Page 10
Chapter 10
A Hardened Third Leg
Gabe
“Keeping busy, huh?” Indi inhales through her nose as the treadmill speed picks up.
Wiggly eyebrows suggest something I can’t decipher. I take a stab at a response.
“Yeah, you know me: all work, work, work.”
She side-eyes me. “Nice try. Spill.”
The corner of my mouth twists. “Sorry?”
“You’ve been officially dating Wade for three weeks, and I feel like I know more about it from the internet than you two.”
Kinda like we’re making public appearances on purpose.
“Hitting up all the usual haunts: Cafe Jardín, Avec, Au Lait. Holding hands, he’s posting cutesy pictures of you on Instagram…”
Warmth radiates through my palm with a memory of his clasp. I stretch my fingers, then clamp them into a fist before refocusing on running. Even out of my sight, Wade Boehner won’t leave me alone.
“I used to get all the dirty details.”
Don’t think she wants to hear about me frustratedly rubbing myself to sleep.
“No worries,” she says through a pant. “Landon, as it turns out, loves to gossip. My guy gives me all the piping hot tea, sometimes in real-time.”
Doesn’t surprise me. Those two share everything. The man would crawl into her brain and stay there, given the chance. It’s disgusting. And also induces envy.
What is that like? To have someone to share with other than a bed or a body? Having a conversation with Kurt at any sort of emotional depth was like pulling teeth. Everything I gave, he returned in a fraction, and I accepted the bare minimum while he doted on every other woman instead.
Being in love makes you so stupid.
“I bet.”
“Yep, and all I’ve” —she struggles to speak— “heard about” — huff — “for the past two weeks” — huff — “is how you’ve broken every bed in the place.”
“ What !” I whip my head to her.
“Good for you, girl. Get it.”
“You know how it goes” —I shrug and scoff with an uneasy smile, wanting to tell her it’s not what she thinks— “we’re optimizing our time together before going on the road.”
What’s one more lie to top off this Jenga tower?
In reality, Wade’s place has been nothing short of a shipwreck.
We agreed to three nights a week where we make a quick public appearance, post a picture or short clip on social media, and I stay over. Despite promising me the choice of any guest room in the penthouse, disaster has struck one by one.
The first bedroom, furthest away from him, had an uneven bed frame. Like a shady bar’s table where one leg is shorter than the rest. Semiconscious me thought we were hit by an earthquake every time I rolled over.
My drowsy form swayed in the doorway of his bedroom, pillow raised above me, ready to attack the sleeping bastard. I knew it wasn’t technically his fault, but at 1 a.m., I didn’t give a shit.
I shrieked like a banshee and smacked Wade several times. He protected his head with both arms. “What the fuck, Gabe?”
One more slap with the pillow to his stupidly hot face is for good measure. “I thought I was dying!”
“From what? Snoring?”
“Shut up! I don’t snore. The bed is broken.” My feet stomped back to the room and climbed carefully back onto the mattress, hoping fear wouldn’t off me in my sleep.
Plans to have a quiet night in watching The Great British Bake Off alone was a failure. It’s supposed to be a family show, but they’re no better than the hockey team with the constant innuendos. And if that didn’t get me overheated, faulty wiring in the next bed’s mattress pad almost burned the skin off my back.
“Why can’t you replace it?” I chided. “This is the kind of problem easily solved by throwing money at it. Not like you don’t have enough.”
“I would if I could, but my PA tells me these things are on backorder.” Wade groaned and pulled his cover up. “Are you always this difficult, Finch? Just choose another room.”
I almost fell into a black hole in the third bedroom. Some of the bed slats were hanging by a thread, and my ass got sucked in the second I laid down, shooting my limbs up directly into the air like a folded-over Barbie.
“Hold on.”
I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Got it? I’m gonna pull!”
My fist gripped the thick nylon rope attached to the lifesaver, a leftover prop from one of Wade’s infamous theme parties.
The harsh tug launched me right into his arms, and I recovered by shoving him back through the doorway from where he entered.
The fourth bedroom sprung a leak in the washroom and ruined the hardwood. It’s a construction zone now. The planks, padding, and plywood have been ripped out, baring the cement foundation.
