Page 11 of Price of Victory (The Saints of Westmont U #5)
NINE
RHETT
The gym was nearly empty at ten thirty on a Tuesday night, which was exactly how I liked it.
Just me, the steady rhythm of my feet hitting the treadmill belt, and the sound of rain drumming against the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the far wall.
The campus looked different in the dark, softer somehow, with streetlights creating pools of yellow light that the rain turned into watercolor smears.
I’d been running for twenty minutes, trying to exhaust the restless energy that had been crawling under my skin since practice ended.
The odd, sickly feeling in my chest hadn’t gone away, and my mind kept wandering in directions I didn’t want to examine too closely.
Running usually helped clear my head, but tonight, it felt like I was just going through the motions.
The steady thump of the treadmill was hypnotic, and I let myself zone out, watching the rain streak down the windows while my body found its rhythm.
This was what I needed. Quiet. Space. Time to think about anything except hockey and family drama and the way Aiden Whitmore’s voice had sounded when he’d whispered those words on the ice.
Of course, that’s when I heard footsteps on the treadmill next to mine.
My heart sank with the knowledge that the universe would absolutely do this to me. I didn’t even need to look to know who it was. There was something about his presence that I could feel even before I turned my head, like the air pressure had changed in the room.
But when I did look, my mouth went dry and my heart stuttered against my ribs.
Aiden was stepping onto the machine with that casual grace he brought to everything, and he looked nothing like the perfectly polished version of himself I was used to seeing.
His dark hair was slightly mussed, a lock falling across his left eye in a way that made my fingers literally itch to brush it back.
His workout shirt was one of those sleeveless things with the armholes cut so low it barely qualified as clothing, revealing the lean lines of his torso and the defined muscle of his shoulders every time he moved.
The fabric clung to his chest, damp with the beginning of sweat, and I could catch hints of his cologne mixed with something earthier underneath.
His shorts were trimmed high enough to show off legs that belonged in a fitness magazine, and when he started running, I could see the flex and release of his calves with each stride, the way his thigh muscles bunched and released with hypnotic precision.
Everything about him screamed expensive gym membership and personal trainer, but there was something raw about seeing him like this, slightly sweaty and focused, that hit me harder than it should have. My pulse was already elevated from running, but now it was racing for entirely different reasons.
I was immediately flustered, and I hated myself for it.
I tried to focus on my own run, on the music playing through my earbuds and the rain outside, but I could feel his presence like a magnetic pull.
The sound of his breathing reached me despite the music, steady and controlled at first, then slightly rougher as he pushed himself harder.
When I glanced at his treadmill display, I saw he was running at exactly the same speed I was.
My palms were getting slick with sweat where they gripped the handrails, and I had to wipe them on my shorts. The scent of his cologne was stronger now, mixing with the clean smell of his sweat in a way that made my mouth water despite myself.
Fine. Two could play that game.
I bumped my speed up half a mile per hour, just to see what would happen.
Within thirty seconds, Aiden had matched it.
I increased it again, and again, he kept pace.
We went back and forth like that for another ten minutes, neither of us acknowledging what we were doing but both of us completely aware of the silent competition happening between our machines.
The other students in the gym probably thought we were insane, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. There was something addictive about the challenge, about the way Aiden rose to meet every increase in pace without even glancing in my direction.
When I finally decided I’d had enough cardio, I slowed the machine to a walk and then stepped off, grabbing my water bottle and towel. I was planning to move to the weight area, maybe work through some of the tension in my shoulders with some basic lifting.
Of course, Aiden followed.
I tried to ignore him as I loaded plates onto the bar for the bench press, but it was impossible when he settled at the machine directly across from me. Every time I looked up between sets, he was there, and every time, he was looking back.
The weight room became our arena, a dance of proximity and avoidance that had me wound tighter than I’d been in weeks.
When I moved to the squat rack, he found a reason to use the lat pulldown machine right behind me, and I could hear the controlled exhale he made with each rep, a sound that went straight to my dick.
When he went to work on his arms with free weights, I discovered a sudden need to do shoulder presses at the bench next to his.
We were circling each other like sharks, getting closer and closer but never quite crossing the invisible line that separated us.
I could feel his eyes on me when I thought he wasn’t looking, tracking the movement of my body as I worked through my routine.
The weight of his gaze was almost physical, making my skin prickle with awareness.
And God help me, I was doing the same thing.
I tried not to watch when he was on the bench press, legs spread for balance, but the way his shorts rode up his thighs was impossible to ignore.
I tried not to notice the low grunt he made when he pushed the heavy weight up, the way his muscles moved under his skin when he lifted, the small bead of sweat that traced down his throat and disappeared beneath his shirt.
But my eyes kept drifting back to him, no matter how hard I tried to focus on my own workout.
The rubber grip of the weights felt slick under my palms, and I had to consciously control my breathing to keep from panting like a dog. Every time I caught a glimpse of him, every time our eyes met across the weight room, that sickly feeling in my chest transformed into something else entirely.
This was insane. I was losing my mind, getting distracted by Aiden Whitmore’s body when I should have been concentrating on burning off the weird energy that had been plaguing me for days.
But every time I caught a glimpse of him, every time our eyes met across the weight room, that sickly feeling in my chest transformed into something else entirely.
Want. Pure, uncomplicated, terrifying want.
I’m just in a dry spell , I told myself. That had to be it. I hadn’t been with anyone since Andrew, and that was months ago. My body was just responding to the first attractive guy to show interest, even if that guy happened to be the most infuriating person I’d ever met.
Even the most villainous guy I knew.
“You’re pushing yourself pretty hard tonight,” Aiden said during one of our brief encounters at the water fountain.
His voice was slightly breathless from exertion, rougher than usual in a way that made something clench low in my stomach.
There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead that caught the gym’s fluorescent lighting, and when he reached up to push that fallen lock of hair back, I caught a glimpse of the damp patch where his shirt clung to his chest.
“Just trying to stay in shape,” I said, wiping my face with my towel and trying not to notice how good he looked with his hair slightly damp and his cheeks flushed, trying not to think about what else might make him look like that.
“Right. Because you looked so out of shape at practice today.” There was something in his tone that made me look at him more closely, something that sounded almost like flirting.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just an observation.” He took a long drink from his water bottle, and I found myself watching the movement of his throat as he swallowed. “You know, most people don’t work out this intensely when they’re trying to avoid something.”
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“No? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to run away from your own thoughts.”
The accuracy of the observation hit me like a slap, and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” His smile was sharp, predatory. “I think I’m getting under your skin, Morrison. And I think you hate that you like it.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I? You’ve been watching me for the past hour like you’re trying to memorize every inch of me.”
The accusation made my face burn hotter, partly because it was true and partly because he had the audacity to call me on it. “You’re the one who followed me over here.”
“Maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to see what you’d do about it.”
There was a challenge in his voice, in the way he was looking at me, and it made something twist tight in my chest. This was what he did, I reminded myself. He flirted when he wanted something, turned on the charm like a weapon, and then went back to being vile when he didn’t need it anymore.
“You’re only like this when you want something,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Otherwise, you’re just a complete asshole.”
“What makes you think I want something?”
“Because that’s how you operate. You turn on the charm when it serves your purpose, and the rest of the time, you act like everyone else is beneath you.”
Aiden stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with sweat, close enough to see the way his pupils had dilated, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. “Maybe I just like watching you blush. The color suits you.”