“But it wouldn’t be his dick,” Audra argues. “And it’s his dick you want.”

  I drop my eyes. “And it’s not just his dick.”

  “But sometimes, the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his penis.”

  I laugh. “True, but what if I don’t want to get James’s heart via his penis?”

  Audra laughs, and it’s not a mean laugh, but it’s not kind either. “Then you shouldn’t have jerked him off onto your stomach.”

  I groan. “You’re not being very helpful, Audra.”

  “If a man has cleaned his cum off your belly, he’s gonna be thinking about you in sexual terms. And once he’s thinking about you in sexual terms, it’s a simple step from that to at least some kind of closeness in the afterglow. And the afterglow, my dear friend, is the best time to grab a man’s heart.”

  “That sounds manipulative.”

  “It is,” she agrees. “It’s totally manipulative. The problem is, in general, men often have trouble getting in touch with their emotions. After really great sex, though? They’re more open. You’re naked together, you just shared this really great experience, and it’s easy to sort of just feel…close. And you can tease that closeness out of him, try to keep it growing beyond sex. He starts to see you all the time like he does during and after sex, and suddenly he realizes he has these feelings for you…”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Is that how you snagged Franco?”

  She snickers. “Nah, that was a case of good old-fashioned can’t help falling in love, and I eventually just quit fighting it and embraced the mushiness.”

  I frowned at her. “Yet you’re recommending that tactic to me…why?”

  “I’m not necessarily recommending it. Just saying, it’s an option.” She taps her chin. “Now that I think about it, I don’t know if it would work on James anyway. He seems pretty emotionally locked down. It might take more than afterglow snuggles to get him to open up.”

  My laugh was definitely bitter, now. “Wow. You are…not helpful today.”

  She blows a frustrated raspberry. “I’m sorry, Nova. James is kind of opaque, to me. James is just…James. He’s a great guy—I have no doubt he’d give you the shirt off his back. If you could get him to open up, I think you guys could be amazing together. But losing Renée, when, like you said, he’d known her since third grade and had never been with anyone else in any capacity, ever? That’s a pretty big obstacle. Not absolutely insurmountable, but…definitely a biggie. And to be totally honest, Nova, you deserve to be loved. Everyone does, obviously, but my point is that if James isn’t willing to open up at all, I’m not sure what you’re gonna get from him besides a lot of noncommitment.”

  “He flat out said he likes me, though.”

  “I’m not saying it’s hopeless.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You have to decide how much you’re willing to risk.”

  “I don’t even know.”

  “And neither does he, I’m willing to bet.”

  I rake my hand through my hair. “I’m glad we talked, because it feels good to talk about what happened, but I’m not sure you really helped me figure out what I’m supposed to do.”

  She laughs. “Well, sometimes you just need to vent, and eventually you’ll either know what to do, or the decision will be made for you.”

  “Awesome. So I just sit on my thumb until something does or doesn’t happen, at some vague point in the future?”

  “Well…how strong are your feelings for James?”

  I think about the kisses we’ve shared, and the way he made me feel…up until he said the wrong name, at least. I look down and shrug. “Pretty damned strong.”

  “Strong enough to be willing to risk getting hurt again? And possibly hurt worse than him accidentally saying his dead wife’s name at the moment you make him orgasm?”

  I swallow hard—that had hurt, and it did still sting. Could I handle that happening again? Could I handle something even more painful happening?

  “I guess I’ll have to think about that one,” I said.

  Audra smirked at me. “The question is, will you be thinking with your brain, your heart, or your vagina?”

  “I hate that you’re right about there being a pretty drastic distinction,” I said.

  “We’re women, Nova—if it was easy for us to have head, heart, and body all in agreement all the time, we wouldn’t be so damn complicated.”

  I laugh. “Now that’s the truth.”