“You’re not here that much.” I paced his bedroom length. “And have only owned the place for five years. How is it possible your penthouse is falling apart?”
“Go to sleep, Nancy Drew. You can solve this mystery in the morning.”
I didn’t dare to sleep in the one that stored previously used hockey equipment. It was somehow worse than the locker room and smelled like someone hoarded piles of steaming raccoon shit for no less than a decade. You couldn’t bribe me with a hazmat suit to go in there.
The door immediately snapped shut after a single sniff. My gagging echoed down the hallway.
“Yo!” Wade yelled from his bedroom. “ Cut out the gagging, will ya? Unless you want to be gagged.”
I mocked him, warping my face.
“And in case it wasn’t clear,” he continued. “I meant with my cock!”
After he booked out a movie theater— not one theater, the entire Cineplex —to watch Mean Girls on October third, I was convinced his place was haunted. All four of the bedframe’s legs gave out at once in the sixth bedroom.
“Hey, Pretty Boy, maybe if you spent less time on making your hair wispy and more time selecting quality furniture, I wouldn’t be at Death’s door every time I stay over. With your eight figures, one would think you’d be able to afford nicer stuff.”
Our arguments became a regular occurrence, and I swear he got some sick pleasure from it.
“Me? You keep breaking all my shit! It’s not like I want you closer to me or something.”
“I’m so sure! I bet you’d love to torture me by sharing a bed.”
“Sounds to me like you wanna, Freckles.”
“Please get over yourself.”
“You first.”
We separated in a huff, and I promised myself a long stay at Miraval in the off-season to recuperate from the aggression this man awoke in me.
Now, the only option is the room directly next to his master suite.
Indi’s wheezy complaining snaps me back into the present. “Oh, God. I can’t do this anymore.”
My best girlfriend props her feet up on either side of the moving belt and hits the emergency stop button. When the machine powers down, she dismounts and doubles over, gasping through every breath. “This trip to Italy ruined me,” she says through a pant, shaking her head. “Nothing…in these veins…except arrabbiata. No strength…left, muscles…replaced with…spaghetti cacio e pepe.”
I lower the speed, but she holds up a hand.
“Go on without me.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“Thanks, I have a lot on my mind and?—”
She interrupts before I finish. “ Awww , you miss Wade. I knew you two would be good together.”
“ Uh-huh. ” My nostrils flare in disbelief. “Sorry, are you the same Indi who insulted my boyfriend when we announced we were dating?”
My boyfriend?
Oh, no.
“I was shocked, okay? It’s weird thinking about Wade in that way. He’s like” —she waves a hand around seeking the words— “that dog on Instagram who’s called ‘a humper’, but he’s not ashamed about it. I know he’s a good guy, but you’re my best friend. I wasn’t gonna stand by and watch you get hurt again.”
He can’t hurt me. We’d have to like each other first.
Water lines Indi’s lower lids with the threat of falling. A lump swells in my throat. She better quit. We can’t be crying at the gym.
“And then I saw this.” She pulls up a screenshot on her phone and zooms in on an image from our short interview-date-thing at Cafe Jardín. Chin rested in his palm; Wade’s dreamy gaze is fixed on my side profile as I speak to the waitstaff. “He’s crazy in love with you.”
Pinpricks sprawl across every inch of my exposed skin. She couldn’t be more wrong.
“Gabe?” Indi halts my incoming dissociation, using the safety rail to straighten and bore into my soul with her giant, round eyes. “Are you in love with him?”
Absolutely not . But I can’t say that. And I can’t say yes, either. What if it comes true?
I play it cool. “ Pfft . Please. It’s not that serious. We’re having fun getting to know each other better.”
At least the latter half of the statement is true. Wade Boehner is not at all who I thought he’d be.
“ Sure . You can deny it all you want, but I have all the evidence I need, my little lovesick friend.”
I lose my pace when I fake-gag, sending me flying off my machine.
She turns green and grasps her stomach. “ Ugh , don’t do that. I’m gonna be sick.”
“Sorry.” I offer a swig from my water bottle and rub her back as she accepts and takes a few pulls. “What’s going on with you? Your stomach has been extra messed up lately.”
