I’d had reservations about stepping foot in a renovated warehouse that had become a fitness haven for yuppies and hipsters newly relocated to the neighborhood, but I had to admit the place was incredible. And the membership must have cost Ashton a fortune.
We spent twenty minutes warming up, and then launched into a series of workouts that had adrenaline rushing through me and my body aching with the good kind of pain by the time two hours had passed. With very few other people there to bother us, we did circuit training in the weight room, climbed the rock wall, and finished up racing each other in the obstacle course. I was stronger than Ashton, and I had more stamina, but the guy was fast and smart. And he was going to beat me because he’d effortlessly dragged his narrower frame beneath the faux trip wires while I’d had to move with painstaking slowness to navigate my bulkier upper body.
“Cheater,” I shouted as he sprinted ahead of me. “If this was a mud run, you’d be out.”
“But this isn’t a mud run,” he shouted, laughing as his hair whipped behind him. “And I’m about to win!”
He threw himself up the wall to climb just as I reached it, and I had zero qualms about grabbing his ankle and dragging him off the wall. Ashton’s laugh filled the mostly empty room as I jerked him backward, and he was nearly hysterical as we fell backward in a heap of arms and legs. His laughter was infectious, and I joined him, chuckling while we lay together on the rubber mat. He was sprawled on top of me, and I could feel his pounding heartbeat as we sweat all over each other. There was something comforting about the solid weight of him against me, and the smell of clean sweat and shampoo. No alcohol. No lingering cologne from another man. Just Ashton’s touch and smell.
He relaxed against me as his breathing slowed, but he didn’t get up. Instead, he made himself at home on top of me and rested his face against my chest. My hand found its way to the back of his head, and I stroked the damp hair that’d come loose from the knot he’d tied it into.
“Are we done?” I asked. “Or do you wanna hit the pool?”
“I honestly would be fine lying here for, like, an hour. My body is tired. Everything burns.”
I smiled. “That means it’s working.”
“Mmm.” Ashton shifted to the side just enough to run his fingers along the cuts of my abs. I’d long since abandoned my T-shirt. “Will my abs start looking like these?”
Thudding my head against the floor, I closed my eyes. There would have to come a point when I drew boundaries about all this touching, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it yet. Not when he was the only person whose touch I actually felt. Not just his fingertips or his lips or his hugs, but I felt tendrils of warmth and excitement and a desire for more. There had been a spark here or there with a few other people who had drifted in and out of my life, but never the consistent thrill that I got from being with Ashton. Maybe because no one else had ever meant as much to me.
“Maybe,” I said after a while. “If you keep it up. If you’re serious about this.”
“I’m very serious. You’re going to be awesome, babes.” His poking turned into slow caressing. “I was thinking maybe I could cook for you? That way it’s not all Hana worrying about you eating properly, and you don’t have to subsist solely on gross protein bars and shakes.”
“You want to cook for me,” I said.
“Yeah! I’ll make a bunch of stuff you can freeze for the week.” Ashton propped himself up on one elbow so he could look down at me. “You know I like cooking. It’ll be fun. And I can eat the same things, so we’ll both be super healthy and amazing. Rock star status. Basically next-level humans.”
“I’m still hung up on you wanting to pack me lunches.”
“And dinners! I figure your protein gunk and fruit covers breakfast.” Ashton made his eyes go wide as he gave me an encouraging smile. “Say yes! Come on. Give me something to do with myself.”
My warmth and excitement tripled so abruptly, it was overwhelming. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, and I was overly aware of every part of our bodies that was touching. And how close he was to my face. The different shades of blue in his eyes. How his face flushed just as much when working out as it did when he’d clung to me and begged me not to stop touching him on that one night so long ago . . .
“You don’t need to do all this shit for me, Ash. I still can’t even believe you dragged your ass up to the Bronx. Didn’t think your people traveled higher than Central Park.”
He arched an eyebrow, looking offended. “It was just a subway ride. I’m not that prissy. You just never let me come here.”
“Because it’s not your scene.” The offended look grew until he was trying to sit up, and I found myself grabbing his arm to prevent him from leaving. “Relax. I’m just surprised. Can you think of any other socialites who even leave Manhattan, let alone for the Bronx? They all act like they’ll get fucking shot if they cross the Harlem River. Last time we went to one of your parties, and I said I lived in the BX, some dumb fucker made it out like I’d traveled from a warzone.”
“They’re ignorant,” Ashton snapped, eyes flashing at me. It had been a while since I’d seen his fire, and I couldn’t stop smiling in response. Which he hated. “I may be rich and silly, but I’m not an asshole. And I would go anywhere to be with you, Valdrin. Getting on the D train this morning was the best damn thing I’ve done in months.”
