Grabbing a pair of three-pound weights, I decide to start small for my arms. As I awkwardly begin my workout, the gym door opens, and Oliver and Morgan walk in, dressed to work out as well.
She spots me first, her face lighting up as she waves and grabs Oliver’s upper arm to pull him over to me. “Hey, Amelia, what a nice coincidence,” Morgan says cheerfully. “I’m not really the kind who works out, but all the books and plants I used to enjoy belonged to my client, so I can’t really do what I like. And watching movies all day gets boring, so here we are.”
Having your homeandyour things taken from you must be hard. “You can borrow some of mine if you’d like,” I offer, smiling.
“I’m not really intoTwilight, but thank you,” she teases with a grin.
I laugh. “I have other stuff, too, you know. But there’s a pretty cool bookstore downtown?—”
“Oh, amazing! That’s such a good idea. Let’s go tomorrow morning. We could grab some coffee and then browse for a while,” Morgan interrupts, excited.
I didn’t mean to suggest we go together, more to just tell her about the place. But sure, why not? Morgan seems nice, and I could always use a new book.
She pulls out her phone. “Give me your number, please.” I rattle it off, and she lets it ring once to confirm. “Great, text me when you’re awake.” She grins, seemingly satisfied.
Oliver has been watching from the side, but as Morgan goes to walk on a treadmill and I start to pull up the small weights again, he steps closer, a slight frown on his face.
“I’m doing it wrong, aren’t I? I’ve never done this before,” I admit, feeling embarrassed.
“Not exactly wrong, but you could improve the motion. I can show you if you like, but it works your way too.” His voice is calm and reassuring.
“Please?” I ask, looking up at him.
For a brief moment, heat flickers in his eyes, and my heart skips a beat. But then he steps behind me. His fingers glide over the back of my upper arm, just a breath of a touch sending a shiver down my spine. His fingertips press gently into my skin, signaling me to lift my arm a little more.
“Like this…” he whispers, and with his guidance, I adjust my grip on the weights, ensuring my palms are facing upward and my elbows are close to my sides. As I begin the curl, Oliver’sfingers trace along my bicep, highlighting the muscle that should be contracting.
“Focus on squeezing your bicep as you lift the weight and control the motion as you lower it back down,” he continues, his voice tender but precise. “Keep your upper arm stationary. Let the forearm do the work.”
I feel the difference immediately. “Why are you so good at this?”
“It follows rules. It’s not just anything. It’s cause and effect. Do A, achieve B. I like logical things.” His breath is warm against my ear, making my skin tingle.
He adjusts my arm once more, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. My pulse quickens, and I can’t help but be acutely aware of his presence. Then his fingers brush my shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “How does that feel?” he asks, his voice now low and, if I’m not mistaken, a little gruff.
Like I need more of your touch.
“Much better.”
“Good,” he says, his lips curving into a smile that I can hear in his voice. “You’re a quick learner.”
I bite my lip, trying to steady my breathing. “You’re a good teacher.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he teases, stepping even closer.
Heat radiates from his body, and it’s intoxicating. I turn my head, catching his gaze. There’s a spark there, something unspoken but undeniably present.
“I’ll have to remember that,” I say, my words catching in my throat.
“Please do,” he replies, his eyes not leaving mine.
We continue the exercise, the air between us charged withsomething, and I find myself hanging on his every word and touch when we change the movement.
“Like this,” he murmurs in a low whisper. “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks to you.” The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, it’s making it hard to focus on anything but him.
“Maybe we should make this a regular thing,” he suggests, his tone playful now. “I’m enjoying this.”