Indi shakes her head. “It’s all the rich European food I ate on vacation. And between summer training camps and the start of the girls’ season, I haven’t been able to go home and eat mom’s home-cooked food. I’m desperate for some of those desi spices to clean the system out.”
“ Oof . That’s rough.”
She groans. “I think I hear a bench by the lockers calling my name.”
“Are you gonna be okay on your own? I was gonna hit up the basketball courts before my training session.” I mime a fadeaway. “But I can come with you and then go back?—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be fine, go.”
“Text me if you’re dying?”
“My hero,” she croons, clasping her hands to her shoulder and lifting her pitch, swooning like Olive Oyl, then beelines to the changing room, still rubbing her belly.
Every court except one is occupied by groups playing three-on-three. I grab a ball and dribble it back, the squeaking of sneakers and noisy trash talk fading away to nothing except my breath. Basketball never fails to empty my mind.
A couple of bank shots follow easy layups before I get into a rhythm and make a clean shot through the net. “Swish, swish, baby,” I whisper into my victory fist before taking the ball beyond the point. The success is short-lived because when I put up a three-pointer, a voice breaks my focus.
“Bro, look, it’s Stephanie Curry.”
Four men approach as the ball bounces off the rim and into one moron’s hands. Discomfort knots my stomach.
“Funny.” I roll my eyes and ready my hands, waiting to receive the stolen basketball. “Pass it back.”
“Sorry.” He tosses it to a taller friend, who passes it over my head to another. “We’ve got this court booked.” Face leaning into mine, he gives me a grimy smile. “But you can cheer us on if you’d like.”
I could hustle these fools if I wanted, but I have better things to do.
“No, thanks.” I give them a facetious thumbs up. “Enjoy.”
It’s not worth it to argue with douches like them. At least with Wade, it’s a fair fight.
Turning to hide my clenched-shut eyes, I grimace.
Why am I thinking about him again?
“Hey, wait. Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Their fourth man calls after me.
“Doubt it!” I throw over my shoulder.
“ Yoooo , that’s Gabe Finch!” The tallest one punches Moron Number Two in the arm as the door clunks open underneath my push. “She’s that CSN chick who covers hockey games. You know, the one dating the Regents’ tendy.”
“ Aw , man!” Their groans echo behind me. “We could’ve gotten a signed jersey or tickets or something.”
“Too bad, so sad. Shoulda thought of that before you were dicks to me,” I say to my watch, where a message from my boss pops up.
Mel
Boehner’s Instagram posts are so cute!!
Great. Another Pretty Boy fan. Just what the world needs.
Mel
He’s such a charmer
I huff.
Me
You like him so much, why don’t you date him?
Mel
Hilarious. You’re hilarious.
Mel
And I would, but he’s taken ;)
Barf.
I stop myself from typing anything else.
As if the Devil knew he was summoned, Wade’s text appears.
Pretty Boy
Heyyyyy girlfriend, wyd??
Me
None of your business.
Pretty Boy
Tell me anyway, Freckles
Me
I'm at the gym, if you must know. Do you need something?
Pretty Boy
Running!!
Me
That was earlier. I’m about to lift.
When there’s no reply, I give myself a smug nod. Good riddance.
My trainer, Justin, touches his toes in a corner of free space on the right side from the free weights area and waves me over. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb mode and slip it into the deep leggings pocket on my thigh.
“Morning!” He pulls me into a hug.
I’m always skeptical of people who are chipper before having coffee and a workout. Like, how? Have they taken some sort of supplement that alters their brain chemistry? I’ve been waking up before dawn since high school, but the serotonin never hits until after I break into a sweat.
“We’ll start with calisthenics, then head to the floor and do deadlifts.”
“Sounds good.”
I get on my hands and knees to stretch out my wrists, then hop to my feet, rotating my shoulders while Justin finds an open rack.
“You think you can do sets of ten today?”
I shake my arms and eye the pull-up bar above me, adjusting the strap of my sports bra. These itty bitties won’t escape anyway, but it’s a habit. “I did eight last week…”
Two thumbs go up in reply. “You got this.”
Yeah, I got this. I’m fake dating Wade Boehner. I can do anything.
