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I shift in the seat. Beck looks over at me.

“What?” I hate that my tone is defensive.

“Nothing.”

“Were you thinking about her?”

“No.”

“Your face says you were.”

“My face doesn't say anything.”

“It says lots of things lately.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He laughs again.

I look out the window.

I should've made her leave. The moment I realized she was there because of me, I should've told her to go.

Instead, I trained her for almost forty fucking minutes. And touched her a lot more than necessary.

Having Callie pressed against me is a bad idea under any circumstances. Having her pressed against me in a sports bra while I can smell her fucking shampoo is worse.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

So did I.

That's the problem.

I told her she was doing well. She fucking beamed like the sun. I liked it. That's an even bigger problem.

“You're smiling.”

My head snaps toward Beck. “I'm not.”

“You were.”

“No, I wasn't.” I point at the windshield. “Watch the road.”

“Were you thinking about Callie again?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs.

I turn back toward the window. The gym comes into view ahead. I'll get my truck and go home. Alone. Exactly how I prefer it.

Beck turns into the parking lot, then stops. He’s so quiet that I immediately look to see what’s captivated his attention.

“What the hell?”

I look over at Beck, who, for once, is speechless. His mouth opens. Then closes.

My truck is exactly where I left it.