  Chapter 8

  Another couple of days passed with no sign of James, which was just as well. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked in my kitchen, shirt off, and heavy muscles rippling and shifting. How he’d looked with his jeans shoved down around his thighs. How huge he’d been—and not just his cock, but him. Every part of the man was enormous—his shoulders, his chest, his arms—even his hips, as narrow and trim as they were. His thighs were like…well, at the risk of sounding like a bodice-ripper, they’d been like tree trunks. And yes, his cock was…god, it was glorious.

  So thick, so long. Pink, beautiful, soft and warm and iron hard as it slid and stuttered through my hands.

  I find myself daydreaming about him at work, leaning against the desk in the neurology department, visions of James thrusting into my fists dancing in my brain.

  Of course, every time my imagination got to the point where he was about to come, I heard him say her name, and my fantasy soured.

  It got to the point of distraction where my boss asked me if I was okay, and if I needed a day off. Which was the last thing I needed—work was the only thing keeping me from breaking down and calling him just to see where he was about everything, and I really didn’t want to be the one to make the first move.

  Finally, after two consecutive double shifts, I have three days off in a row, which I’m equal parts excited about and dreading. Years of waking up at five a.m. every day have made it impossible for me to sleep in, even if I wanted to, so, since I’m awake by six on my first day off, I figure I might as well hit the gym for a nice hard workout.

  Only, when I get there, my gym is, inexplicably, closed. I go to a small, locally owned place—the owner is the only employee, and he lives above it, so he’s always open. Even if he’s not there, he leaves it open for his select clients, like me. But the gym is closed, locked, and the lights are off, which means something has happened. But without any way of contacting the owner, Richard, I don’t have any way of knowing if and when he’ll open again. Which leaves me without a gym.

  I sit in my truck, trying to think of solutions.

  I call Audra, and she doesn’t answer, but calls me back within a minute. “What’s up, Nova?” she asks, out of breath. “I’m in the middle of something though, so make it quick, babe.”

  “My gym is closed for some reason, and I need a workout.”

  She tsks. “Unfortunately, we’re closed for a private CrossFit event, so I can’t really slide you in like I normally would.” She muffles into the phone and says something, and then addresses me again. “You know, Franco said he, Jesse, and Ryder were all going to James’s place this morning. Apparently he has a pretty sweet setup. You might try him.”

  I laugh. “Are you trolling me right now?”

  “I wish.”

  “I’m not asking for a training session, just access to a power rack and some free weights.”

  “I know, babe, and you know I’d never deny you if I had a choice, but this one is out of my hands. Sorry.”

  I groan. “Fine. Be that way.”

  “Nova, this is a qualifier event for the international CrossFit Games. I can’t just—”

  “I’m kidding,” I interrupt her. “Mostly. Thanks anyway.”

  “Any other day, I’d get you in and lift with you, it’s just today has been scheduled for over a year.”

  “It’s cool. Richard is probably there, actually. He usually leaves the gym open even when he’s not there, though.”

  “Try James. If all the guys are there, it may be awkward, but at least it’ll be safe, you know?”

  “Nothing is safe. I’ve been daydreaming about him.”

  “Oooh, that’s no good. Bad sign.”

  “I know. My boss wanted to send me home.”

  “You’re that spacey?”

  I laugh. “Guess so.”

  “You’ve got it bad, girlfriend.” A voice on the other end shouts her name. “Hey, listen, I’m up at the wall, so I gotta go.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  We end the call and I sit in the parking lot, staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over the contact entry with James’s name on it.

  Do I dare? This seems like inviting disaster.

  Or, possibly, something else.

  Or maybe nothing. Maybe we’ll just work out together and nothing weird will happen.

  Ha. Right.

  I call James, my stomach flipping in my chest. It rings three times, and then he answers, and he’s slightly out of breath too. “Hey, Nova. What’s up?”

  I don’t even know what to say. My throat is closed, and my stomach is not just doing flips, but twists and all sorts of acrobatics that make it hard to breathe. God, this is dumb.

  “I, um. I normally workout at this little gym my friend owns, but it’s closed and I have the day off and I haven’t had time to lift since last week, and—”

  “We just started lifting. Come on over.”

