As soon as I pull the bar off its safety latches, my minds goes straight into training mode. We continue to rotate until we’re both ready to move on to the next leg of our workout. Occasionally, I look around the gym, only to spot Zoe giving Kaiser googly eyes and Jane flirting with every Tom, Dick and Harry in sight. I contemplate sending Tank a quick text to tell him that his girl is a tramp, but then I remember that I don’t know him as well as I thought I did, and that he’s a tramp too.
“What’s your major?” Ryle asks before jumping up on a treadmill. He turns to face me as I press the incline button on my machine.
“I want to be a physical therapist.”
“Get the hell out. So do I.”
I mentally talk myself out of squealing.
As our legs fall in unison with one another, he asks, “What made you decide on that field?” It’s funny how truly interested he seems.
“I had an accident when I was younger,” I refrain from spilling my guts about the gory details of my fall. “I didn’t realize it then because I was pissed at the world, but in time, I realized how thankful I was for my therapist. It didn’t matter how aggravated I was at my body, she always kept pushing me. Eventually, with her help, I pushed myself harder. My recovery was all because of her, and I’ll be thankful for that until I die.”
“I’m sure she knows,” he chimes in.
“Knows what?”
“How thankful you are.”
The steady sound of my feet hitting the revolving belt as I run drowns out the sound of my heart beating wildly in my chest.
“What about you, what’s your story?” I pray he doesn’t shut down.
“I’m pretty much an open and closed book.” That’s a bold-faced lie. “I never had any horrific accident, or whatever, that made me interested in the field. I need a backup plan if a career in baseball doesn’t pan out, and it seemed like the most interesting thing. I could work out all day and help people gain back their mobility in the process. It seems like a win-win to me.”
One lock of hair falls onto his forehead as he speaks. I want to reach over and swipe it away, but someone else gets to it first. “Baby, you should have called me if you were coming to the gym. It’s Monday, and on Monday’s, I work out.” Naomi’s voice cuts right through me. If only there was a way to un-friend people.
On Monday’s she works out? She’s so epically lame. I feel uncomfortable by her presence as she presses the stop button on his machine and tries to climb onto the treadmill with him.
“Naomi,” he speaks harshly. “Now is not the time.”
I can’t help but keep my neck craned and stare at their exchange.
“There’s always time for kisses.” I close my eyes before she leans forward. I never want to see what is about to happen.
“What the heck, Ryle?” At the sound of her distaste, my eyes spring open. She’s now standing back on the floor with her hand on her hip.
“I said stop. I’m busy training.”
Her eyes bore into mine. “It looks like you’re busy alright.”
“Stop playing pointless games, and go away,” he dismisses her with the wave of his hand.
I cannot believe what is happening. He’s actually pushing her away—and she’s going—but it’s as reluctantly as possible. “You’re so charming. It’s a wonder ladies aren't tossing their boy-shorts at you,” I snicker.
The beginning of a smile tips his mouth. “Just ignore her. It’s what I try to do.”
“Why is she on your nuts?” I say with no signs of relenting in my tone. I want to know what’s going on between them. Zoe would be proud of me using slang like I know what I’m talking about.
“It’s…she’s…you know what? Do you want to get out of here?” He pulls the emergency string on his machine, its movement coming to a sudden halt.
“And go where?”
“I don’t know. Running? Clear our heads. We wouldn’t have the interruption or nuisance of others being around.”
I know what nuisance he’s talking about, and I’m on cloud nine knowing he wants to flee her presence. “Yeah. I’m game. Just let me tell Z so she isn’t waiting around for me.”
Our eyes find her and Kaiser nuzzled together in a corner. “It looks like she’s a little preoccupied herself. I’m not sure she’ll even notice your absence.”
“You’re right. Let’s go.”
