Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,56

to bother arguing with him on this.

As Franklin leaves and closes the door, I sit down on the stool myself.

We’re going to have to tread carefully.

But I don’t think we should confess. If Franklin thinks Max needs to go down, he might have the ratty connections that could wreck his rising career.

25

Max

Franklin insists we go to Buster’s Gym early that night.

I’m not in the mood for a lot of shenanigans. I fielded calls from Anthony, Dad, and Jason, all getting on my case that the fiftieth anniversary of Grammy Alma’s deli is approaching, and the entire Pickle franchise is hosting an insane amount of events, specials, and other time-consuming plans for the occasion.

I’m grateful for a competent manager and hard-working staff, because I’m stuck in my office most of the day fielding calls from family. Jason even manages to joke that I’m looking as negligent as he did a year ago.

Like that could happen.

I know he and Nova are the deli hotshots, ready to open a second Austin Pickle franchise. And Anthony is the heart and soul of the chain, dreaming up all the recipe creations and keeping the dishes clever and fresh. But I do have other things on my mind.

A clandestine relationship.

A burgeoning bodybuilding career.

A double-double life.

But I don’t confess anything. Now is not the time.

When I lock up the front door of the deli, Franklin’s beat-up green truck idles outside.

Great.

I’m bone tired after the late night with Camryn. Dehydrated since I can’t drink as much as I ordinarily would with the competition on Saturday.

The lack of carbs is going to my head.

And now the best friend whose sister I’m banging is outside my deli as if he knows I’m thinking about ditching a workout.

Franklin slithers out the driver’s side window and pops his head over the hood of the truck. “Max, my man! It’s time for our hero’s welcome. Hop in.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I don’t want to do this. But this is exactly the scenario training partners are for. They make you work out when you don’t want to.

So I snatch my bag from the trunk of my car and hop in the passenger seat of his truck. It’s a big week for Franklin. He’s finally getting where he wants to be. I don’t want to bring him down.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“You’re going to have to wait and see.”

He blasts down the street toward Buster’s Gym.

He’s darker than he was last night. “You see Camryn today?” Saying her name sends a zip through me. I might be exhausted, but it was worth every minute.

“Yeah. She felt I needed to bring on the color for the red shorts. She always tries to make me go with blue.”

“No way. The red’s good. A power color.” It feels right to take his side on this small thing, to throw him off.

Even if she’s right.

He punches my arm. “Exactly. That’s what I told her. Bitches don’t always know best.”

I have to grit my teeth, but I’m not going to tip him off.

“What’s all the hoopla about?” I ask.

“Not going to give anything away.” Franklin laughs and bangs his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn things are good.”

He looks like the cat that ate the canary as we pull up to the front of Buster’s Gym. “Now lookie there,” he says, leaning forward over the steering wheel to peer out the front windshield.

I follow his gaze. A new sign flaps over the door.

Work out with bodybuilding champions Franklin Schultz and Max Pickle.

Oh, damn. Just what I need. Bodybuilding publicity. “What the hell is that?”

“What you mean what the hell? It’s awesome. We’re celebrities.” He opens his door and jumps out, jerking his bag from behind the seat. “Come on.”

I heave a sigh and follow him. Inside, the foyer is crammed with the regulars and two guys with cameras.

Buster stands by the front desk. “And here they are, everyone, our rising bodybuilding stars.”

Everyone claps and cheers. A few flashes pop off.

Great. Hopefully this is some small specialty rag and the picture will only appear on a random bodybuilding blog. I do my part, smiling and waving, wishing I was wearing anything other than an L.A. Pickle shirt.

The rumble dies, and I think we’re done. But no, there’s another roar, and another surge of people approach from the weight room.

Now there’s a ton more cameras, an absolute strobe effect going off.

What now?

The crowd parts, and none other than MMA fighter Colt McClure and his brother-in-law Hudson approach the