Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Then…
I see him.
My stomach flips. He lies on a bench, holding a bar over his body before bringing it down and pumping it back up, again and again. His long legs are bent, his shoes on the ground, and even though he’s wearing a lot more clothes than the other men here, I can’t stop staring at everything but his face. Built chest under the hoodie. Narrow waist. Toned shoulders and strong arms. The muscles on the top of his thighs bulge just a little under the black pants.
The wall separates us again, and when there’s a break, I glance quickly, seeing him replace the bar and sit up. He rises, grabs his towel, and lifts his head, meeting my eyes.
My heart plummets into my stomach.
Oh my God.
Lucas?
I look away, disappearing behind another wall and entering the other side of the gym.
My chest hurts. I stop, tapping my earbud to pause the music as I step through the entrance to another workout area. I stagger a little over to the water fountains on the wall and bend over, pressing the button. I drink, wetting my parched throat.
What the hell?
How can he be here? How can he be here for even an hour without me hearing it from someone?
But he’s just working out like he’s been here for days.
I stand upright, wiping off my mouth. Did he recognize me?
I should say ‘hi,’ I guess. I grew up with him, even if I was way younger.
After college, he worked with Fallon as an architect before transferring out of the country all those years ago to build skyscrapers in Dubai.
I was thirteen when he moved abroad, and his baseball cap is all I have left. I traded him my compass for it on his last night in town. Does he still have the compass? I guess he wouldn’t be wearing it. I dip my head down to hide the hat, my cheeks warming with embarrassment.
But I catch myself in the mirror behind the fountain. My hair’s a mess, makeup’s gone, and I’m sweating already. Thankfully, my tired eyes are hidden under the bill of the cap.
No, it’ll be awkward. This isn’t how I imagined seeing him again.
I walk to one of the Pelotons and climb on. Starting a Lanebreak workout, I mute the music and just follow the designated pacing and resistance while I absently read the headlines floating across the bottom of the TV screen above. Through my earbuds I hear barbells clanging and feet pounding the treadmills, and I almost settle into a pace until he passes behind me with a friend.
“Come on, cardio,” his buddy says.
His friend jumps on the treadmill on my left, Lucas taking the one on the other side of his friend. I pedal hard, glancing at them both in the mirror on the wall in front of us. His friend turns his head toward me, his short dark hair falling over his brow. He wears black shorts and a gray, sleeveless T-shirt with the sides cut out, showing off his tanned muscular arms and pecs.
Is that…Lance?
He turns to Lucas on his other side. “I fucking hate working out at night,” he says. “What do you do with the endorphins when you leave?”
Lucas doesn’t reply. Guess it was a rhetorical question. I keep facing forward, minding my own business.
Lance is an old friend of Lucas’s from college. I saw him maybe once or twice growing up, but Lucas kept his friend group largely separate.
“I need my wife,” his friend remarks with a smirk as he jogs. “Thank God, I married a woman with as much energy as me.”
“Girl,” Lucas corrects him. “You married a girl ten years younger than you.”
“I had to cast a wider net to find my soulmate.”
They obviously think my earbuds are on and that I can’t hear.
And if he’s the same age as Lucas, then his wife is older than me. That’s not a girl.
His friend is right, though. I hate working out at night. It takes longer to calm down when I go home and try to sleep.
Lucas taps his earbud. “Lucas Morrow.”
My stomach swims up to my heart, hearing him say his name. My hands almost slip off the handlebar, but I wipe the sweat from my palms onto my shorts and refasten my fingers around the bike. I hide my smile.
Why didn’t I know he was here? He didn’t stay in touch, walked away from us as if he just wanted to keep his eyes forward and the past in the past, but...we were all so close once. Wouldn’t he want to see me?
Why would he, I guess. I was just a kid. He’d probably be more interested in looking up an old girlfriend first.
His friend continues to run next to me, Lucas listening to the other end of his call.