She exhales a sharp laugh as she lowers the kettlebell. “I won’t be here. I’ll be living life on an island sipping Sex on the Beaches.”
I chuckle. “Of course.”
A timer blares through the speakers, and Fiz collapses onto the floor with a loud groan that’s audible over the music, rolling onto his back and sprawling his limbs, panting, chest heaving.
“Little slow that last round,” I call out.
Fiz angles his head and looks toward us, face glistening with beads of sweat. “I’d like to see you do it faster.”
I grin, turning back to El as she starts her second set. “Squat with it too.”
“Huh?”
“As you bring the weight down, squat down with it, then come back up and press.” I demonstrate.
She follows my actions, her lips tightening with the effort.
I feel movement behind and then Fiz appears next to me, dabbing his body with a towel. Testosterone rolls off him in thick waves, making me want to start lifting something. I never work out with El. I always have my attention on this girl. Whether that’s for safety or just because I enjoy watching her too much, I’m not sure.
“Looking good there, Sleeping Beauty,” he says.
“Don’t take the piss,” she spits, strain crinkling the corners of her eyes.
“I’m not at all. Few more sessions like that and you’ll be squatting on my dick for a full minute.”
She throws him a middle finger. He chuckles.
“Not a very deep squat though, is it?” he says to me.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Baby steps, Fiz, she could barely walk two weeks ago.”
He makes a sound, then steps forward. “Drop the weight.”
El straightens. “What?”
“Drop the weight.”
Her eyes flicker to me. I shrug a shoulder, then nod. She places the weight down on the mat.
“Now squat down.” She does. “Lower.”
“I can’t.”
“No such thing as ‘can’t’. Lower.” Here comes that assertive, no-nonsense Fiz.
She takes a deep breath, then bends an inch lower.
“You want your thighs parallel to the floor,” Fiz says, walking over to her and crouching. He extends a hand underneath her thigh. “Keep going until you feel my hand.”
El lowers a little more, then stops, her legs beginning to shake. “How low is your damn hand?”
“As low as your thighs should be. Keep going.”
When she finally feels Fiz’s hand hit under her thigh, she shoots back up. “Jesus.” She kicks out her legs, shaking them.
He doesn’t grin. “Again.”
She scowls at him. “That’s too hard.”
