7
Kee spotted while Big Bad John benched. Crazy Tim curled free weights—big ones. They’d led her to the iron stash way at the back of the parts-and-supplies tent, out of the sun. Not much, but there were three benches and enough weights to satisfy the strongest grunt.
Mr. Big Bad was only jamming his own weight, but when he passed twenty reps, Kee knew he was serious. At thirty, he started blowing wind. At forty, she braced to catch a drop, if she could. At fifty, he grunted hard and managed to slot the bar back into the hooks without assistance.
“Good for a warm-up.” His voice sounded pretty steady, considering how his body must be sizzling. His statement ignored the fact that they’d been working their program for over half an hour in a companionable enough silence.
“You’re in my way.