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to mess up your rotations or anything.”

  “As long as you don’t mind working out with a bunch of ugly, sweaty, loud, foul-mouthed gorillas.”

  I laugh. “I wouldn’t call you ugly, James. Far from it.”

  “I was talking about Ryder, but thanks.”

  “I’m not ugly,” I hear Ryder say. “I’m just…very lived-in.”

  “If you were to look in a mirror, your reflection would run away screaming,” I hear Jesse say.

  “Fuck you,” Ryder says good-naturedly. “At least my hair doesn’t look like a seagull made a nest on a homeless bag lady’s head.”

  “Which one of us has a bald spot?” Jesse shoots back.

  I can’t help laughing. “You guys are mean to each other, aren’t you?”

  James chuckles. “The meaner we are, the more it’s meant with love. It’s a guy thing.”

  I flip my ponytail with my free hand. “You’re sure I won’t be in the way?”

  “Not at all.” James’s voice is quiet, familiar, and gruff.

  “I’ll see you guys soon, then.”

  I hang up and head to James’s house. The gate is open, as is the back gate leading to the pole barn, and I pull through. All four men have their big, diesel, macho-mobile trucks parked in a line in front of the barn, and I park next to them, laughing at the fact that my truck fits right in.

  The doors to the barn are wide open, and a Megadeath song blares. James is in one slot of the rack, squatting three sets of forty-five-pound plates with ease; Jesse spots Ryder as he benches in the second slot, straining to finish a rep with two forty-fives and a thirty-five; Franco is out front of the last slot, doing cleans with a single forty-five on each side, every rep smooth, fluid, and practiced.

  I hop down from my truck, and focus on acting like I’m not intimidated by the amount of weight the guys are pushing. Even more importantly, I focus on acting like I’m not self-conscious about what I’m wearing: short, tight, black running shorts and a red sports bra under a baggy muscle shirt. The shorts cover my butt, so it’s not like I’m wearing anything revealing, but still. I don’t dress to impress at the gym, so the shorts are a little old, a little faded, fraying and ripping at the hems, and I know for a fact they ride up pretty high when I squat. The bra and muscle shirt are also both old—the bra is my favorite workout bra, with great support and super comfortable, strong enough to keep the girls well-contained even during sprints or cleans but without being so constrictive that they hurt. But, it’s also faded and fraying, with loose threads and permanent boob sweat stains. The shirt is a Harvard Powerlifting Club shirt, with sleeves I cut off myself with a pair of kitchen scissors.

  Even my shoes are old and ratty—well-worn, well-loved, never untied New Balance cross trainers I’ve had since college.

  Face to face with a man who I can only describe as my crush, I feel…underdressed.

  Which is stupid, because the men are all shirtless, wearing even rattier shorts and shoes than mine. Objectively, I fit in pretty well. It’s just that, if I’d known I’d be lifting with James today, I’d have worn a more flattering outfit.

  Which is stupid.

  I suck in a breath, let it out slowly, and enter the barn. “Hey, guys,” I say.

  Ryder, Jesse, and Franco all stare at me, and then at the truck, and then back at me. Jesse’s eyes narrow, and he helps Ryder rack the bar before turning on James, who in turn racks his bar.

  “You gave her the truck?” Jesse growls. He sounds…pissed.

  James shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “You said you sold it,” Jesse says.

  “I did sell it,” James growls. “What’s the deal?”

  Jesse trades places with Ryder, sliding on the bench under the bar, stretching his arms as he scoots and wiggles into position. “That was Renée’s truck.”

  “Actually, it was my truck. She ended up driving it, but it was my truck. You didn’t say shit when I sold her CR-V.”

  “Because…” Jesse snarls wordlessly, gripping the bar hard, adjusting his position slightly, and then sucking in a deep breath—he grunts in exertion as he un-racks the bar and knocks out five slow, smooth reps before racking it again, Ryder guiding the bar into place without actually helping too much. “Because she was my sister, goddammit. I don’t know. It’s just different, I guess.”

