Page 98 of Work It Out
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“This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” Blaine muttered. “And the thirstiest.”
Jake gritted his teeth.
“It’s like Kevin Hart showing off his cute widdle muscles while standing next to Dwayne Johnson.”
“Smug prick.” It’d been a long road, but Jake had come to grips with some of the hard and fast limitations POTS had placed on his life. Like the fact that he’d never have muscles anywhere close to Dwayne Johnson’s or even Blaine’s. He’d accepted that it didn’t make him less of a man, didn’t define who he was and the impact he had in this world. But pointing it out was plain rude.
The first pic was shameless: Jake standing in front of a mirror in a pair of boxer briefs, still sweaty from letting Blaine put him through the wringer. They’d taken what had felt like a million pictures—with crazy lighting and Jake flexing his abs harder than he had to build the stupid things—to get the perfect, effortless,Oh, look, I’m about to get in the shower, but I think I’ll snap a quick picshot of his newly sort-of-ripped body.
This post was captioned,No burgers = No boobies.
The second was of him and Blaine standing together, shirtless and sweaty and laughing. Blaine’s long hair was carefully disheveled, and his pale blue eyes practically popped off the screen of Jake’s phone. Would it defeat the purpose entirely if he drew a mustache and devil horns on the jackass?
“Hussle up, Newman,” Blaine barked from the foyer.
He physically ached to hit the delete button. “Almost done.”
He went back to checking over the posts he’d scheduled to go up in an hour. That second photo was captioned,Missing Rayah Summers @BigboneExplosion. Guess the big guy will have to do. He threw in a few hashtags like #IfTheBarAin’tBendinYoureJustPretendin and #Werk. He would’ve tagged Blaine, but of course the guy didn’t have an account. On anything.
Third came a collage of three pictures. The left side of the frame was of him at his heaviest, eating a donut from the craft table on set. The middle picture was a still from the video Rayah’s father had sent, Jake lying on the floor at Rayah’s feet. On the right was another shameless shirtless workout pic. This he captioned, From potbelly to POTS warrior. Never believe them when they say you can’t.Your best is always good enough. #NenerNenerBooBoo.He tagged major POTS research and education groups and ended with a reminder to consult your doctor before beginning any exercise regimen.
The last picture was another collage and the post that gave him the most pause. The left side was the shot of Rayah in his arms on Explosion’s deck, the setting sun burning the world around them in oranges and reds—the second of Daddy’s blackmail bait. At first glance, it looked like they were trying to eat each other’s faces off. A closer look told a different story. He held her tight against him, wishing he could keep her there forever. Rayah cradled his face as if he were the fragile one, as if she knew even then that she held his heart in her hands. The right side was the picture that had been all over the internet, the one of him across her shoulders like a bag of dog food. This caption was longer than his usual post, but then, he had a lot to say.
Scheduled right behind that post was the full video in all its glory.
He didn’t need to post it. Yvonne and her “boyfriend” had squashed any rumors that she and Jake were back together with photos from their tropical island secret wedding three weeks ago. But if he put the photos out there, her father couldn’t use them to control her.
He hadn’t told Rayah he loved her yet, though. He’d told himself he didn’t want to scare her off, but that was bull. He’d been afraid of rejection. She’d been so closed off in the beginning, and he’d been so single-minded. What if she saw the post as some sort of manipulation? What if she’d been caught up in the moment in that shower? This would make it that much more complicated for her if she wanted him to get lost, and he’d complicated her life enough.
“Come on, Superman.” Blaine jiggled his keys.
“Wrong franchise,” Jake said absently. “DC is too emo for me.”
“Whatever. I’ve been dying to get a few minutes alone with that old man for years, but this was your plan. Time to put your money where your mouth is.”
He stared at that last post. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
November 29
Explosion’s Instagram
Just a reminder, Explosion will close at 5 pm for a private party.
Merry Thanksmas!
Blaine was the last person Rayah wanted to see when she took her first deep breath of crisp mountain air in weeks, so of course he picked her up from the airport. He unfolded his extra-extra-large frame from his extra-extra-large truck, took her suitcase from her hand, and silently wrapped her in his tree-trunk arms.
Rayah smushed her face against his chest and let him hold her.
“We’re going,” Blaine snapped, making Rayah jump and no doubt scaring the bejesus out of the TSA guy. After one last squeeze that pushed all the air from her lungs, he opened the passenger door, picked her up, and placed her on the seat. After stowing her suitcase in the back seat of the king cab, Blaine slid behind the wheel, buckled up, and pulled into the heavy traffic leaving the terminal.
The light was fading already, the sky shifting from blue to black too quickly. The sun was different in Arizona. She could’ve used a few minutes to bask in it. But the wind carrying clouds in from the north smelled like snow, and that would be almost as good.
“You going to tell me what happened?” Blaine asked without taking his eyes off the road.
