On the mat, Logan and Sean are using hand weights to build their arms while Dwayne, Daryl, and Donovan are doing pushups and burpees. There are shouts of “What up” from other men I don’t recognize but who I assume are their other teammates. They do their one-armed bro hugs, and then eyes turn to me.
“This is Maggie, our…” Reggie pauses, glancing over to Gordon for inspiration as to who I am. Introduce me as a sister now, and in the future, if the boys are ever upfront about our situation, that could get weird, but the alternative is talking about something that none of us is sure about.
“She’s staying with us for a while,” Gordon says, tossing his bag onto the floor. “Now, let’s get on with this training so we can get out of here. It smells like fucking shoe and ass.”
“Like yo’ mamma, then,” someone calls from across the gym.
Gordon flinches, his hands balling to fists at his side. Reggie seems hyper-aware of his brother, reaching over quickly to slap him on the shoulder. “Let’s go work on our legs,” he says. Gordon inhales deeply, despite the smell that hangs in the air, his huge frame expanding with the pressure it’s taking him to suppress whatever had him looking like he wanted to punch someone’s lights out.
“Come on, Maggie.” Reggie takes me by the arm and steers me to the machines where they will be able to work out their already hugely strong legs. “You can sit there.” He points to a machine that isn’t in use, and I perch on the edge, feeling like a fish out of water. This is a man-zone; all buzzed up testosterone and aggression. I guess that’s what ballers need to be successful. It’s why they’re all here training after hours. It’s the extra work that lays the foundation for success.
I watch Gordon pushing a board with his feet, his muscles straining at the weight. His big hands, the ones that were gripped so tight when that douchebag said something about his mom, are holding on at the sides. Everything in him seems wound up and tense.
“That’s it,” Reggie says. “That’s a lot of weight.”
“I’m imagining Cox’s head is behind this machine, and every time I push out, I’m squashing it,” Gordon says, then he has to pause for a moment to laugh. It’s not an exuberant sound but more like a release of pressure. This is more than just having thin skin when it comes to shooting the shit between teammates. I suspect that something bad happened to Gordon’s mom.
“Just ignore Cox. You know he likes pushing buttons, and you know who will benefit if he gets you to fly off the handle, and it’s not going to be you.”
Gordon nods, gripping the machine so tightly his knuckles blanch, pushing the weight of the machine so that his legs shake and his abs bunch with pressure. He makes a strangulated sound, the effort through his body almost too much.
“Okay. I think that’s enough for that one.” Reggie rises from his own machine and drops onto the mat in front of me. Gordon rises like a weary giant, then settles on his back next to his brother. They start to work on different leg raises like two well-oiled machines. There’s a total comfortableness about the way they work because this is what they do. They build their bodies to be part of something bigger. They take their free time and trade it for their future. Performance now is everything. This isn’t a D1 college, so getting picked for the draft is more challenging. No wonder this is part of their routine. This isn’t just about succeeding on the field now; it’s about having a chance to fulfill Dad’s dreams for them in the future. That burden must weigh heavy. Is it the reason Gordon is so on edge?
“Wanna join us?” Reggie tips his head back to look at me, a grin blooming on his face.
“Maggie doesn’t need to do this shit,” Gordon mutters.
“Actually, I work out a lot,” I say. “But I’m not going to today.”
“How come?” Reggie’s thighs are bulging with effort, a thin sheen of sweat developing over his forehead.
“She’s too overwhelmed by the buffet of fitness in front of her,” Hunter says. He’s on his feet now, wiping his face with a white towel.
“Buffet of fitness… that’s hilarious,” I snort.
“Are you saying we’re not fit?” Gordon huffs.
“More that you’re not a buffet,” I say with raised eyebrows.
“We could be.” Even though he’s working out hard, his voice is still dripping with sex.
Hunter chuckles, but Gordon looks less happy, his eyes glancing to where the other men in the gym are working out. Is he worried about Cox overhearing this? Is he ashamed of people knowing what he wants inside his own home? That would certainly be a revelation. “Less talking about food and more training. We need to kill it in the next game, okay?”