With a low groan, I roll my forehead over the door and push off. Stepping back, I open the door and stalk my way to the gym. The place is empty, and I flick the light switch with too much pent-up... something.
I fire up the treadmill. Four miles pass before I manage to take the edge off the need for the sweet, fiery woman upstairs. When I stride past six miles, sweat runs down my back, over my chest, and down my stomach.
The sensation over my skin has my breath choppy.
I up the speed on the machine, sending my legs faster than is safe. Lungs on fire, legs jelly, I punch a finger to the stop button and step off, pacing a small circle. Hands on my hips, I heave through each stupid, useless breath.
I have no idea what to do with myself.
It’s one thing to know the rules, know the stakes. Another thing entirely to be unaffected by them.
By her.
Fuck.
A voice clears in the doorway.
I stop, hanging my head, not turning around.
“Sir?”
Davies.
Thank fuck. I don’t think I could muster the self-control I need to be around London right now and not make a huge mistake.
I turn back and he gives me a tentative smile. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not a chance. Treadmill’s all yours, if you want it.”
“Oh, no, I’ll bust out some reps. Can you spot me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks.” He wanders in, laying on the bench, forgetting to set his weights.
“What weight do you want, Davies?”
“Ah, what do you do, sir?”
I huff a laugh. “Probably more than you, bud. How about we start at forty?”
“On each?” His eyes go wide.
“Total, then?”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”
I set the weights on the bar and move behind his head to spot. He grabs the bar, lifting up before his hands are in position.
“Have you done this before, Davies?”
“Not exactly, sir. I usually use dumbbells and a kettlebell. Nothing that heavy, actually. Never saw the need.”
I raise a brow.
“You can never have enough muscle, bud. Adrenaline will only carry you so far.”
“Yes sir.”