We leave the gym without as much as a goodbye. The daylight greets us with welcoming beauty as we step outside. I’m not usually a runner, so I don’t know how graceful I look, but within a few strides, I fall into place next to Ryle and thank God the weather is nice. Every few feet I can’t help but sneak a sideways peek at him. He’s a natural. I can tell by the way he looks—his brows aren’t scrunched up like I know mine are. There isn’t so much as a droplet of sweat lingering on his forehead. He’s perfection.
With pavement flying by under our feet, we run for what feels like hours. I glance at the phone in my hand, but it’s only been thirty minutes. Still, thirty minutes on a treadmill and thirty running on flat land are two extremely different things.
My feet stop moving and I bend at the waist, exhausted. I am utterly worn out. I raise a hand to wipe sweat off my face. “I need a second,” I call out, wheezing.
Ryle laughs. “Okay let’s take a break. Right there.” He points to a bench placed under a big tree a few feet away. “You’re not a runner, are you?”
“It’s that noticeable, huh?”
Sitting on the bench, he answers, “Not that you looked like a total fool, but yes, it was noticeable. I thought you are into gymnastics or something? Don’t they train harder than shit?”
“Past tense, and yes, I did train. All I did was train. But I never really sprinted for long periods of time.”
“It’s all we do in baseball. We run for entire practices sometimes.”
“That’s brutal.”
He lets out a low, throaty laugh. “Trust me, after a year of playing college ball, I know.”
“Wait, you’re a sophomore?” I ask, shocked. How did I not know this? I thought he was a freshman like me, Zoe and Tank.
“Yup. But, I should be a freshman.” He nudges my shoulder with his, inviting a swarm of butterflies into my stomach. “I doubled up on classes and go to school online all summer.”
I try to keep the incredulous look off my face. “Why?”
“I know I’m going to get drafted—.”
I interrupt. “Cocky much?”
“Let me finish,” he glares playfully. “I’ve been told there’re a few major league teams interested in me. But I won’t go pro until I finish college.”
It’s odd to hear him say that school’s more important than his passion for baseball. Gymnastics was the most important thing in the world to me. I put it before school, my boyfriend, and even my health.
“Are you the first kid to graduate from college or something?” I’m a freaking idiot. For the millionth time, my filter gets jammed, and I say something without thinking. “I’m sorry, that was really insensitive. It’s great that you want to get a degree and then pursue your dreams.”
“You don’t have to walk on eggshells.” Raising a hand, he wipes it over his face.
I stare at him wearily. “I just…I don’t know…You. Your story.” I fumble over my words, unsure of exactly what I want to get out. Opening my mouth, I begin to tell him I’m sorry, but he cuts me off. Pressing his index finger into my lips, he leans forward. My senses are on overdrive as his scent fills my personal bubble. There’s a roughness to his cheek as it brushes mine.
“Our story is just beginning. Don’t ruin it with tales from the past,” he rasps into my ear. He hovers long enough to cause chill bumps to break out all over my body. A shudder follows, traveling from the tips of my ears to my toes.
I’m speechless.
Our story?
What does that even mean? I want so badly to ask him. I want to know where his head is at. “Okay,” I whisper br
eathlessly.
He gazes at me with an expectant look on his face, like he expects me to question him. As bad as I want to, I bite my tongue instead. For once. I wonder how long this little game is going to go on. In front of people, we’re both total jerks to one another, but when we’re alone, it’s so different. He isn’t scared to talk to me when it’s just us, but I highly doubt we’re in one of those “relationships” where the guy screws the girl behind closed doors and ignores her in front of people.
Trying to figure out Ryle Benson boggles my mind.
“We should probably head back.” His pinky finger brushes ever so gently against mine. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
I nod, stand up, and follow him back to the gym, wondering when our next run-in will be.
