“Guess so. What happened with your girlfriend?”

“She said I didn’t spend enough time with her.” He swallows another quick sip. “She thinks she should be my number one priority and that I focus on trivial shit instead of her.”

I think it over. “Well, she has a point and she also doesn’t. Obviously your partner needs to be a top priority, but we’re in college. We also need to prioritize our classes, our assignments, our social lives—”

“No,” he interrupts. “She means the gym. She thinks I’m addicted to the gym.”

I can’t stop my gaze from lowering to his pecs. The ones that are straining against his shirt, fighting to break free. This shirt cannot hold me! those pecs are screaming.

I think maybe Roy’s ex is right.

“But screw that,” he says irritably. “She should be proud of all the work I put into looking like this. Other dudes pump themselves full of ’roids, HGH. They poison their bodies. But me? This is all natural. My body is a temple.”

A snort rings out from behind me. For fuck’s sake. Is someone eavesdropping on us?

I turn my head—and sigh when I recognize the familiar profile. It belongs to Hunter, who’s lurking at the neighboring table. He was supposed to be at the bar, dammit.

My discomfort only grows at the knowledge that my friend is listening in. But maybe it doesn’t matter, because it’s also becoming painfully obvious that Roy and I will not be entering into a Friends with Benefits arrangement.

“I don’t get why I have to choose,” he’s grousing.

I fix him with a serious look. “Did you love her?”

“With all of my heart,” he says passionately.

“Then how is it even a choice? Cut back on your gym time, you dummy.”

Another snort.

“It is a choice,” he argues. “An impossible choice.”

“Oh, come on now. That’s an exaggeration. You can’t love the gym more than a woman. You can’t get married to the gym, Roy. You can’t have babies with the gym.”

The floor beneath my feet is vibrating, and I don’t know if it’s from the heavy bass track blasting from the speakers, or because of Hunter shaking uncontrollably with laughter.

“You have a point,” Roy says, albeit begrudgingly. “But I don’t see why I should give up my passion.”

“She’s not asking you to give it up. She’s clearly asking you to find a balance,” I answer pragmatically.

“A balance,” he echoes.

“Yes. Listen. What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

“Kaelin.”

“I think Kaelin has a point. If you truly view her on the same level as the gym, then she’s right to be upset. Kaelin is a human being, Roy. The gym is just a room full of machines.”

Behind me, Hunter howls.

I ignore him. “I think you need to examine your priorities,” I advise. “A rebound isn’t the right move for you. Granted, it’ll be a rebound with a ridiculously hot woman—”

“The hottest,” he agrees, and my ego takes comfort in that.

“But it’s not the right move,” I repeat.

He sips his beer. “What’s the right move then?”

“Calling Kaelin and asking her to get together and talk. And maybe actually listen to what she’s telling you. She’s not trying to control you. She simply wants to be with you.” I really hope I’m not misinterpreting this, and that Kaelin didn’t dump him because he’s clearly in love with the gym, and I do mean in love in a sexual way. But heck, it warrants a conversation, seeing as how he’s obviously not over her.

“I know this is totally rude…” Roy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, way too much money for two shitty beers. “But do you mind if I bail on you?”

“Absolutely not. Go get ’er, Tiger.” I accept the twenty. Might as well use it to buy me and Hunter a round.

Speaking of Hunter, he appears at my side the moment Roy disappears. “That was the craziest fucking date I’ve ever spied on,” he declares, his jaw half open.

“Tell me about it. Is this what it’s like to be back in the saddle? You just have to ride a bunch of donkeys?”

“Dude. First of all—the way that man was jacked, he’s a majestic steed, not a donkey.”

“And second of all?”

“Oh, I don’t have a second point.”

I sigh. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Well, you didn’t do yourself any favors by being such a therapist.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“It is when you’re trying to hook up. You’re supposed to ride the man’s dick, Semi, not convince him to get back together with his girlfriend.”

“You’re right. I really do suck at this,” I moan.

Hunter pulls the Bud Light out of my hand and sets it on the table. “Let’s get this garbage out of the way. We will not be drinking Bud Light tonight.”

“We?”

“Your date bailed. I’m all you got, babe. I’ll go and grab us some actual beer.”

Hunter is gone all of three seconds before another guy approaches me. He has a shaved head, an oversized hoodie, and very white teeth.

“Hey, beautiful. Want some company?”

I’m about to say no, but he’s already sidling up beside me.

“What happened to your friend?” White Teeth asks.

“He’s getting our drinks. So if you don’t mind—”

He leans in closer, and I instinctively lean back. I don’t like it when people infringe on my space cushion.

“What’s the matter?” White Teeth drawls.

“You’re in my space cushion,” I retort. “I’d appreciate it if you moved.”

He furrows his brow. “What do you need space for? We’re getting to know each other.”

To my sheer relief, Hunter returns with our drinks. He takes one look at the intruder and levels him with a hard glare. “No,” Hunter says coldly.

“No what?” White Teeth sounds annoyed.

Hunter widens his stance. “This ain’t happening. Get lost.”

I smile at Hunter’s menacing pose. Apparently he’s my new protector.

My very attractive protector.

Dammit, I need to stop thinking about how hot is. He doesn’t want a rebound with me. He already made that clear.

It would be so much easier if he agreed to it, though. I’m attracted to him, and, more importantly, I trust him. But I’m not making a play for my friend, especially when he explicitly stated he’s not into it.

The Space Cushion Encroacher stalks off in a huff, while Hunter stares after him in amusement. “That was easy.” Then, with an extravagant gesture, he presents me with a tall can of beer. It’s called Jack’s Abbey House Lager.

“It’s in a can,” I remark.

“Yeah, cans are making a big comeback in craft beer circles. You’re really living now, babe.”

“Ergh. I probably should’ve told you to grab me a vodka cran or something fruity. I’m not a fan of most beers.” I pause in thought. “Actually, I can’t think of a single beer I like. They all taste the same to me: bad.”