𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 with soft and mature themes.
College senior Sierra adores her best friend Brian, but he inadvertently thwarts her love life on occasion. She didn't expect to meet Nick that night, but they quickly fel...
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This was a huge mistake. I should have never come here because someone might die today.
Sweat sprays like confetti. Hissing, I hoist the barbell while feet pound and scuffle on nearby treadmills. Somebody faintly sings, and I grit my teeth.
"They stack the odds 'til we take to the street..."
"Shut up."
"...for the kill with the skill to survive..."
"Dude, stop!"
The guy facing the mirror glances at his twin, his grin growing as he continues curling dumbbells and raises his deep voice, "It's the eye of the tiger—"
I huff a laugh as sputtering replaces singing. His twin squeezes his sports bottle, shooting a waterfall at his brother's face. If anybody deserves that shower this morning, it's him.
My spotter cracks up, then snaps his fingers. "Stop watching those potatoes. Two more. Hustle for that muscle, baby."
I groan. "I hate you."
He sucks his teeth and pinches my cheek. "Don't lie. One more, Sierra."
"Gahhh." I lower the barbell to the mat and drop it the final few inches before doubling over. Brian's playful green eyes dance as I glare at him—like any loving best friend, mine loves provoking me.
Brian Peña is six-foot-one, loud and passionate, and will scarf your french fries when you leave the table, feigning innocence when you return. To be fair, he'd confess, then order more.
The potatoes bickering at the mirror are his seventeen-year-old brothers, and I love them like they're mine, too. Chris would never eat your fries, and Josh would never pretend he didn't.
It's easy to guess who got the face full of water.
The velcro on my weightlifting gloves tears with a satisfying rip, and I run my tongue along my lower lip.
Brian tilts his head and scrutinizes his reflection. He lifts his shirt sleeve and runs his hand over the defined dent on his bicep. "Good?"
"Crazy good progress; they're like the size of my head." I wipe my brow. "I'm walking home to shower."
B flashes his eyebrows while snagging his sports bottle, nodding in the opposite direction. "Meathead at six o'clock is checking you out."
I scan the room, spotting the guy with the self-assured grin twenty feet away.
The university gym might as well have its own dating app called Let's Get Physical or BetterFit. College guys and girls always check each other out here—gym rats and bunnies chatting and giggling as they try to score dates instead of gains.
