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What the fuck? “Huh?”
The eye roll was worthy of Hadley. Dustin moved to his locker area, pulled out a toiletry bag, and started pulling out bottles and tubes.
“You wash with the shower-room face-wash. Wrong. Use this from now on.” He handed me a navy-blue bottle.
“What is it?”
“Face-wash.” He saw my look. “Just do it. Also,” he handed me a tube with a spray nozzle. “Toner. Everyone needs to use toner.”
“I thought toner was for printers.” I was only half-joking.
“Nah. When you wash your face, you alter the pH balance, using toner helps reset it.”
He spritzed my face. I felt weirdly violated.
“Naya got me all this shit one Christmas. She said I was aging prematurely because I ‘run around all day with only sunscreen on’, so I started using it, and it’s good. I feel the difference.”
I was going to argue. I mean, c’mon, there were so many things to say, but he was serious, and as I looked at him, he did have really nice skin.
“Fine. I’ll use the face-wash and toner. Happy?”
“Moisturizer.” He handed me another tube.
“For?”
“You need to feed your skin. Face-wash, toner, moisturizer, then sunscreen. Every day.”
“Doesn’t my SPF moisturize?”
“Rookie mistake,” Dust said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m starving. Coming?”
I looked at him and the four products in my hand, and with one glance, I knew the conversation was over. I dropped them into my kit bag without a word.
“So . . . you trying out for the Olympics or just punishing yourself?” he asked as we walked out of the locker room.
I didn’t look at him. “Conditioning.”
“Uh-huh.” He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. “You know we have scheduled conditioning, right?”
I pushed the door open. “You here to critique my training plan?”
“Nah.” I could feel him studying me. “Just making sure you’re not spiraling.”
I huffed a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You’ve been reading therapy blogs again?”
“Hadley sends me stuff.”
Of course she did.
“She knows everything?” I asked.
Dustin grinned — not cocky, not performative. Just . . . open. It changed his whole face.
“Yeah,” he said, as if it were obvious. “She was surprised we kept her in the loop, but I don’t know why. We wouldn’t have gotten as far as we have without her.”
It was the way he spoke about her, not playful or casual, but certain.
“So . . . how’s it going?” I asked.
