Page 62 of Sin With Me

“No, it’s not,” I scoff.

“No, seriously.” His eyes dart from my reflection to his camera set up on a tripod across from us. “Your form is slipping, Ro. Get it together. You’ll embarrass me.”

“No, I fucking won’t because you’re not posting me on your social media,” I grunt, tossing the dumbbell to the floor next to the bench.

“Uh, yes I am. The two of us together are like influencer gold.”

With a grin for his fans, Chase slowly lifts his form-fitting tank over his head with one hand, flexing every muscle in his body as he does it. Using it to wipe some barely-there sweat from his forehead, he winks at the camera before turning back to me.

“And for the tenth time, you aren’t better at lifting just because you do it in front of a camera.” I don’t know why I keep arguing, besides the fact I enjoy pissing Chase off.

“I know a hell of a lot more than you.” He gestures to his bare chest. “Obviously.”

I roll my eyes and snatch up my water bottle from the floor. “You forget who it is that taught you how to lift in the first place, fucker.”

Chase wiggles his eyebrows at me and steps up to the squat rack. “Ah, but I’m the one who gets paid for it. I’m practically a professional worker-outer, now.”

“You get naked and take pictures of your abs. That’s not a career.” I know I’m goading him right now and I don’t give a fuck. The more I can get Chase to talk about himself, the less likely he is to talk about me.

“I make twenty times what you make annually, and I work thirty percent less. I’d say I’m the winner in this situation.”

He’s not wrong.

Tattooing, especially in a place like Mammoth, isn’t likely to have me retiring comfortably anytime soon, but I make decent money. No two days are ever the same. My clients are great, for the most part. Deliverance is a badass place to work. Besides, Kon is not only a great boss, but a good friend. A father-figure.

I’ll never leave.

Not to mention, I genuinely love what I do.

“I’m right.” Chase smirks, noticing I’ve gone quiet. I just glare at him.

“I’m still a better worker-outer than you,” I grumble, picking up the weight again.

He gasps, clutching his chest. Such a drama queen. “Did you just say worker-outer? Hell, Ro. That’s not even a real word.”

My mouth drops open.

“You said it first!” Shaking my head, I turn back to the mirror. Fuck. We spend too much time together. “Never mind. Leave me alone.”

“No can do.” He grins. Despite myself, my lip twitches.

“Sure as fuck can and will.”

“We’ve been here before,” he muses, shoving my shoulder. I roll my eyes, the stupid grin I’d been holding back finally slipping some.

“I recognize that tree.”

“God, I love you.” I bark out a laugh at his happy sigh. “You’re the only one that quotes Gilmore Girls with me.”

“Only because you’ve forced me to watch it at least a thousand times since I met you,” I groan. He smirks, uncaring of the torture I’ve endured on his behalf. “Besides, Oli quotes shit with you all the time.”

“Not correctly,” he scoffs.

Moving the weight to my left hand, I get into position to repeat the curl with my opposite arm. We’ve been here for a half hour already. Normally, I’d stay for another hour or two. Sometimes, lifting to the point of exhaustion is the only thing that quiets my mind.

Unfortunately, it’s Saturday. Which means, not only did I work ten hours today, and my workout is getting cut short, but we’re throwing a party tonight at the loft.

Correction—Chase is throwing a party.

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