My body’s reactions to him reached critical mass and exploded out of me. I leaned up to kiss him. He inhaled sharply, freezing, but his lips parted just enough for my affection to warp into the sharp ache of lust. My gut tightened, dick hardening, and I pushed my lips against his with more force but didn’t slide my tongue into his mouth. Once I did, there would be no going back. I’d fall face-first into the abyss of my long-suppressed attraction, and I’d fuck him right here on this goddamn obstacle course.
Or I would have if he reciprocated. But he didn’t. Not really. He jerked back and stared at me in confusion.
Jesus Christ. Was I that bad of a kisser?
“What was that for?” he asked, voice low.
My face felt hot, and I knew I was probably red. Fuck, I was an idiot. “Sorry,” I said, standing.
“No! Don’t apologize.” Ashton shot up to his knees and grabbed my arm. “I was just surprised.”
I shook him off, hesitated, and then helped him to his feet. “I was pissing you off while you were being nice, and you respond better to physical stuff.”
“Oh.” He sank back to the floor again, head cocked and expression bemused. “Okay, then.”
“Yeah, let’s not make it a thing.”
Ashton rolled his eyes. “Okay, Val.”
I was annoying him again, but that was better than him staring at me like I was an alien. We collected our belongings, cleaned up the spaces we’d used, and headed out of the fitness center. He’d grown quiet beside me, and was in that Ashton headspace that made his eyes go distant and his lower lip permanently catch between his teeth. I bumped his hand with mine.
“Wanna go again on Saturday morning?”
And just like that, he returned to Earth and flashed a brilliant smile. “Yes! That would be amazing. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
“I did. It was a great idea. I really appreciate it.”
He beamed. “I wish I’d thought of it sooner. All these years you were such a good friend to me, and I’m only just realizing how one-sided it probably seemed. But now all that will change. I swear.”
Guilt shot to my chest, and Dylan’s words came back to me.
“Is he still looking after Ashton?”
“You don’t owe me anything, Ashton. Trust me.”
He didn’t argue, but he grabbed my hand and kissed it once before we stepped back onto the street.
Friday morning began with a text from Hana asking a heart-stopping question: Did you know there are pictures of you on Page Six??
The only reason I knew what Page Six was—and the various other gossip columns or blogs like Jezebel, Hello, and OK—was because of Ashton. Being a former model and an heir to one of the largest wireless companies in the country made him an automatic “It boy” in the city, and his personal life had always been everyone else’s entertainment. It didn’t help that he was paid to show up at highly publicized hot spots and parties. Somehow, I’d managed to stay out of frame of the various cameras that had snapped his picture over the years.
Until now.
I leaned out of the shower as water sprayed my back, and clicked the link before staring in awe. It was more of a blurb than an actual story, but the text was accompanied by not one picture but three. One of me in Ashton’s kitchen that he’d posted on his Instagram, the one of himself holding up two different shirts on Tuesday night, and a third that was candid and clearly snapped by someone at the fitness center in Concourse. We were walking out of the massive building, both sweaty and barely clothed, and he was giving me a big smile. His hand was still outstretched after having grabbed my own. It basically looked like we’d been holding hands.
The caption read: Former model Ashton Townsend leaving resort gym in the Bronx with a mystery man. Sources name him as Valdrin Leka, amateur boxer and Bronx native! Is this why A-Town blew off scheduled appearance at new hot spot Ecko Tuesday night? If so . . . we approve. Yummy!
“Holy shit.”
I tried to walk out of the shower, tripped over the tub resulting in a near-death experience, and swore for three minutes until the water stopped running and I was sitting on the closed toilet lid. I called Ashton once, twice, and then texted Hana to ask how she’d seen that link. Apparently, a mutual friend had shared it on Facebook. They all thought it was hysterical. It wasn’t, so I went back to calling Ashton over and over again until he finally picked up.
“’Lo?”
“What the fuck, Ashton? Why the fuck is our pict—”
“Whoa! Can you not greet me with screaming and cursing?”
I took a deep breath and paced the living room with a towel barely clinging to my hips. I was late for work, but it could wait. Everything could wait, because panic was seizing my chest and, in my current state, it wasn’t safe to be ferrying passengers around the city in rush hour.
“There are pictures of us all over Page Six, and they’re basically implying I’m your man.”
“What?”
So he hadn’t known. And he didn’t find it funny, thank God. My temper would have exploded if he’d replied with chuckles about how ironic this all was considering I’d just half-assed kissed him before telling him I’d only done it to soothe his nerves. My weak response had haunted me for the past twenty-four hours, but going back on it was almost as bad as having kissed him at all.
“Hang on, boo. I’m trying to bring it up now.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, and kept pacing. “This is not good.”
The article must have loaded, because Ashton inhaled sharply. “Shit. Those fuckers! They must have a connection at the gym. Goddamn it.”
“What do you mean ‘a connection’?” I demanded. “I thought you just picked it at random the other day?”
