She puts her earbud back in and starts with a stretch, reaching up toward the sky before folding in half to touch her toes.
And I’m fucking staring.
I don’t know how long it’s been since my last set, and I can’t seem to pull my attention away from her long enough to start my next one.
She looks good.
Her blonde hair is halfway clipped up, keeping it out of her pretty face. She’s in a matching workout set because of course she is. The woman is always polished and perfectly coordinated, and clearly that extends to her time in the gym.
The berry-colored leggings paint her thick legs, and the matching sports bra just barely holds her in. She’s soft everywhere and I fucking love that. I love that she doesn’t hide it either. She’s confident in her body and my type to a T.
It’s the bit of motivation I need to start my next set because, yeah, she’s my type. I lift heavy for a reason.
Watching my form in the mirror, I’m only three reps in when my eyes drift to her corner. She’s got one arm reaching over her body in another stretch, but it’s done so a bit mindlessly. Instead, her focus is locked on my reflection, snagging on my thighs as I sit deep in a squat.
As I push through the movement, her attention follows, until finally, her eyes catch mine.
I want to tease her. I want to give her a bit of shit for checking me out. But I also don’t want her to stop, and with her newprofessional boundaries, drawing attention to the fact she’s close to crossing them would only cause her to put up more.
But neither of us looks away from the other. There’s a beat of silence and I’m tempted to fill it with the question I’ve been wondering all week.
What the hell happened?
It’s on the tip of my tongue when Reese pulls her eyes away from mine and moves into another stretch. I get back to my workout and sink into another squat, doing my best to focus on my form, and only my form, when I look into the mirror.
That’s only successful for about two more reps because out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Reese spreads her legs into a wide stance, then folds in half at the hips to put her palms flat on the mat.
The dim light sets a moody glow over her body andgood God, she’s about to spill out of that fucking bra with the way she’s bending forward. If she does, there’s no doubt my knees will give way under this amount of weight.
Without finishing my set, I slam the bar back onto the rack, partly out of frustration, but mostly because I’m going to drop it if I don’t get it secured as quickly as possible.
The bang startles Reese, her eyes shooting up to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I pace the small area around me, hands on my hips and keeping my eyes down. “Fine.”
I take a few deep breaths before returning to the bar. I lift it off the rack again and sit myself into a deep squat at the exact moment Reese decides she needs to stretch her calves. Hands and feet on the mat, ass in the air and done so facing the opposite wall from me.
Is she fucking with me?
She has to be fucking with me, right?
I barely get through the one single rep, too distracted and too mesmerized by the way her body moves, by the way her ass jiggles. By the way she won’t fucking talk to me.
Giving in, I re-rack the bar for the last time. And I’m still as frustrated as I was when I started my workout, aggressively removing the weighted plates and putting them back where they belong.
“I’m done,” I exhale in defeat. “The place is all yours.”
I don’t know why I announce it. I supposed it’s in the hope she’ll say something to me in return.
She doesn’t.
Reese has moved over to the free weights, but I don’t look in her direction again as I grab my T-shirt, phone, and water bottle and head toward the small locker-room-type bathroom attached to the gym. I keep my eyes down, locked on my phone screen, disconnecting my music from the surround-sound speaker.
“Emmett,” she says, stopping me before I’ve slipped out of the room.
I can feel how hopeful my expression is when I turn back to face her, eager that she’ll talk to me for longer than one clipped sentence.
There’s an apology in the way she looks at me from across the room. It’s enough to tamp down a bit of the frustration I’m feeling toward her. Because whatever is going on, that look on her face lets me believe there might be a part of her that dislikes her new rules too.