It was the summer of Ryle’s senior year in high school, when he learned who his biological father was. There hadn’t been some nice, drawn-out reunion where he’d pleaded for his son’s forgiveness and, like a leaf turning over, Ryle agreed to let bygones be bygones. There wasn’t even a moment where Ryle got the explanation he felt he’d deserved. There was nothing but a fat check—an inheritance that was rightfully his—delivered to the place of business of his adopted parents’ attorney. It had been addressed in Ryle’s name.
Mr. and Mrs. Benson had opened an account for him and deposited the funds. Year after year, the account continued to grow and, by age eighteen, he’d been able to access it. They thought that he’d want to buy his own place or travel the world, but in reality, Ryle hadn’t wanted a penny from the man who’d done nothing but donate his sperm.
The story was that his mother had gotten pregnant when she was in high school. His father had been scared to death, having just learned that he’d received a baseball scholarship. Like the giant moron that he was, he’d cut all ties with Ryle’s mother and went on to live his dream of playing college baseball. It was a dream that was short-lived. An injury gutted him and left him as a has-been athlete before he’d even really begun. With no future in returning to the field, he’d earned a degree and began a starter company.
Over the course of Ryle’s life, as he was tossed around between foster care and even worse places, his biological father had been living large. He’d had a giant estate and went on to have three children. His life had been ideal—even as the life of his abandoned son was anything but.
It was a heart attack that had taken the man’s life, and as much as his wife and their three children protested, the attorney couldn’t alter the paperwork. Ryle was the sole beneficiary of his father’s estate. It would never make sense as to why a man who ran the moment he heard the news that he was going to be a father would leave the entirety of his money and assets to a son he’d never seen.
Ryle swore that the money meant nothing, and truthfully, it didn’t. He’d gone on a spending rampage—buying new cars, toys, and an apartment close to campus—he hadn’t spared any expense. The Benson’s struck a chord though, when they’d sat him down the day before he started college and told him that he should do something productive with the money instead of wasting it just to spite his dead father.
Since that day, he hadn’t made any foolish purchases. Yes, he still delighted in nice clothing, but appearance was something that he’d had no dignity in before. He’d been given worn, dirty, dingy clothes while in the system.
Now he spent time volunteering in the Big Brother Big Sister program. There is where he found his comfort. He lavished money on those children, spoiling them with fancy book bags and school supplies. He ensured that none of them ever go hungry, by supplying their parents with non-perishables every month.
He looked forward to every second he spent with them. Matter of fact, when he ran away from Adaley this time, it’s because of a date with a little girl named Khloe.
“Where are we going?” I’m desperate to find out our destination, as Tank’s foot presses on the gas pedal and we shoot forward. My neck does one of those bobble head things as he crosses the white dashed line in the center of the road. Veering over it slightly, he looks over at me with a smirk on his angular face.
“If I told ya where we were going, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, now would it? Relax, we’re almost there.” His expression says it all. Brat.
“Keep your eyes on the road, bubba,” I tease. “Less talking, more concentration.”
The car zigs and zags around the winding curves and thrashes me against my seat. Grabbing the oh shit handle, I pray that the cereal I ate this morning doesn’t come up. “Are you sure we should be going this fast?” I swallow.
“Do you want to drive?”
Wow, a man that is actually willing to let a person of the opposite sex drive his precious car. “Not particularly. But I’d like to make it to our unknown destination in one piece.” I offer him an affable smile, to which he responds by saluting me with his middle finger.
Hair blows in wisps around my face as wind gushes through my open window. As much as it scares me, the speed also excites me. There’s something thrilling about speeding down an open road.
It’s reckless.
I stretch my right arm and hang it out the window. With my hand flat, I ride the wind waves. A soft harmony plays over the radio and fills our ears with music. This moment is bliss. It’s a feeling that I’ve chased my entire life.
I have a great friend beside me, and I’m having more fun just being carefree than I’ve ever had doing anything else. And, I have a seriously hard crush on someone who I know nothing about. That’s alluring in and of itself. The unknown…the feeling that I may be reaching for someone too far out of my league.
