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Page 57 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

“But?” he asks in a tone gentler than I deserve.

“But…you didn’t quit yoga.” I’m all over the place. I’m not even sure what I’m talking about anymore.

“You’re saying it was because I kept showing up? Because I remember it a little different.”

The urge to banter rises, but I push it down. Now is certainly not the time.

“What did you really come here to talk about?” I ask instead.

He slides his palms firmly down his thighs. “Do you consider us broken up?”

The question surprises me enough that I momentarily forget how to make words. “Um…y-yes?”

“I don’t,” he says, and this time my vision goes hazy. I set the wine aside for now.

He continues. “So, Rachel came to bitch me out the other day?—”

“I’m—”

He holds up his hand, and I immediately shut up. “I let her. She’s entitled to her opinion, and I know how to take criticism. And advice. But this isn’t about what she said—it was this amateur fight rule I thought about.”

I must look as confused as I feel because he slows down to explain.

“So it happens when one person is totally dominating the other person—or I guess I should say—the ref thinks that’s what’s going on.

Like one fighter might still be finding their footing, or they’re slower to warm up, but then the ref calls it—like stops the fight.

No winner gets declared, it’s just done. Doesn’t count. Like it never happened.”

“That sounds really frustrating,” I say carefully.

“It’s incredibly fucking frustrating, and it’s only happened to me once, but I was totally fine to keep going.”

“What’d you do?” I ask.

“Screamed at the ref. Got screamed at back. Anyway, that’s kinda what it felt like the day you came over. Like you were calling it.”

I have to respond to that. “You said it couldn’t work.”

“I didn’t think it could.”

I’m too terrified to ask if that’s changed. If anything has changed. My heart feels like a bruise in my chest, and my throat is closing up.

“But,” he says, “It also didn’t feel over. You know?”

I don’t know whether I nod or shake my head or some awkward combination of both.

“It still doesn’t,” he says softly.

“But you said?—”

“I know what I said, Calyx. And I know how I feel. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do knowing what I know about my dad, but I do get why you wouldn’t want to tell me about it. I really do feel like you liked me. For the right reasons.”

“I really do,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I know. I like you, too. Not just ‘cause you’re pretty.”

I think I knew that, but hearing it matters, too.

“You’re like Beauty, you know. Like it took you a minute to feel comfortable and open up—show me all your behavioral issues and your personality, but once you did, I felt like we kinda bonded.”

“You’re comparing me to a rescue dog. ”

“I mean we’re all kinda like rescue dogs, right? I could say the same thing about myself when I met you.”

I feel like it means something that the unusual metaphors he’s using to make sense of our relationship both revolve around two of the things he loves most. MMA and his dog. “You were friendlier than I was,” I say.

“Well, you don’t set a very high bar for that,” he mutters.

My lips threaten to quirk. Again, though, I can’t let them. I’m about to start feeling hopeful, and I’ve got no business feeling anything like that. Laying it all out on the table, I ask, “How did you find out?”

“I saw a couple of texts on my dad’s phone.”

“All of them?” I ask.

He’s staring at the frozen TV screen now. “No, just enough to be suspicious and ask the question.”

“He used to call me angel, too.”

Samuel’s eyes close and he takes a slow, long breath.

“That’s all,” I say. “That’s the only thing I wanted you to know that I didn’t know if you knew.”

“Okay,” he says. And then, after a long pause, “I guess that was pretty weird.”

“Only the first time,” I say.

“And then?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just felt like it meant more when you said it. And I liked it a lot better.”

“You know I can like—literally never call you that again.”

“I know,” I whisper, finally losing the battle against tears. Only a few slide out. I’m not sobbing or anything. More like I’m watching the end of a sad movie. It’s pitiful.

“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he says.

I roll my eyes to the ceiling and sigh. “Thanks.”

“But I prefer your laugh.”

I nod and wipe my face .

“Anyway, I think it can work,” he says. “If you want it to.”

I don’t ask how because I don’t care how.

I just want it to. If he believes we can move past this together, I want that more than I want anything.

Samuel is the fucking boyfriend lottery with the one red flag, but the green ones are far, far more brilliant.

“I love you like crazy. Of course I want to.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to break up with you. Sorry about that. I just couldn’t deal with it all that day.”

My heart feels frozen mid-beat. “Totally understandable.”

“So can we get back together?” he asks, as simple as that, and I wish it were, but I’m scared.

Nerves twist inside me, and I wipe more tears away. “I have to know you won’t—hold it against me.”

“Hold—? Oh. Calyx…” He reaches for my hand, and I give it to him all too eagerly.

He squeezes hard. “Look. I can’t imagine what your life was like before I met you.

I can’t even imagine what it must be like to look like you.

But I can promise you, if I didn’t have the best time of my life when I’m around you, I wouldn’t be here.

It’s gonna come up for me. Not necessarily that you were with him or whatever, but that I really fucking hate him right now, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. ”

“Valid,” I say quietly.

“Yeah. But no. It won’t be something I throw in your face every time we have a disagreement or whatever. I love you all the way. No one can take that from me. Not even you.”

“I understand if you need more time.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’ve had time. Do you need time?”

“Absolutely not. This has been plenty.”

His hand tightens on mine once again before he lets go. “Okay. Then what I need,” he says standing, “is a drink, a football game, and for you to share that blanket because I’m still really fucking cold. Some food would be cool, too. ”

My reversal of fortune is making the room spin. “I don’t know what’s open.”

“Chinatown is always open.”

I shouldn’t drink any more wine, but I find myself reaching for the glass anyway. “That sounds…good.”

“I’m getting a duck,” he says. “I’ll even carve it for you.”

