Of course he remembered the bull. Not my finest moment, but I was ten. He wasn’t any smarter, getting cut up in the barbed wire. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life.
“Cardio to get your blood pumping.” Grey gestures toward the treadmill. “Ten minutes, then we’ll start strength training.”
I do as he says, resigned to not let my awkwardness or lack of gym rat knowledge get the better of me. Watching Flex Appeal’s videos isn’t nearly as intimidating as this is going to be.
Grey shrugs out of his jacket, ready to get to work. He peels off his t-shirt, displaying a tremendous set of pecs. My thoughts slide sideways and I nearly eat it on the treadmill. My heart beats faster, but not because I’m trying too hard at cardio. It’s all him. Perfect from his thick arms and broad shoulders to his six pack abs and…
Oh, what a sight. Gray sweatpants that can’t hide a single bulge.
He pulls a sweatshirt overhead, stretching his arms through the cut off sleeves. When his head pops through the loose-fittingneck, I quickly look away. But something’s already niggling at me.
He’s distracting, but it’s more than that. It’s like that feeling I get when a word is right on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite make it out. Like I know what it is, but the letters and sounds won’t form in my voice.
Gray steps closer and lowers the pace on the treadmill. “Start slowing it down a little.”
He smells like outdoors and leftover sunshine, wood shavings and sweat. I try not to inhale too deeply, but it’s difficult when my lungs are already working overtime. Nothing like a little cardio and a gorgeous man to get my blood pumping.
We move to the intimidating area of the gym that I usually avoid. Free weights, benches, and metal contraptions with levers and bars dangling from above. He sits on the end of a bench, his feet planted on either side and his marvelous bulge flagging front and center beneath his sweat pants.
I’m going to hell for looking where I shouldn’t. But I’m only human. And this is Grey. The man wet dreams are made of.
He lies back, and his shirt scrunches up his torso, exposing his abs. I resist the urge to lick my lips. But then he lies back and that bulge between his legs becomes a mountain on an otherwise muscular terrain.
He’s killing me.
My breath hitches as I try to concentrate, suddenly aware of the heat blooming in my belly. Then he reaches for the bar above, stretching his arms, and I see what can’t be unseen.
The scar.
Damn. That’s it.It isn’t the gym that’s familiar in the For Fans Only workout videos. It’s him. Grey is Flex Appeal. The scar’s barely visible in the videos. So faded I didn’t give it any thought. And I sure as heck wouldn’t have guessed Grey would have a man candy account.
Grey
I stretch my arms overhead and grip the bar, settling back on the bench, showing Kari proper form. This part is muscle memory. I focus on the pull in my shoulders, the steady rhythm of breath in and out, grounding myself. Anything to keep me from losing my cool.
She thinks I didn’t notice her staring, but she wasn’t quick enough when she shifted her gaze. Yeah, I could’ve changed my shirt in the restroom, somewhere less obvious, but can’t blame a guy for testing the waters. Even when I shouldn’t.
Kari steps closer to the bench and hovers over me, so close I can feel the change in the air. Her presence sharpens my awareness. I try to refocus, but a shimmer of light dances in her eyes. That same, unmistakable gleam.
Right before trouble ensues.
“Make sure your arms and elbows are aligned with your chest…” I’m saying when her fingertip brushes my side, tracing the scar beneath my pit.
My reaction is instant. I jerk, and the bar flies up as the weighted cable sinks like a brick. A loud metallic clang echoes through the room, and my heart slams against my ribs as I scramble to steady it.
“What the hell—” I mutter.
Kari freezes. Her eyes widen for half a second before curiosity takes over.
“Sorry,” she says, amusement lacing her voice. “I didn’t think you were ticklish.”
I sit up, and drag a hand down my face. “I’m not.”
She leans in, eyes fixed on my arm. She nudges my elbow upward, and her touch zings through me like wildfire, sharp and electric, setting off a chain reaction of epic proportions in my groin.
“Let me see,” she says, retracing the scar. “That healed really well,” she says. “I barely noticed it.”
I glance at her hand, still hovering near my ribs. The warmth of her breath wafts past my ear, stirring tingles across my neck.