The first five are cake. The following three are increasingly difficult, and I’m almost ready to drop.
I wasn’t raised to be a quitter, though.
Sweat trickles down my arms, and into the bra fabric as I hang at rest, ankles crossed behind my bent knees mid-air. Every breath strains exiting my lungs. My head drops back until the ends of my ponytail tickle the spine on my lower back. I lift it again to shake out a no to my trainer’s reflection in the floor-to-ceiling wall mirror.
“Not happening.” I heave.
Justin straightens from his squat to spot me.
“Push through it,” he encourages from behind. “C’mon. Up.”
Each muscle in my arms tense and tremble. The veins in my neck bulge, all the tendons terrifyingly taut as I get stuck halfway, too stubborn to give up and too tired to move. Justin’s hands hover over my hips, not quite touching me.
“A little more, keep going— oof !”
Out of nowhere, Justin stumbles to the side, replaced by an unamused-looking Wade Boehner. Before I can scream at him, his hands flank mine around the bar. He positions under me, thighs pressed into the backs of mine. They’re firm. Warm. And there’s a hardened third leg at the ass-seam of my leggings.
Don’t get distracted. It’s a penis. Not like you remember how big it is or how it felt inside of you.
At the top of the pull-up, I face where his chin rests in the crook of my shoulder.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell through a hush.
He replies at the same volume. “Helping you through your last reps.”
“Why are you here?”
“Kept thinking about your ass in leggings. Had to run here and see if it lived up to my imagination.”
He’s not wrong. What I lack in boobs, I make up for in butt. It’s the only curve I have. I lower slowly, the scorching burn in my lats traveling down their attached triceps. “What’s the verdict?”
His lips meet the shell of my ear, searing the skin and spreading the burn southward. “If you want a compliment, Freckles, just ask.”
A grumble vibrates in my throat. “You’re a jerk for pushing Justin.”
“ Justin was about to touch you.”
“This will be number ten,” Justin calls out, confusion circling his tone.
“He’s my trainer,” I grit through my teeth, pouring whatever strength is left into the last lift. Calluses threaten my palms.
“Ask me if I care, Freckles.” The man is thoroughly unfazed by doing pull-ups. He hasn’t missed a beat or lost track of his breath. I, on the other hand, am huffing so hard you’d think we were doing something else. “New rule: while we’re together, no one gets to touch you like this but me. No one ,” he breathes past my ear.
The descent is nothing short of agonizing. Physically, I’m spent. Sexually, I’m so frustrated I could cry. Emotionally, I’m angry at myself for allowing this level of desperation.
A silent, wide-eyed Justin stands frozen to one side as my stupid fake boyfriend keeps me stable. Wade spreads a palm across my bare stomach as the tips of my toes meet the floor, and I remove my grip from the bar.
“Nice work, babe ,” he announces, wrapping his other arm around me, too.
I want to escape his hold and run, but we’ve garnered too much attention. Too many eyes follow us.
My arms layer naturally over his, shoulders rising against the bristling stubble of Wade’s chin. “ Thaaaaanks .” I’m not sure the attempt at masking my disdain with singsong is working. “I didn’t expect you here.”
“Had a couple hours before practice and was missing you.” He releases me, but only to curl an arm around my neck, trapping my ponytail under his elbow.
“Wade Boehner.” He extends a hand.
Justin accepts with a firm shake. “Justin Liu.”
“Do you mind if I steal her away for a second?”
“Be my guest.”
Wade tugs me by the neck. “Let’s go.”
There’s no time to argue before he’s marching us toward the changing rooms. “I like your ponytail. It’s so pretty.” His fingers twirl the ends.
I glare and tip my chin up. “I bet. You have a thing for pulling them?”
“Maybe.” An unusual, soft smile replaces his smirk. “Wanna braid it, too.”
There’s that sinking guilt again. The one that roils in my belly every time Wade dissipates whatever assumption I have of him.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Freckles?” He backs me into the wall next to the water bottle filling station, sweeping his tongue across his lower lip. “Say it on three. One, two, three.”
We blurt in chorus.
“You braiding my hair?—”
“—Kissing you.”
Uh oh.