I let a small smile break through as I watch him walking into the kitchen, scrolling his phone. Exactly where he’s supposed to be. Fuck, I love him so much.

“What else do you want?” he asks.

“All of it,” I say. “One of everything.”

He laughs, and the sound of it echoing off my walls is the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

I know the rules of American football, so I’m not lost in terms of watching the game.

It’s not a particularly high scoring game, which makes it kind of boring, but I have a lot of food to pick through to keep me busy.

However, Samuel’s on the other side of the couch, scarfing food with his eyes glued to the screen.

I never really put much thought into what people look like when they’re eating until I met Samuel.

The first time he was here, ravenously eating a sandwich, was certainly something to behold, and the night he ate the oysters was the first time I ever thought about eating being sexy, but I thought watching him suck and slurp raw oysters was a special circumstance.

Turns out it wasn’t. Watching him shovel food into his mouth using chopsticks better than I ever could is equally compelling.

He chews politely with his mouth closed and occasionally licks his lips.

He gets a cute frown when he’s digging around for his next bite, and it’s a whole thing I find incredibly attractive .

I pour myself another glass of wine, and when I sit back with it, I manage to scoot a few inches closer to him, keeping it subtle, and not quite displacing Siva.

Samuel gets up to reload his plate, and when he returns to the couch, he’s a few inches closer to me, too.

There’s still about eighteen inches between us, and it feels like a fucking mile.

“They need to pull that quarterback,” he says.

“Yeah.”

It’s like the four hundredth interception or something. I could do a better job.

Samuel says, “If he were a baseball pitcher, he would have been long gone by now.”

“Is there a reason they treat quarterbacks different in football?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I assume it’s easier to be a good pitcher than a great quarterback?

That’s my best guess. I mean I get he’s got a lot going on out there—eleven people coming at him at once, but still.

He’s getting paid millions not to embarrass himself, and yet—he just phones it in, and he’ll come back next week calling all the plays and cashing his check. ”

“Hopefully he gets a good, strong talking to in the meantime.”

Samuel huffs. “He should probably stay offline for a few days.”

I half smile. “That too.”

“Are you gonna eat that spring roll?” he asks.

“You can have it.” I hold out my plate.

He slides closer to grab it. “Thanks.”

Another six inches between us is gone. Siva is the only thing separating us now.

As much as I love her, I so badly want to push her—gently—to the floor and curl up against Samuel’s side.

I’m not sure how “back together” we are, though.

He’s my first boyfriend and my first ex-boyfriend, which also makes this my first second chance, and I have no idea what to do with it.

Reminding myself I’m all of those things for him, too, and he’s probably just as confused about what the fuck we’re doing isn’t as comforting a thought as it should be. For all I know, he’s regretting this already.

I put down my plate, too much of a mess to eat any more, and pick up the cat. I set her on my lap, leaving the space between me and Samuel open. As I anticipated, after about thirty seconds of my aggressive petting, she squirms away and walks off toward the chaise beneath the window.

I brush some of her hair off the blanket covering my lap—Samuel never ended up taking any of it because the food got here really fast, and I was opening another bottle of wine and getting some personal business squared away in the bathroom just in case.

I’m starting to wonder if it was all for nothing. Any second now he could decide Beauty’s been home alone too long and take off as quick as Siva did, but I’m not ready to give up yet.

I place my hand on the cushion between us. He swallows a mouthful of food and sets his plate down. “I think I’m appropriately stuffed.” He leans back, one hand on his belly and another very close to mine.

“The duck was good.”

“It was, right? I’ve never had duck before, but I think I’m a fan.”

“You’ve never had it?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“You’re very adventurous, Sam,” I say.

“One of these days I might even try sushi.”

I gasp and turn to him.

He’s grinning. “I knew it. Everybody in California is the same. Fucking obsessed with raw fish. ”

“Because it’s delicious .”

“It’s the concept of it.”

“Just start small and work your way up,” I say. “You’ll like it.”

“Even eel?” he asks.

“Possibly even eel,” I say softly.

I look down at our hands, two inches apart. His knuckles are a mess. They’re never entirely perfect, but he’s got some split skin and fresh bruises. I trace a finger over the scab beneath his ring finger. “Forgot your gloves?”

“Oh. Just uh…doing some closet remodeling.”

“Oh.” I slide my finger off him.

“I’m kidding. I punched some holes in the wall.”

“ Oh .”

“But only in the closet,” he adds.

“I guess that’s…smart?”

“I probably should have just called you,” he says.

I look at him.

He swallows. “It would have helped more to talk.”

“To me?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “You’re very grounding.”

I go ahead and slide my hand into his.

He takes hold. “Missing you sucks.”

“Did you want some blanket?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I scoot the rest of the way closer, putting us hip to hip, and with the hand he’s not holding, I toss some of the plush blanket in the direction of his lap. He spreads it out and pulls his legs onto the couch, angling himself to face me. I do the same. “Hi,” he says with the barest hint of a smile.

“Hey.”

“Sorry I lost my temper.”

“Sorry I…well…you know. ”

His mouth quirks. “Regardless of how it happened, I feel really lucky I got to meet you.”

I nod. “Me too.”

His hand tightens around mine. “And know you.”

“I’m not sure…” Suddenly I’m dangerously close to bursting into tears. I take a shaky breath and finish my thought. “I’m not sure there was much of a me before you.”

His hand catches my face as his forehead meets mine. The tips of our noses graze. “Do you like how you turned out?”

I nod. “A lot. A whole lot.”

“Because if there’s more to you, I’m here for it.”

“I’m here for however you turn out, too.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I want you to call me angel,” I say with more urgency than the moment calls for, but I’m already crying again. “I don’t want anything to change. I loved being your angel.”

“Calyx. Christ.”

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