“I did! But considering the price and how unique it is, I should have known it might have clientele the rags keep tabs on.” Ashton finished speaking through a yawn, rushing on in a half-sleepy and half-outraged tone. “This is what always happens to me, even when I try to stay low-key. The people who write this stuff keep their back pockets full of people who work at certain locations with the hopes of getting tips. Some nosy asshole probably made a few thousand by selling that picture.”
“Jesus Christ, Ashton.”
“I know,” he moaned. “I’m sorry! They usually leave you alone. It didn’t occur to me that this would happen. Fuck. It won’t mess up your shot at qualifying for the Olympics will it?”
I stopped pacing. “Why would it do that?”
“Because gossip magazines are implying you’re queer!”
My thoughts had immediately zoomed to his brother. And what his brother would do if he really thought Ashton and I were together.
Some of my anger dissipated at the concern heavy in his voice. “I don’t know. Maybe no one will notice. Hopefully the worst I’ll get is my trainer freaking out on me about choosing now to start dating a famous rich kid when I shouldn’t be dating anyone at all.” That sounded wrong. “Not that we’re dating. I mean, if he believes this stupid website.”
“Uh, I know we’re not dating, Val.” Ashton’s eye roll was practically visible through the phone. “If you’re sure it won’t hurt your chances, the only problem will be nosy people trying to hunt you down to find out who you are. So expect that. They will love the fact that you’re all sexy and butch and involved in a violent sport. Ugh. I hate everyone.”
“Ashton—”
“I mean, I doubt you have much to worry about in the Bronx, so what we can do is just try to be more low-key when we go to the gym. Like maybe arrive separately? And I can be more discreet. This fucking hair . . .”
“Ashton, I’m not worried about the paparazzi!”
There was a pause. “Then what are you so upset about? I’m the one who’s going to get reamed by Dylan. He’s already demanding I go to this lounge tonight because Brett will be there. But Brett is probably going to recognize you in that picture and think I left his party to go fuck a sexy boxer. He’ll either be insulted or expect me to make it up to him.”
My stomach twisted at the thought. “Don’t.”
“I’m . . . I’m not. I mean, I’ll talk to Dylan.”
I hated how unsure he sounded. How afraid he was to let down his brother, because even though Dylan was trying to pimp him out for a business deal, Ashton still wanted the asshole’s approval. His love. And Dylan knew Ashton, so I had few doubts that he would lay on the manipulation thick whenever they spoke. He would do anything to get what he wanted. Including telling Ashton the real reason I’d been such an unquestionably reliable friend for so many years before the death of my mother.
“Ashton, we need to talk.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said with a strained laugh. “I’m serious. I’ll handle Dylan and Brett.”
“No, not about that.” I tried to force out the words, or at least a precursor, but nothing would come. They were twisted up in my esophagus, choking me, while my fears expanded. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We just need to talk, okay? In person.”
“About what? You’re scaring me.”
I winced. “It’s fine.” No, it wasn’t. Why was I reassuring him? “There’s something I want to tell you before this blows further out of proportion. Something I think you should know.” Something I should have told him years ago. “It’s nothing bad. Trust me.” He would never trust me again, but at least he would agree to meet in person so I could prevent him from ghosting on me immediately after the confession.
“Okay . . . Can it wait until tomorrow morning when we see each other?”
“No! That’s too late.”
“Too late for what? You’re being so weird right now, Valdrin. I refuse to see you today unless you give me an idea about where this is going.”
I slapped a palm against my knee. “It’s about us, all right? Our friendship. That’s it.”
“I see.” There was trepidation coming through the line. “Fine, then. I’m booked for the day, but if you want to, you can drop by around dinnertime. I may have friends over though,” he warned. “I’m trying to stick to Operation Olympian by having a fancy dinner party instead of partying at a club.”
My heart just about cracked in two. He was trying to be so good and claiming me as his inspiration or motivation, and I was going to stomp all over it tonight.
“How many people will be there?”
“Just a couple. And you have to be nice to them or I’ll be pissed.”
“I’ll try.”
Ashton released a drawn-out sigh. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight. Wear something that doesn’t include sweatpants or dry-fit material.”
I hung up but continued staring at my phone long after we’d ended the call. Part of me expected a 212 area code to appear and for it to be Dylan on the other line, but nothing happened. It was possible that he wouldn’t see the picture, or that he’d write it off as gossip. It wasn’t like he didn’t know we were spending time together. And we’d been at the gym, for fuck’s sake.
Hand holding at the gym.
This was a disaster.
Long ago, I’d made Dale Townsend a promise to watch over Ashton, and Dylan knew about that promise and the details of the agreement that had followed. I wondered what he would do first—tell Ashton the truth to make Brett happy, or attempt to pay me off the way their father had with that godforsaken job offer.
Either way, our relationship was doomed. Just as it had started changing for the better. And just as my feelings for Ashton had returned stronger and more insistent than ever.
One thing was for certain—with this secret crushing me, there was no way I could tell him he was the only one who made my heart pound and my pulse race.