Page 54 of Work It Out
“She’s trying to kill me, isn’t she?” Jake huffed over the whirr of the treadmill. “She’s still getting back at me for the whole lying-about-my-POTS thing.”
Of course, it also could’ve been the weekly inspection she’d suffered this morning. Chad really brought his special brand of little dick energy to those impromptu visits. The power play had to be the only reason he still did them. After Rayah had made him work with Grace one afternoon to sift through the appropriate paperwork, he’d huffed and puffed for about an hour, then declared their work impeccable on that end. Every visit, Rayah kept Jake glued to her side from the moment Chad walked in to the moment Jake went to bed (where he slept with one eye open).
“Rayah doesn’t play games.” Samuel hit the button to increase incline until it reached 3 percent. After living with her for five weeks, Jake knew Samuel was right, and yet, there she was, hip thrusting his body weight like it was a warm-up.
Fuck me. It’s probably a warm-up.
Things were about to get awkward. He couldn’t even think about diet food to calm Jake junior anymore. Rayah had spent every evening of the first week after Vicky’s arrival trying to teach Jake to cook. Vicky hung around the first couple of nights, but whether from boredom or lack of interest in watching him watch Rayah move around her kitchen, Vicky had thrown herself into helping around Explosion and rarely returned to the cabin before midnight.
As it turned out, Jake could burn water, but Rayah made even gross stuff taste amazing. (Except edamame. Satan’s green beans were nasty no matter who cooked them.) The second week she’d tried to teach him how to balance macronutrients. He hadn’t been able to follow along, but he loved to listen to her talk. And that was the only time she spoke to him those first couple of weeks. By week three, she’d given up on teaching him things, but she’d also given up on her grudge. That was when life in the cabin became unbearable.
He and Rayah switched to sitting on the couch together in the evenings, talking, snacking on popcorn one speck of butter shy of being Styrofoam, and binge-watching TV shows and movies. Once or twice, she’d allowed herself to tell him things that mattered, but she was usually careful to keep the conversations from digging too deep. As for the movies, they took turns picking. Last night she’d chosen the old Drew Barrymore classic,Ever After, then laughed when he knew every line. Tonight, he was thinking50 First Dates. It’d keep to the theme and he’d get to watch her laugh again.
Rayah bent over to add more weight to the bar she was using, and Jake grew desperate for a distraction. Then he saw it, salvation and hell wrapped in one wrinkled old package.
“Doc’s at it again.” Jake motioned with his chin to where Dr. Martin lay on his back on a weight bench, one foot on the bench, the other on the floor—his ball sac on full display through the wide leg of his shorts.
Samuel gagged. He wasn’t being a smart-ass. That gag was legit. To be fair, those big ol’ sweaty balls looked like rotting peaches.
Without a word, Samuel took off in Rayah’s direction. Jake jumped on the side rails, slapped the emergency stop on the treadmill, and threw his hand towel over his shoulder so he could wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but he wasn’t missing any of it.
Rayah was finishing another set of thrusts, God help him, when Samuel stopped beside her and stared holes in her head. She brought the weight down and leaned back against the bench, panting. “What is it, Samuel?”
“He’s doing it again.”
She tilted her head to the side, staring past Samuel to Jake. He put his hands up in a not-me-this-time gesture. Her gaze settled back on Samuel. “Who’s doing what?”
He pointed in Doc’s direction, and Jake fought not to laugh.
Emotions cycled across her face—shock, disgust, embarrassment. Finally, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Samuel? Why couldn’t you just say Doc’s falling out of his shorts again? Better yet, go talk to Blaine about it?”
“You said I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone but you about client problems anymore. It was October third. Jenny asked you what exercise would make her boobs perky again. You didn’t answer—”
“I was trying to think of a polite way to tell her it doesn’t work like that.”
Samuel shrugged one shoulder. “I still don’t understand why she got upset.”
“You told her nothing short of plastic surgery could bring her boobs back above her belly button.”
Jake choked on a snort. Rayah turned her glare on him, so he pressed his lips together and tried to look innocent.
“Do you want me to talk to Doc?” Samuel asked. “Because someone has to. That’s unsanitary.”
“Forget unsanitary,” Jake interjected. “I want to know why they’re bald and the size of baseballs.”
Samuel turned to him. “As men age, their hormones—”
“Nope.” Rayah rolled the barbell out of her way and hopped to her feet.
“What?” Jake wiped his face with the towel. “Inquiring minds want to know. Am I, too, doomed to droopy, overripe avocado nuts?”
She closed her eyes, took one slow breath in, and walked away from him without answering. Since she was headed toward Doc and Blaine, he followed, because no way was he missing this. Samuel obviously wasn’t as invested. He walked off toward the kitchen, satisfied that she’d take care of it.
She stopped a few feet from Blaine. Doc had moved on to overhead presses, which should’ve solved the problem. Unfortunately, Doc’s shorts weren’t only wide in the leg. They were also…well, short. Even sitting up, half a testicle was peeking out like a hairless groundhog about to decide if there would be six more weeks of winter.
She smiled awkwardly at Doc, keeping her gaze high, then turned to Blaine. “You got a second?”
“No.” He didn’t look up from his phone.
