Free You and Everything After by Ginger Scott

jealous, for the both of them to fight over me and want me to be theirs. That fight never happened—they both moved on, leaving me behind. The pattern of making myself feel loved and wanted by being easy became an addiction, until it almost ruined my life.
    Maybe Paige is right. Maybe I’m falling into old habits. Being in Ty’s arms, being the object of his desire—it feels good. But maybe that’s not enough.
    I’m absorbed in my own doubt and thoughts when I hand my student ID over to the woman at the front desk at the rec center. The beeping sound, when she passes it under the scanner, finally wakes me from my trance.
    “Back so soon?” Ty’s voice comes from behind me, like the finger of the devil scratching at my soul and beckoning me to come to him.
    “What can I say? I’m dedicated to my workouts,” I say, not turning fully to look at him, not wanting to get locked under his spell.
    “Well, I don’t have any clients for the rest of the day. How about we workout together? Maybe get started on your conditioning?” he asks. He’s actually serious about training me, and the hungry competitor deep inside is even more attracted to him because of this.
    “You were serious?” I ask, allowing myself to turn to face him. He’s wearing a black ball cap turned backward and a gray T-shirt that’s tight enough to curve with every peck and ab muscle on his torso. He’s also wearing black sweats with a white stripe down the side of each leg, and I realize I’ve never actually seen his bare legs. He even wore his sweatpants to sleep last night.
    “I know my body’s hot, baby, but if you wanna touch it all you have to do is ask,” he smirks, and I flush red now that I realize exactly how long I’ve been staring at him .
    “Didn’t we have a conversation about this whole you calling me baby thing?” I change the subject.
    “That’s right. You hate babies,” he says, and I laugh on instinct. I hate that he makes me laugh so easily. And I love it.
    “I’m just going to get in a quick workout. Really, I won’t be here long,” I say, caught somewhere between wanting him to take my hint and let me go—and wanting him to challenge it, to challenge me.
    “Chicken,” he says, and my tummy fires up with giddiness that he’s chosen door number two.
    “I’m so not chicken. And oh my god, could you be more of a third-grader?” I ask. He’s followed me to the cubbies by the weight room. I push my small gym bag into one of the shelves, not even bothering to get out my iPod, because I’m totally transparent; I want Ty to stay and talk to me.
    “I’m an awesome third-grader. That was my favorite grade. First kiss, class clown, record number of detentions. Yeah, I was king in third grade. So, are we conditioning or what?” he says, getting right back to his point without pause. He stares into me, his eyes taking a brief second or two to roam down to my waist before coming back to my face. I can feel my lips tug at the corner wanting to mimic the smirk he’s giving me. We’re flirting, and it feels good. But Ty’s also messing with my biggest weakness by dangling the soccer carrot out there in front of me like that. And I may not be strong enough to refuse his challenge—no matter the shit storm it will cause with my parents.
    “What did you have in mind?” I relent, and his smirk grows into a full-blown smile.
    Ty pulls a folded paper from his pocket and flattens it against his chest before handing it to me. I can’t help but gawk at his chest muscles for a split second before bringing my attention back to the paper. It’s a workout plan, a good one, completely customized to me. My heart melts that he’s serious about turning me back into a competitor—so serious he spent time and energy devising a plan. My muscles actually jolt with a tiny charge, the familiar desire of wanting to push myself settling deep inside me. But there’s also a faint stabbing sensation in my side, the one that comes from