1
OLIVIA
“Ihate you.” Air saws through my lungs as sweat trickles into my eyes and stings like hell.
The salty drop slides off my nose and hits the gym mat with a faintplop. I push up into standing, finishing what must be my millionth burpee.
Jonah taps the toe of my runner with his own, grinning like a man who enjoys other people’s suffering. “Stop being a crybaby and give ’em to me, darlin’.”
His nudge and that damn grin grind on my nerves—exactly his intention. I grit my teeth and drop into a plank, press through one more rep, and slide into a low push-up with something bordering on rage.
“Elbows tight.” The amusement in his voice fans the slow burn in my chest.
I should be riding high on endorphins by now. Isn’t that the whole point? Instead, there’s a monster brewing just beneath the surface—a snarky, sweaty beast who loathes exercise with every aching muscle in her body. She’s pretty much guaranteed to show up at some point.
A snarl slips past my lips. “Seriously, I fucking hate you.”
I collapse face-first onto the mat, my limbs nothing more than twitching noodles. Wasting away in this very spot is a possibility, and I’m okay with that. At the very least, my misery would be nonexistent.
Ugh.I should probably peel my cheek off the vinyl before it fuses with my skin.
Gross.
“My, my. You’re cattier than usual today.” His southern drawl, normally endearing, makes me want to hurl something large and guaranteed to hurt at his head.
Jonah, of course, is unfazed. He’s used to my workout dramatics. Honestly, he’d probably be concerned if Iwasn’tthis cranky.
“Liv, cut the sass. We’re almost done.” He drops my water bottle beside me on the mat like a peace offering and chuckles again.
The idea of cool water on my parched lips is practically pornographic. But I’d have to prop up my head to drink.Impossible.
“Any chance you could, I don’t know, lift my head and pour it down my throat?” My dry and raspy words are sugarcoated with desperation.
“Would you like me to swallow for you too?”
Any other time and I’d love his sarcasm. Now, not so much.
“No, I’ve got it.” I manage to raise my head a few inches and flash a wobbly grin.
His eyes twinkle—too pleased with himself.Sadist.
Jonah’s seen me at my worst. On our first day of this partnership, I couldn’t do a single push-up without collapsing in a pile of self-loathing. Now here I am, stronger—still swearing, but moving.
He extends a hand, like some sweat-streaked mirage in a desert of pain, and I hesitate. It would be too easy to just grabit even if moments ago, I would have taken it without a second thought.
No. I can do this.I’m strong and capable.The words flit through my head like a chant as I push into a seated position and force my shaky legs beneath me.
“You’re a tyrant.” I don’t mean it. My venom is just camouflage. Underneath it all, I’m grateful. His guidance and support are helping me change my life.
Jonah Carson isn’t cheap, and at first, I hemmed and hawed about hiring him as my personal trainer. I had to be smart with my money. It would’ve been different if I was still a stay-at-home mom with a husband as the sole breadwinner. But that was no longer my life.
Thank goodness.
Then I met him and my reservations flew out the window. We were like long-lost best friends. Someone who would push me to be my best, yet also understood I was vulnerable. We had an immediate trust that I’d only ever had with my best friend.
His Nashville drawl cuts through my wonderings. “I believe the term istrainer.” He saunters toward the massage table. “Now come on, hop up. You’ve earned a rubdown.”
He fastens a small black apron around his waist. The bottle of massage oil sits on his hip like a hammer holstered on a tool belt.
