Page 14 of Every Move You Make

And yet, I’ve just offered her lessons in flirting.

These head-first instincts only work if everything else in my life follows suit. Now, I’m mixing two ingredients that should not go together: Robyn, my forbidden fruit, and assisting her withhercrush.

What the fuck am I doing?

Oh well. I don’t often second-guess myself; let’s not start now. When I commit, I commit.

“Flirt coach?” she asks through labored breath as I increase the resistance again. “What does that mean?”

I shrug off my internal war and dive in. “It means I want to help you get the guy.”

She eyes me speculatively. “Why would you do that?”

“Because we’re friends. But now that I think about it, how is someone with millions of followers not able to get a date?”

“Trust me, if I was into women, I’d be married by now.”

I chuckle thinking about the ladies in her comments. “That’s true.”

“Netflix reached out to me a few weeks ago about auditioning for some new queer reality dating show.”

“Seriously? What was it called?”

“Lesbian Lock-Up. The show where contestants arelocked in a simulated prison, and compete for the affection of the star. But here’s the twist: there are ten civilians and ten real prisoners. It’s likeThe BachelorettemeetsOrange Is the New Black.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” I laugh. “How is any of that legal?”

“I have no idea, but I’m gonna watch that show if it ever comes out.”

“There could be a spin-off:Breaking Out. The show where the only way the bachelorette and her prisoner girlfriend can escape is with the help of the women whose hearts have been broken along the way.”

Robyn laughs “LikeThe Amazing RacemeetsShawshank Redemption.”

“Alright, hop off.” Turning on my heel, I head for the weight rack. Robyn follows and grabs the weightlifting belt. “So, is that a yes?” I ask, sliding her plates onto the bar. “Can I be your flirt and dating coach?”

“What about your No Dating Clients rule?”

Alright, so I may have told her about my rule at some point over the years. I found telling my clients about this rule helped keep me in check, especially with her.

“This wouldn’t be considered dating. I’m coaching you. It’s different.”

She stares at me.

“Would it be helpful if we put a time limit on this?” I ask. “Like, let’s say we stop this after a month. A clean break.”

She fastens the belt around her waist, but her eyes never drift away—like she’s studying the inner workings of my mind. “But we're still friends? You’re still my trainer? I really don’t want to find a new one.”

“Of course.”

“Promise you won’t make fun of me,” she says, and it’s not a question. It’s a contractual term. She looks so worried, and I can’t tell if it’s because she thinks Iwould actually make fun of her or if she thinks she looks desperate. Maybe it’s something else entirely. Regardless, I don’t like it when she worries.

I slide the last plate on and level with her, all humor gone. “I promise. On BooBoo Kitty and Chester’s life.”

Robyn’s hand flies to her chest and she gasps, her hazel eyes wide. She knows how much my cats mean to me. “Oh my god. That’s like signing your name in blood.”

“I’m that serious. I want you to be comfortable being yourself. I will not make fun of you. I’m here to help. Saturday night work for you?” Fuck, I sound too eager.

When she smiles like she is now, I’m transported back to the day we met. To the blurring of our surroundings and her strong features shining through. Her heated cheeks and her caught-off-guard smile.

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