Three days. I’ve been here three days.
And I’m in serious, serious trouble.
12
Gregory
Ineed to get the fuck out of this great room.
The bath helped clear my head for about thirty seconds. Then I dried off, pulled on clean clothes, and realized I’m still wound tighter than a compressed spring. Three days trapped in close quarters with her, and every hour makes it worse.
The image of her emerging from the guest bathroom earlier, damp hair and that goddamn coconut scent, won’t leave my mind. How she looked in my thermal layers with the hoodie pulled over everything. The way our hands touched when we melted the snow for my bath.
I retreat to the lower level gym like a man fleeing a minefield.
The space is freezing without the heating system, but that’s fine. Good, even. Maybe the cold will knock some sense into me.
I strip off my cashmere sweater, down to just a t-shirt, and grab the forty-five pound dumbbells from the rack.
The familiar burn of exertion feels like salvation. Bicep curls, shoulder presses, anything to work off this mounting tension that’s been building since I woke up with her pressed against me yesterday on Christmas morning. Since I watched her explainfungal networks while her whole face lit up. Since she basically told me I’m a worse asshole than she thought because I’m intelligent enough to know better and still chose profit over people.
That she’s right is the part that’s really fucking me up.
I switch to bench press, loading the bar with one hundred and eighty pounds. Two forty-five plates per side. The weight is substantial but manageable. I need the strain, need something physical to channel this energy before I do something catastrophically stupid.
Like kiss her.
Which I absolutely cannot do.
Won’tdo.
Even though the thought of it has been circling my brain all day.
I’m halfway through my third set when I hear footsteps on the stairs.
“Working out after a shower?” Sorrel’s voice carries across the gym. “Most people do that in reverse order.”
I finish the rep before setting the bar back in the rack and sitting up.
“Yeah, I know.” I grab my water bottle and take a long drink of melted snow, using the moment to get my breathing under control. “Needed to burn off some excess energy.”
“Geez, it’s freezing in here.” She hugs herself, but her eyes track over the equipment, lingering on the the free weights and resistance bands. “Impressive setup. I see now why you’re in such good shape.”
I stand, moving to re-rack the weight plates. “You’re welcome to help yourself to any of the machines or weights. If you want. It will keep you warm.”
It’s true. I’ve already warmed up substantially. Not enough to work up a sweat in the cold room, but still...
She steps fully into the room, and I watch her assess the space. That field researcher brain of hers cataloging the possibilities. “I think I will.”
“Wait,” I add, because I can’t resist. “What about what you just said about showering before working out? You know, how other people do it in reverse order?”
She grins, and fuck me if that expression isn’t dangerous. “Who said I was like other people? Besides, I don’t very much I’ll sweat in this cold.”
She starts with a basic warm-up, stretching out her muscles. I try not to watch. Try to focus on my own workout. I switch to the pull-down machine and force myself through a set.
But my eyes keep drifting back to her.
She moves with the kind of confidence that comes from actual physical work, not just gym time. When she picks up the twenty-pound kettlebell, her form is solid. Controlled. She’s done this before, and she knows what she’s doing.
