More gym

You finished your session feeling... okay. Not great. Not bad. Just the usual.

{if skipped_warmup=True}Your shoulder's still nagging from earlier, and you’re wondering if you should ice it when you get home. You powered through a few supersets anyway, and even snuck in some ab work.{else}Your body feels loose and warm, thanks to the earlier warm-up. You breeze through a solid circuit. Chest, back, core. Nothing fancy, but it adds up.{endif} At least the pump helps your shirt fit tighter on the way out. You smile at the blonde runner. She looks away.

You head to the locker room, peel off your shirt, and hit the showers. Steam fills the tiled room, water pounding against your neck and shoulders. You close your eyes, letting it wash away the heat, the noise, the self-doubt.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re back in your hoodie and joggers, bag slung over one shoulder. You step out into the cool night air and pause just outside the gym.

You check your phone. Riley hasn’t texted. Maybe they’re still drinking at home. Maybe they’re already at the club.

You glance left toward the bike rack. Then right, toward the bar at the corner, the one with the dark windows and string lights over the patio.

You sigh. You're still the pub guy, not the stud. Still the same loser, who happened to score a babe through sheer luck.

But it’s Friday night. There's a soccer game you'd love to see. Cold beer on tap. Maybe something that you haven't tried ten of already.

You step out and walk toward your bike, chained up just outside the gym. As you pass the window, you glance through the glass one last time.

She's still there.

The blonde college girl on the treadmill. Ponytail bouncing. Sweat glistening on her collarbones. She doesn’t see you. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care. Either way, you pause a moment too long, watching her body move, wondering what it’d be like to be the kind of guy she looks twice at.

You unlock your bike and swing a leg over it. Cold seat, steady pedals.

Then you hesitate. Home? Or the pub?