RUSH

Ch. 21: Attaboy

Eric gasped, feigning outrage that only lasted a few seconds before he wheezed at the memory. "I—fine. Fair enough!"

"Remember how you started sobbing after you convinced yourself they were going to have to amputate your arm?" I added off-handedly.

"Duh! Just the thought of having to get used to jerking off with my left hand was traumatizing enough," Eric replied, likely only half-joking. Then, he suddenly yelled out in annoyance. "Also, you were the one who put that pessimistic thought into my head in the first place!"

"Shit, did I?" I questioned in slight disbelief, trying hard not to laugh because... yeah, that did sound like something I'd do just to mess with him. There was quite an order to our chaos, which entailed him acting recklessly and me encouraging it unless it'd end with either of us in actual peril. There was only so far that I'd let him push his luck before pulling him back from the edge.

"You did! You turned to your mom and asked, 'do you think he'll get to keep his arm?' while she was calling 911!"

"I—hmm, yeah, that's possible."

Eric shook his head, chuckling despite himself... because he wasn't really the kind to hold onto grudges. Not for this long, anyways. To be fair, though, I wouldn't have been able to blame him even if he did. Which, it was quite funny how we worked in that regard.

Sometimes, when I got especially fed up with Eric, I had to remind myself that he put up with just as much shit from me... if not more.

I stood back as he started taking off the excess weight plates, frowning when I realized he'd also clamped the collars on the inside of the sleeve. "And these go at the ends, to secure the plates," I added while tapping the metal collars, roughly tousling Eric's hair when he complained that duh, of course; he knew that already.

Yeah, right.

It wasn't until he had set the appropriate weight, had secured the collars adequately, and had showed me that he knew how to squat with good form, that I finally let go of the barbell bar and stepped away from the squat rack.

I also made Eric check the height of the barbell and safety bars as well, making it a point to remind him that he should always adjust the former according to his shoulder height and the latter to match how low he was squatting. He kind of paid attention, even if he kept grumbling about how long we were taking to get to the fun part.

"I'll spot you."

He looked up at me expectantly, already visibly impatient since I'd spent the past fifteen minutes berating him about his squat form. "You're really not going to ask me about the plan?"

I frowned as Eric shifted from one foot to the other, watching as he buzzed with excitement despite my unwillingness to humor him about this. "No, I don't—I don't want to know, to be honest."

As much as he insisted, there was a part of me that didn't want to get involved at all. The fact that he'd asked Bennett to hang out was rather concerning, but if Bennett had agreed... then what the hell was I supposed to do about that? What could I do, realistically, even if my mind kept swirling with a plethora of questions and concerns?

I could hardly focus unless I stopped thinking altogether.

And I'd probably freak out about this later, when we made it back to the dorm and there was nothing to distract me from my own thoughts. Once the adrenaline had drained from my veins and it had the chance to be replaced by irrational, fervent jealousy over someone who wasn't even mine. Then, I'd care.