. Mortified that they’d gotten caught, but not sorry for fucking each other behind my back.

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