American Sweethearts

52

"Oh my god, no!" I laugh. "I cannot carry that!"

"Try it," Tyler says, handing the weight to me.

"I can't!"

"Don't worry, I'll help you."

I hesitantly grab hold of the dumbbell. Tyler slowly let's go, steadily increasing the weight I'm carrying. My bicep tenses more and more. Just when he's about to let go completely, I stop him.

"No, no, no," I blurt. "I can't."

"You sure?"

"It's too heavy! I'm gonna drop it!"

He laughs at me, taking the weight back. I sigh in relief, waving my arm back and forth to reduce the tension.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"It feels so weak," I laugh, dropping it to my side.

"Aw, I'm sorry."

"I can't believe you do that regularly."

"It's all about building muscle," he tells me.

"gross," I chuckle.

"You don't like my muscles?"

"Oh, I do, but you don't need to be any stronger."

"You think?"

"Definitely," I smirk. "Tense for me."

He does as I say, flexing his biceps. I grab onto one, squeezing the bulging muscle. I never want to let go.

"So big," I laugh.

"Show me yours."

"You don't want to see mine."

"Oh, I really do," he teases.

I sigh, removing my hand from his arm. I tense my bicep, causing a small bump to form. He squeezes it with two fingers, but it tingles so much, I relax again.

"Not bad," he says.

"Not bad?" I scoff. "It's just arm fat."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is! Look," I jiggle the skin under my arm.

"That's normal," Tyler says.

"No, I have fat arms!"

"Not at all," he snickers. "You're far from fat."

"Aw, you're sweet," I nudge him with my elbow. "But it's okay. I like how I look."

"I like how you look, too."

"Thanks," I giggle, a blush rising to my cheeks.

We've been flirting back and forth all night. I feel like a kid in a candy store. My mind is buzzing, and I'm ecstatic. I'm giddy like I've got a stupid high school crush.

We spent most of the night outside, looking up at the stars and talking. I finally found out what he majors in. Finance. That wasn't what I was expecting at all, but he claimed he just did it because he liked maths.

We veered away from deep and emotional topics such as the accident and our parents, but we did talk about other personal things. Turns out, he's not religious, and when I asked him about Christmas, he said he hadn't celebrated it since he was eight years old. I didn't ask any further, but we bonded over the fact that I haven't celebrated it in three years, either.

Stacey always forces Quinn and me to have a family dinner together, but we haven't had a tree in our house since our parents passed.

Once it started getting cold out, we ventured inside. Since then, Tyler has been telling me all about the different gym equipment. He told me I'd get bored of listening to it, but I haven't yet. He speaks so passionately about it, it's impossible to get bored. Even when I don't know what h's talking about, I just stare at him with a cheeky smile on my face.

The sound of his phone ringing snaps me out of my thoughts. He pulls the device out of his pocket.

"Shit," he grumbles. "It's my PO. I gotta take it."

"That's fine, go for it."

He nods, and picks up the call. He takes a few steps away from me, but I can still hear his side of the conversation.

While he's away, I check my phone too, but I just have a text from Lena asking me how it's going. I send her a thumbs up emoji, along with the heart eye emoji to emphasise how I'm feeling.

I can't get over how attractive he is. This whole night has been perfect so far. He makes me feel so warm and comfortable.

I eye him, watching his back muscles shift beneath his t-shirt. He paces back and forth, listening to whatever his parole officer is telling him. For the first time, I notice another tattoo on his ankle.

If this uhm... relationship... goes anywhere, I'm going to have to get him to strip down and let me look at all his tattoos. He can be my own personal art gallery. I hope they all have some kind of intriguing, or at least funny, story behind them.

He turns around, sticking his phone back in his pocket. He smiles when he sees me staring at him. I don't even bother hiding it anymore. It's not like I haven't caught him looking at me, too.

"Is everything okay?" I ask him.

"Everything is perfect," he nods.

He takes my hand, joining our fingers. I want to ask him more questions, but he distracts me by pressing a kiss on the top of my head. A sharp shiver runs down my spine. I lean into him, using my fre hand to grab hold of his arm. I just want to be close to him.

But not just physically.

"How long are you on parole for?" I ask him.

"Only a month left," he shurgs.

"Are you worried?"

"Why would I be?"

"Because, well... you're always drinking an taking drugs, and that's against your parole right?"

"Yeah, but my PO doesn't know I do that shit. He barely even tests me any more."

"What if he does?"

"I'll get Owen to piss in the jar."

"Tyler!" I scold. "You can't do that!"

"I've done it before," he shrugs. "Besides, my PO usually only visits in the morning."

"And you're sober then?"

"If I'm training, yeah."

"As in, here at the gym?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I need to be sober for my job."

His job. I pull away from him, giving him a pointed look.

"When are you going to tell me what that is?" I ask.

"Right now if you want."

I nod.

"Come with me."

He leads me back into the office area of the gym. This time, we walk past the staircase, and into some kind of meeting room. There's a large oval table in the centre, surrounded by about six chairs. Besides the door, there's a couch, looking up at a TV screen.

We sit down, and he pulls me so close to him, I lean against his chest more than the backrest of the couch. He grabs his phone, and opens his camera roll. I look at it, but it's just a bunch of videos. He clicks on one, and it pops up on the TV. He presses play, and my stomach instantly drops.

I pull away from him, letting go of his hand. I rest my elbows on my knees and lean forward. I need to focus n this.

The video shows Tyler in a boxing ring, fighting with another guy. There's a huge crowd surrounding them, calling out various things I can't make out. Tyler is wearing a pair of shiny black shorts and matching boxing gloves. I can hear the voice of an announcer through the speakers, narrating the fight. The two men throw punch after punch. They hop around each other, each trying to one-up the other.

No way.

No way in hell.