Page 40 of Work It Out
Cupcake whisperer, indeed.
Chapter Thirteen
September 19
Sportwellness.com
Tips and Treatments for a Black Eye
Pierce strode into Explosion’s kitchen, froze at the sight of Jake sitting at the island with his head in his hands, and blurted, “Damn, bro. You look even shittier than yesterday.”
He grunted, not having the energy to explain that he felt worse than he looked. In so many ways he was stomping on paper-thin ice that cracked and melted more by the second. Each new workout brought with it a greater threat of another episode. Thankfully, he hadn’t wound up on the floor again—those episodes really toasted his buns—but even when it was only his heart flipping out, his blood pressure went wonky and his beats per minute hit the low two hundreds. He might as well have been running sprints until the stupid muscle decided it was done fucking with him. The fatigue it caused on the average high-symptom day seemed like a manic memory.
Zombies had more pep in their step than he did this morning.
“It’s only been two days,” he reminded Pierce. “Everybody thinks they’re dying that first week, right?” That was what he kept telling himself, that this was normal, that he’d get through it. But it was getting harder to quiet the voice that reminded him how cyclical chronic illness could be. Episodes begot exhaustion and exhaustion caused more episodes.
Pierce sat down beside him. “Maybe you should take a rest day.”
“No.” He probably should, but it felt too much like giving up. Plus, he’d have to explain it to his overly observant cupcake, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet.
He’d heard too much of what she’d shouted at Blaine in her office yesterday. That the big guy thought Jake only wanted her for sex pissed him off. Except, if he were Blaine, he’d think the same thing. He didn’t pretend he had all the answers, but before he and Rayah took things that far, he needed her to fully understand that she meant more to him than a convenient lay. He also needed to come clean about his miniscule omission.
Fine, it was a lie. He was lying to her about his POTS, and he felt like a big bag of tiny dicks about it. He’d crawled into her bed last night and pretended to be so tired he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Then he’d lain there, holding her against his chest, knowing his truth would hurt her.
“Morning, boys.” Rayah bounced into the kitchen. She’d already gone for her morning run, showered, and changed into an outfit carefully calibrated to blow the maximum number of his brain cells without killing him: spandex shorts so small they were three square inches from being underwear and a sports bra with thin straps that crisscrossed over her cleavage like poetry. He tried not to swallow his tongue, but she went straight to the refrigerator, bent over to root through the contents on a low shelf, and said, “I’m making breakfast. What do you want?”
You. Hop up on the counter. I’ll do the rest.
He cleared the lust—lump from his throat. “Pancakes?”
Pierce snorted, but Rayah gave Jake her Evil Genius look. “All right.”
“Really?” he and Pierce replied in stereo.
“Of course.” She bustled around the kitchen, gathering a container of plain oatmeal, eggs, and…bananas?
Pierce laughed. “That was just mean.”
Jake’s shoulders drooped, and his expression turned mutinous infant. “I knew it was a trick.”
Her laugh was almost as sweet as maple syrup. But not quite.
“It’s not a trick. It’s a healthier version of pancakes. You’ll love them.” She frowned at Pierce. “Tell him.”
“Weeeeelllll—”
Ignoring him, she plopped one hand on her hip. “If you try them without complaining, you can have extra whipped cream.”
Jake took his time looking her over. “Do I get to choose what I do with the whipped cream?”
Her sassy wink perked parts of him right up. “Absolutely.”
“Annnnndit’s weird.” Pierce hopped off his stool. “Eat your pancakes and whatever.” He chuckled. “Then hop on a treadmill to warm up.”
“Sure thing.” But Jake wasn’t listening. He dove for the fridge and pulled out a spray can of whipped cream. He only had an hour, after all. The crap they stocked was nonfat, low-calorie fluff-water but for once he didn’t mind. On her skin it would taste like heaven.
Rayah giggled as he backed her against the stove. That giggle turned into a hot-as-sin moan when he covered her mouth with his and kissed her the way he’d been thinking about all morning.
