"Scarletta!"
And there he is. Walking toward me with that easy confidence, wearing a fitted black shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he's built like some kind of Greek statue.
My brain short-circuits. "Hey," I manage, and I sound almost normal. Almost.
"I was starting to worry you weren't gonna show up today." He stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact. "You're usually here by now."
He's beenthinkingabout me.
He knows my schedule.
Heat floods my face and I pray the gym lighting hides how hard I'm blushing.
"I had some business to attend to," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Old life stuff. But I wouldn't miss my daily workout for anything."
Lie.
Except... maybe it's not?
Ihavebeen coming here every day. Not because I care about fitness goals, or sculpting my body, or any of that motivational poster bullshit.
But because it kills time. Because it's something to do that isn't sitting in my apartment spiraling.
Ryan's gaze sweeps over me—not in a creepy way. Just... appreciative. Professional but warm.
He meets my eyes again and there's something in his expression that makes my stomach flip.
"Want some help with your workout today?" he asks.
"No." The word comes out automatically, defensive. "I mean, I'm good. I just do the treadmill and stairclimber anyway, so..."
God, I hate myself.
Why did I say it like that? Like I'm apologizing for taking up space? Like I need to justify my boring routine to him?
But Ryan doesn't look put off. If anything, his smile widens.
"How about I give you a new personal fitness plan?" He leans against the counter, casual, easy. "On the house. Your body already looks amazing, Scarletta—seriously, whatever you've been doing is working—but if you'd like to actuallysculptit? I'm the guy. I can help."
My mouth goes dry.
Your body already looks amazing.
He thinks my body looks amazing.
Ryan—gorgeous, successful, completely-out-of-my-league Ryan—thinksIlook amazing.
I should say something.
Anything.
Instead I'm just standing here like an idiot, staring at him, my new metallic purple nails digging into the strap of my gym bag.
"Um… OK." OK? That's it? That's the extent of my game? For fuck's sake, Scarletta, level the fuck up!
"I mean, yes. Obviously—" I slowly lower my eyes, then raise them back up, "—you know what you're doing."
He smiles, then laughs. "Are you dangerous, Scarletta?"
