Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,22

I return the stare.

After a moment, he picks the plate back up and slides it on the end of the bar. “I like to know these things,” he says. “There are some real dicks in our business.”

He passes me a plate, and I add it to the other side. “Well, I’m assuming I’m not one of them.”

He moves into place behind the bar, and I lie back on the bench.

His face, bright from the confrontation, hovers over mine. I’m not sure he’s calmed down yet.

I slide my hands into place, but I don’t apply any muscle to the bar. Not yet. “Seriously, Franklin. She saved my ass, and I wanted to throw a little business her way. That’s it.”

It’s not a lie. Even if I did want more, Camryn didn’t appear to have any interest in me beyond my worth to her as a client.

Franklin positions himself close to the bar. “You should know she’s looking for some promising prospect to sink her claws into. She’s tired of the low-level scene and wants to go along for somebody’s ride.” His voice is low, like every word is a threat.

“Good for her,” I say.

“Don’t think that anything she does isn’t calculated toward getting her where she wants to be in her career.”

This is a hell of a thing for him to say about family.

“All that’s irrelevant to me,” I say. “I’m only trying to make sure I have a decent tan for the next competition. And we better get to work, or I won’t get it done before I have to go slap meat on sandwich bread, which is my real life’s calling.”

My self-deprecation seems to work, because his face relaxes. He nods at me to lift.

I jerk the bar from the rack and bring it to my chest. It’s only the warm-up weight, so I easily pump my reps and rack it.

Franklin adds weight to both sides. “She’s been through some real shit. I watch out for her.”

“It’s good she has you around,” I say carefully. I’ve never known Franklin to be anything but a training partner and a mostly absent roommate. Thinking back on other difficult moments, confrontations when things would inevitably go wrong between young, stupid guys all living together, Franklin was often swift to anger.

I’d never gotten on his bad side before.

Not that I am now. Not yet. I glance at the weights and lie down again. “You already added the fifty.”

“You should push,” he says. “We want you clean and cut for next weekend.”

We usually work up to this weight, but I lift it easily and balance the bar.

Ten reps of this are something I definitely feel. I fumble a bit as I rack the weight. But I’m glad we’re talking normally again. “I should probably figure out the posedown part. I wasn’t ready for it.”

“True. Your lack of confidence worked for you as a first-timer, but it won’t where you’re headed next.”

Franklin adds twenty-five more pounds to each side. This creates a new high weight for me.

He’s trying to make a point.

I lie back down on the bench.

“I’ll call Amy and get more lessons in before the meet.”

Franklin moves into position. “That’s a plan. You got this opportunity fast. Don’t blow it.”

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly before arranging my hands. I lift the new weight and hold it there a moment, letting the change settle in, and mentally prepare myself for a tough set.

The first two reps come fairly easy, the third one slower.

By the fourth, I’m dogging it, and by the fifth I’m feeling my left arm start to go.

“Spot,” I say.

“Push yourself,” Franklin says. “You have to earn what you got.”

He’s right. My first success came too easy. It could wreck me.

I pump out two more reps, feeling the quiver in my arms.

“Get to ten,” he says.

It’s not the first time we’ve pushed each other. That’s how we’ve gotten where we are. But because of the conversation before, it feels different. I hit nine, but I’m not sure I have that tenth one in me.

I bring the weight to my chest and as I start to lift, I can’t hold the balance required to keep the weight steady.

I’m about to say spot, when I see Franklin’s eyes boring into mine. It’s a warning, clear as day. Don’t hide anything about my sister or you will regret it.

I let out a long, guttural groan and force the weight back in the air.

“Ten,” I growl.

Franklin guides the weight back into its safety