I laugh, my chest rumbling. Only Grey would know how to make me laugh when all I want to do is cry. “You’re always thinking with your dick.”
“And you made me a monk, so let me at leastthinkabout sex with my boyfriend, thank you.”
He’s not wrong. I did make sure he wasrestingthe past two weeks, meaning no sexual intercourse atall. No handjobs, blowjobs or any other possible jobs. He wasn’t even allowed to jerk off, even when he was doing a million times better. And let’s just say I didn’t exactly make that one easy for him.
Hey, it’s not my fault he’s attracted to me and happens to find my naked presence arousing enough to sport a boner.
“Well, look at you though, you survived. Cleansed your soul and such.” I look up at him, grinning widely. Grey rolls his eyes, but I still see the faintest of smiles tugging on the corners of his mouth before he leans down and presses his lips to mine.
“If my soul’s cleansed, does that mean I get to spend an hour in the gym today?” He’s been asking for some workout time for days and said he’d get out of shape if he spends another day lying in bed.
“Fine, but no heavy lifting. You’re supposed to take it easy.” Even his doctor said Grey should go back to his normal routine one step at a time as the flu has sucked a whole lot of energy out of him. He bounced back like he was never sick, but I still worry about him.
It was just aflu, I know that much, it’s not like he lost both of his arms and got them sewn back onto his body and now he has to beextremelycareful. So maybe I’m overreacting, but when it comes to Grey, I’d rather overreact than underreact because this man hides pain as good as chameleons in the wild when they sense danger.
Chapter 9
“before you go home / I should let you know / I’m so glad that you came”—Look Up At The Stars by Shawn Mendes
March 2025
About forty minutesinto his workout, Grey is hunched over, his hands on his knees being the only thing keeping him up. “I hate you,” he repeats completely out of breath, inhaling deeply, exhaling twice as long.
I hand Grey his water bottle, smirking. “You asked if I dare to make you sweat, I did.” As a coach who mainly tortures little kids with workouts, I know how to make people sweat in no time. Especially eager jocks who believe nothing and nobody could break them. It only takes a few repetitions of a very intense practice and they’ll be panting in no time.
Guys like Grey think they can do anything, so if you challenge them to do more than what they think “anything” is, it’s getting quite funny. When you know they can do fifty push-ups with no problems, make them do twice as many, once they start to struggle just that tiny bit, that’s when you’ve already cracked them open a little. They start to get vulnerable because they cannot believe they’re struggling, like how dare their body do this to them? And then you push them further. You say, “I bet you can’t do one-hundred-and-fifty,” and knowing jocks, they’ll be up to prove you wrong only to fail.
If they don’t fail yet, go up another fifty. Eventually theywillbreak, and all you have left is a guy like Grey who says he hates you when he doesn’t. A guy whose ego you just bruised.
“You love me.”
He straightens his back, downing the entire bottle in seconds. At least he’s staying hydrated. “I don’t love you.”
“It’s like you’re screaming it. Wow. Careful, Grey Davis, you wouldn’t want the entire city to hear you are in love with me.” I hold a hand to my heart, looking up at the ceiling ever so dramatically. “What would your fans say when they find out you’re already married.”
“We’re not married, and right now, I’m wondering if dating you was a good decision in the first place.” He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me right into his sweating body. I gag jokingly, but he knows I don’t care. Then he kisses me.
“Mm-hmm, that sounds exactly like something someone who’s deeply in love would say.” This time, I kiss him. “But alright, you may hide your love from me for little while longer, Grey Davis. It’s not like I don’t already know you’ve been in love with me from the second we met.”
Grey covers my face with one hand, pushing me off him. I laugh. God, I love teasing him.
“You’re full of shit, Hayes.”
“No, you are, Grey Davis.” I take a seat on the floor, crossing my legs. I’m about to add something when my phone chimes from across the room. Grey and I are the only ones in the gym, much to my surprise, so we keep our stuff everywhere.
Without me having to ask, Grey walks over to the bench where I put my phone and gets it for me. When he hands it over to me, he says, “It’s your mom.”
“I guessed that.” My mom always texts me at least once a day to make sure I’m doing alright. She’s scared I might’ve fallen back into old habits and cracked open a liquor bottle. I haven’t in three whole years. And can you believe that I can be in one room with alcohol andnotevenwantto drink any? I can look at the bottles and not give them a second thought.
Sure, sometimes it’s still tempting, but saying no is far easier now than it was three years ago.
Mom:How is Grey, sweetie?
I stare at the message, wondering if I’m seeing things. I rub my eyes just to make sure my mother did, in fact, ask about Grey and not me.
Giving my phone a second glance, I gasp in shock. How dare my own mother ask about my boyfriend’s health instead of mine?
“My mother has officially adopted you as her new son,” I say, still staring at the message in disbelief. “She asked me how you are. She only ever asks howIam.”