We wonthe first game of the regular season, and as per season ritual, the party was held at a rookie’s house. Which meant Graham, Hunter, and I were scrambling to prepare their two-bedroom house for a long night of drinking, pizza, and video games.
Sometimes, being the rookies sucked. Other times, it was all right.
“All right, don’t shoot me.” Graham dragged a hand down his face, wincing as he looked at me and Hunter as we attempted toorganize the messy kitchen and living area that was about to be crowded with our teammates.
“What did you forget?” Hunter glanced up from wiping the stove he clearly hadn’t bothered to clean in at least two weeks. Grunting, his brows furrowed in concentration and a bit of frustration as he scrubbed the black surface, his jaw clenched.
“Well, I didn’t forget…I just thought I had bought something.” Graham scratched his head sheepishly.
The twins had been my best friends since high school. They were more like my brothers than friends, and despite their similar looks, they both had strikingly different personalities. Graham was the softer brother, super forgetful, kind, and never on board with confrontation.
Hunter, on the other hand, was ready to fight anyone and everyone at the drop of a hat. He was loyal, extremely defensive of his family, and most of the time, easy to anger. And usually, he was mad at his twin and me.
Hunter stopped scrubbing to look up at Graham, who was smiling at his brother like his innocence was gold and he could do no wrong.
“Please don’t tell me you forgot to order the pizza,” Hunter grumbled.
“Oh, no.” His twin scoffed. “That’ll be here in ten minutes.” Graham chuckled nervously, and I grimaced. His job was to get the food and drinks, order enough pizza for the team, and buy enough beer to keep the boys entertained.
“You forgot the beer?” I guessed, and he nodded.
“Seriously, Graham? You forget something every time we have to host! You had one job, you idiot!” Hunter threw down the rag he was using on the stove and turned to his brother, clenching his fists.
And…here we go.
“Don’t worry! I’ll run out and get it. I need to grab a fewother things, anyway. I’ve been meaning to go,” I announced. Graham visibly deflated, shooting me a thankful look, while steam still blew from Hunter’s ears. Graham was always the people pleaser. And Hunter was always ready to blow the world apart.
“You have to stop cleaning up after him. He’ll never learn. He’s a grown adult, Griff.”
Dismissing him with a shrug, I grabbed my keys from the bowl on the kitchen island and left the house. Graham remained quiet, but I could feel his gratitude despite him never saying a word.
I hated entertaining the team anyway. Any excuse to get out of there was a good one. Hunter and Graham were social butterflies. They thrived around others. Me? I preferred peace and quiet. To be on my own.
I’d rather celebrate my win alone, with just Hunter and Graham, or with the girl I planned to spend the rest of my life with, and not a bunch of guys who only wanted to get drunk. I understood it was important to build morale on the team, but I’d rather do some stupid challenge during practice than drink my night away.
Speaking of the girl I planned to spend the rest of my life with, that was a completely unattainable dream at this point, unless she woke up and forgot what I did to her back in middle school. I managed to ruin that relationship a long time ago, and she had never forgiven me, no matter how many times I apologized. And no matter how many other girls I had been with, none compared to her. No one understood me like she did.
CHAPTER 5
TATUM
PRESENT
Aerosmith’s “Dream On” blared through the speakers at the gym. I focused on my reflection in the mirror, making sure I was activating my glute muscles with every repetition I did of the Bulgarian squat.Ten. Nine. Eight.
Of course a teenage boy would choose this exact moment to stand in front of me to flex his biceps and grin like he was the biggest guy in the gym.
News flash, buddy. You are not.
The shirtless guy who came every day at nine a.m. was, in fact, the biggest guy in the gym. How do I know this for a fact? I don’t…but according to my research, he was on far too many steroids. Why do I know this? Well, I’m in the gym multiple times a day for my job. Yes, my job.
Rolling my eyes, I kept counting.Seven. Six. Five. Four.Definitely got the form down because, wow! My left ass cheek was on fire.Three. Two. One.
Dropping the twenty-five-pound dumbbell to the ground, I walked a circle around my bench and then shook out each leg. A quick glance in the mirror and my ass was looking perky as hell,which meant it was time to post a video for my loyal followers to show them the pump of a good workout. After setting up my tripod and situating it at the right angle to make my ass look bigger than it was, I got into position and started all over again.
After ten reps on each side, I checked the video and then posted it straight to my fitness account. Instantly, the comments started to flow in, and that little part of me that had a deep-rooted need for affirmation and glorification from others was finally fulfilled. It never lasted long, only a few moments where my heart didn’t feel so heavy and the voices in my head weren’t whispering how inferior I was, but for the next twenty minutes, I felt important. Strangers were commenting about how pretty I was. Guys were asking if I was single. For thirty minutes, I was a celebrity until the post died down, and I had to start all over again.
Becoming a fitness influencer had never—and I mean never—been one of my dream careers. Hell, when I was back in high school, I don’t think they even existed. But with the rise of social media came all kinds of new careers, and it was one of the easier options when college quickly became a dream I would never be able to afford. o
