Jonah claps his hands twice to get our attention and plasters on his most devilish grin. “Great, to maximize our time, we’ll do some high-intensity interval training with short, intense bursts of exercise and active recovery.”
Without even thinking, I groan loudly and protest, “Jonah, we did that two days ago.”
I hate this routine and he knows it. Something tells me that’s why we’re doing it. Why not let Sam see me at my worst?
Jonah winks. “You’ll thank me later.”
Highly doubtful.
The hour is torture. Jonah’s ruthless, deliberately pushing me on the parts of my routine I hate and suck at. He leaves me wanting to inflict pain and wipe off his playful smile. So, nothing new.
Sam is encouraging. Maddeningly so. At times, I find myself resenting him too. He makes everything seem effortless. And somewhere during the routine, Sam whips off his shirt and the world tips upside down.
My feet forget how to move and I almost face-plant on the treadmill. In turn, my supposed trainer emits a deep belly laugh while helping me right myself on the death contraption. I don’t know why I ever thought he was my friend. He’s the devil incarnate.
From then on, I’m hopelessly distracted. I stumble through the rest of the routine, unable to successfully tear my eyes away from Sam’s sculpted back, defined arms, and lickable six-pack and damn, I nearly choke on my own saliva at his tattoos.
They’re eye-catching. In addition to the magnificent snake on his arm, the one on his left pec looks to be a cabbage, although it could also be a heart, and a few lines of black script run across the side of his rib cage. Try as I might, I can’t make out the words. Short of wrestling him to the ground, I’ll have to wait to find out what it says.
Still, as I admire him, that ache creeps in. The doubt and what could be excuses or real concerns. The distance. He’s a celebrity of a sort. We have different lifestyles. And let’s not forget, I’ve got baggage and teenagers.
What am I doing?
The easy banter and laughter between Jonah and Sam snap me out of my troublesome thoughts. They’re getting along well, both downing Gatorade and joking about something. Not only do they both make working out look as easy and effortless as sun-tanning, but they also share similar tastes.
By the time I return from showering, Jonah’s lounging, arms crossed, with a smug grin. “So, you and Sam?”
“Friends.”
He snorts. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“We’re just…spending time together. Casual.”
“Casual.” His lips twitch. “So casual he flies here unannounced.”
“He said he was coming anyway.”
“Right.” He leans closer. “He’s thirty.” His flat delivery contradicts the twinkling mischief in his eyes and the smug smirk I want to wipe off his handsome face.
Grrr, he riles me like an annoying brother. What else did Jonah grill Sam about while I was showering?
“How do you know that?”
“We talked. He’s great.” He wipes down the machines.
I narrow my eyes. “What else did he tell you?”
“Relax. I like him.” He shrugs. “But if you’re going to date younger men, own it.”
“Jonah, shut up.”
His grin widens. “You’re going to the Bow, yeah? I’m coming.”
“Sure.” I smile and his brows rise to his hairline, most likely expecting an argument from me. “Let me text Sin and Drew to let them know we’re on our way.”
“Cool. Just waiting on Millie so I can tell her she can go home.”
Millie is Jonah’s personal chef and painfully shy. Just then she walks in and only seconds later, a freshly showered Sam enters the room.
