I freeze mid-row.
“Don’t do that,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“Say things like that.”
“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused.
Because you’re twenty-seven and you say things like that very… convincingly.
“Because you don’t even know me.”
He gives a half-grin. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
I look away, picking up the weights again. “Well. Don’t start meaning them.”
“I admit I don’t know you, sure. I’m a pretty good gauge of vibe, though,” he grins. “And I like yours. You can pick up a lot from non verbal cues.”
“I have a date tonight,” I add.
“Do you?” he asks, his voice light but something flickering beneath it.
“Yes,” I say. “At eight.”
He nods once. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah,” he says, returning to trainer mode, even though his eyes linger a second longer than they should. “You deserve someone who doesn’t think foreplay is optional.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, nearly dropping a dumbbell on my foot. “Please stop bringing that up.”
“No can do,” he says, grinning. “It’s too iconic.”
I glare at him.
“Row,” he says, still smiling.
I row.
And I swear his grin only gets wider.
Colt taps something on his tablet, glances at the screen, then at me.
“It looks like you booked ten sessions,” he says.
I nod, wiping sweat from my forehead. “Yeah. I figured if I’m doing this, I’m doing it all the way.”
His smile widens. Slow, impressed.
“Great. Ten sessions means we can actually make progress. So tell me…”
He leans against a rack of dumbbells, crossing his arms in a way I wish he wouldn’t.
“Is there anything in particular you want to focus on over the duration of our training together?”
My brain blanks.