  I stand in the barn, unsure of how to handle this. “I—I’m sorry—I didn’t realize it would be an issue for you, Jesse.”

  He shakes his head as he slips off the bench and takes his place as spotter for Ryder; Franco is still methodically knocking out cleans, doing at least twenty reps, studiously not addressing the current drama.

  “Nah,” Jesse grumbles. “It’s not about you. I’m sorry, Nova. I’m being a dick.”

  “Would you rather I sell it to some random dude on Craigslist?” James asks. “At least this way, it’s around.”

  Jesse doesn’t answer until Ryder is done with his reps, and then they both step away from the rack. “No, you’re right. I guess it was just weird seeing Nova get out of what I think of as Renée’s truck. You said you sold it and I didn’t think much about it—it was odd walking in and the truck not being here, but it didn’t register. And then I see it rolling up, and for a second, I…I half expected to see her climbing down out of it.”

  James nods, head hanging. “I know, Jess.”

  “It was just weird for a second.”

  James looks at him, their eyes meeting, exchanging a long, deep, significant stare that only lifelong friends could interpret. “I know, Jess.”

  Jesse looks at me again. “I am sorry, Nova. I’m not usually like that. I’m glad you’re driving Ruby. I really am.”

  I glance at James. “You didn’t tell me she had a name.”

  “Slipped my mind,” James mumbles.

  “Bullshit,” Ryder coughs into his fist.

  James glares. “Something to say, Ry?”

  Ryder shakes his head, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Nope.” He coughs again, this time a normal cough, rather than a cough meant to disguise snark. “Just got some dust in my throat.”

  I grab a 24kg kettlebell off the rack and set to work warming up with a set of two-hand swings. I feel the men watching me, but more to assess my form. I can’t help showing off, then: I do a few one-hand snatches with the 24, which is a feat I’ve been working on for quite a while. It’s a lot of weight to snatch, and I know it’s impressive. I do five each arm, and then set the kettlebell down, out of breath now, and probably more warmed up than I need to be.

  James laughs. “Don’t even think about it, Franco,” he rumbles.

  I glance at Franco, who I realize is eying the 24kg kettlebell speculatively. “What?”

  James answers. “He’s jealous. He can do double snatches with the sixteens, but those twenty-fours have been giving him shit. He’s not quite ready to level up yet, and he feels inadequate now that a woman has done what he can’t do.”

  “Fuck you, James,” Franco snaps. “I do not feel inadequate.”

  I laugh. “I did a total of ten reps, one arm at a time, and that’s all I can do,” I admit. “I was kind of showing off a little.”

  Franco holds out his fist for me to tap, which I do. “Well, consider me impressed,” he says. “But if you’re gonna work out here with us, you’re gonna take some shit. I hope you know that.”

  “And if I’m gonna take shit, you know I’m gonna give it as good as I get,” I shoot back.

  James juts his chin at the power rack. “What lift you wanna start with?”

  I head for the station where he was squatting. “I like to squat first, if you’re done.”

  He nods. “I’m good. Go for it.” He taps the end-most 45lb plate. “How much to start?”

  I grin. “As much as I’d love to pretend I can compete in your league, I’d just end up killing myself,” I say. “I’ll start with one plate. My one RM is just shy of two plates, which is my goal.”

  James nods without replying otherwise, and takes off two plates on one side while I remove the two on my side. I slide the clamp back on and settle under the bar, aligning the center knurl low on my neck, and then slowly push up with my legs to accept the weight. Once balanced, I step back from the rack, glancing down to make sure I’m aligned with the spotter arms, and then slowly but fluidly squat down until my butt is past parallel with my hips—a full squat. I tighten my core and exhale loudly through my teeth as I press back up. I’m hyperfocused on retaining perfect form through each repetition, stopping at eight reps. After eight, I rack the bar and step away, rolling my shoulders.