“What’s running through that pretty little head of yours? I can almost feel you thinking.”
“Caught me,” I confess.
“We have a few minutes before we get there. Can you sum it up, or is this a wait-until-later conversation?”
“Later,” I reply, knowing that any conversation about Ryle is going to be a long one.
Just over fifteen minutes pass, and our destination comes into sight. My eyes are glued to the view out the window, and what I see leaves me dumbfounded. “Holy cow. How did you? Alligators?”
“Zoe,” is all Tank has to say, and a grin spreads across my face like a child whose parents just surprised her with a trip to Disney World.
I. Can’t. Even.
“Surprise. Now come on. We have a tour to go on.”
The strength behind the squeeze Tank gives my hand is as manly as it can be. I’m still torn about whether to buy into his whole ‘I like girls and guys thing’ but right now, all I’m focused on is the giddy jitters that are stirring in my gut. I mean really? His sister told him about my fascination with wildlife and alligators and poof, he decides to bring me on our very own tour. My best friends are way cooler than anyone else’s. Bottom line.
After we sign in and Tank pays for our tickets, we’re ushered through the coolest exhibit on the planet. My eyes widen in fascination at the miniature dinosaurs in front of us as we walk through the display. The tour guide stops every now and then and explains how and what they are doing to protect the species in our local area. We end the tour by getting to hold a baby alligator. Granted, his mouth was taped closed, but it was still an awesome experience.
“That was so cool!” I jump up and down repeatedly, contemplating a spur-of-the-moment call to my mom and dad to gush about our time.
Tank laughs, a deep sound of pure delight. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Ya know, I never liked the tours much when we were younger and our parents dragged us here, but you give things a whole new meaning.”
My eyes narrow like a cat. “Are you flirting with me, handsome?” I tease.
“You wish,” he spits out, way too quickly for my liking. “But really, it was nice having someone around who was genuinely interested. It made me more interested in those little fu—.”
“They’re baby alligators!” I lose myself to a fit of amusement.
“So for the last leg
of our day-date…,” I look over to see Tank hitting a button on his car’s automated key. The trunk slowly pops open. My eyes are drawn to a decent-sized cooler. “A picnic.”
“Wow. Are you sure you’re gay? I mean—all this for me? I sense that you’re trying to woo me.”
“Again with the flattery. Come,” he holds out a hand and grabs the cooler with the other. His trunk closes as he presses a small, round button on his key ring.
We walk a few feet away from the bayou toward a spacious park. There’re kids tossing footballs, a few sets of expectant parents circled around a table, and handfuls of owners with four-legged companions, who are jogging along a shaded path. My gosh, what if an alligator escapes? Thoughts of safety for their fur-kids sneaks into my mind as we stroll toward a patch of green grass. Tank bends to sit down and gestures for me to the same.
“Do we have a blanket to sit on?”
“Shit.” He pops up and takes off in the direction of his car.
A few minutes later, he’s back with a black and white checkered blanket in tow. “Here we go.”
I open the lid of the cooler and glance inside. As if on cue, my stomach starts to rumble. “This looks amazing.”
Item by item, he pulls out an assortment of food. Handmade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sour cream and onion chips and dip. Lastly, he pulls out a container of chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert.
Our conversation is light as we munch on our food, but it takes an unexpected turn as I bite into my first strawberry.
“Let’s just clear the air here. I like men.” Tank must have noticed my eyes bulging out of my head, because he corrects himself. “I like women too.”
I lay half-eaten fruit on my paper plate. I’ve lost my appetite. “I’m just so confused.”
“What exactly are you confused about? I think both men and women are attractive. I’m not fully gay, but I’m not, not gay either.
My silence is taken as disgust. I know it from the look on his face as I glance over. I try to make up for my distaste in his sexual orientation, and inject softness to my tone when I speak. “I’m just processing. I’ve never known someone who liked both. I grew up to believe—.”
Bad Intentions Page 12