Mustering every ounce of courage I possess – something I’m not usually short on – I leave Rosie behind, stalking to the weight rack area.
“Giselle, this is Mitch. Mitch, Giselle,” Hudson introduces us politely. “I know we’ve been working on our squats, but today is the first time we’ll be doing so with a weight behind you. I’d like Giselle to demonstrate why it’s vital to have someone to spot you, especially if this isn’t something you’re used to.”
Mitch nods without saying a word.
“Are you happy with that, Gee?”
“Yes, Hudson.”
It’s only because I’m standing so close to him that I see the shiver Hudson represses.
“Good,” he repeats. “How much weight do you usually squat with?”
I reel off my number, nothing too impressive, but it’s an amount I’ve been working towards.
Happy with my answer, Hudson grabs a barbell from its rack and begins to load it up with an equal amount of metal weight plates on either side of the bar.
“Get underneath for me, won’t you?” he directs, tapping his hand on the barbell to signal that he wants me to duck.
I do as asked without hesitation.
In this position – my back a few inches from Hudson’s chest and a large mirror in front of both of us – I can spot the smirk playing about his lips.
Apparently, I’m not the only one of us who can make their once innocent set of words sound… less than innocent.
“So, Giselle is going to reach behind her and grab the barbell.” Hudson may be speaking to Mitch, telling him exactly what I’m going to do, but his green eyes stay on mine in the mirror the entire time. “She’s going to want to find a comfortable position where the barbell is resting on her shoulders, and then once she’s happy with that, she’s going to lift the barbell up and off the rack and begin her first squat.”
The cold metal texture of the barbell bites into the palms of my hands as I reach behind and grab tight a hold, make sure my feet are shoulder width apart and inhale deeply, about to lift up and off, when—
“Hudson?” I lower my voice so only he can hear me.
He matches my quiet pitch without needing to be prompted. “Yeah?”
“You’re not going to let him stand there and look at my arse, are you?”
I watch Hudson’s teeth clench so tight his jaw ticks. I’m surprised I can’t hear his teeth cracking with the force.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he grits out, eyes still on mine, holding, waiting.
Then he flicks his attention to Mitch for the smallest of milliseconds. “Mitch. Round the other side, mate. I need you to pay close attention to whatI’mdoing, not Giselle.”
Once Mitch is facing Hudson, and not my legging cladded arse, I pick up the barbell and added weights. I suck in every inch of air I can get into my lungs and slowly bend my knees.
“One.” Hudson keeps count behind me. “Good. Another.”
The rest of the busy gym around us seems to melt away until all I’m focused on is the weight resting on my shoulders that I’m squatting with and Hudson’s huge presence behind me.
Unlike Mitch, I can’t find it within myself to be bothered if Hudson is checking out my arse.
Not to toot my own horn, but it’s a pretty good arse if I do say so myself. Hours and hours andhoursof dancing certainly has its physical benefits, as well as its mental ones.
When I feel a small shake overtake my body on my sixth squat, Hudson steps up closer behind me, those tattooed arms of his spread out in case he needs to catch me or the heavy barbell.
“You okay, Gee?”
“Yeah,” I mutter through my clenched teeth.
“A few more, okay? Give me a few more.”
