Page 20 of Every Move You Make

He nods. “Like videos I thought would only stay between him and me. And he did. He blurred his own face, but notmine. But I can be just as stubborn as him. I decided to make an OnlyFans account, create solo content, and let his uploads light my fire. I don’t half-ass anything, and I sure as shit don’t let others steamroll me.”

“Oh my,” I whisper. “Not that I want to look—”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” he smirks.

“—but do you still make that content?”

“Not in a couple of years, no. I deleted my account. Switched to good, old-fashioned thirst traps, the way our Lord intended. Y’know, that wholesome stuff.”

“And where does personal training fall into this?”

“I went to school for kinesiology and business. Always knew I wanted to go into something that kept me in the gym. There’s a lot of clarity and control there for me. And I enjoy helping people.”

Suddenly, I’m reminded that he’s helping me right now.

We’re not on a real date.

He likes to help people. He just said that. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t remember me from the sidewalk four years ago, and he certainly doesn’t want—no.I need to stop.

“Tuna tartare,” our server says, throwing me out of my selfish pity party and placing the dish between us.

“Thank you,” he says softly. He turns his gaze back to me and squeezes my hand gently as the server walks away. But something changes inside of him, I can tell. All his confidence vanishes, and a rare downturn of his mouth forms. “Does knowing what you know now change the way you see me?”

“No,” I say urgently. “I know a thing or two about giving the middle finger to haters,” I remind him. “You did the same thing. And I don’t think sex work is shameful.”

Our hands stay locked together as our appetizer sits untouched between us. There’s more in his eyes, though.

“What’s wrong?”

He takes a long inhale and I’m on pins and needles whenhe finally speaks again. “The real reason I don’t date my clients is because I used to—a lot. It was never anything serious. Just hooking up and a casual lunch here and there. But it got to a point where I started getting a reputation in the local training community that I was unprofessional.”

“Oh.”

“Hence the rule, which has kept me in check for three years now.”

What a tortured soul. I never knew this side of him. Our training sessions are centered around playful banter and gossip, but this side…he hides it well. You’d never know this carefree gym bro cares deeply. He protects himself.

“Do you want to tell me more?”

Dell gives me a slow grin before taking a sip of his wine. “No,” he says simply, his tone low and even; his confidence returned. “I’d like to sit here and listen to you talk. I like watching the candlelight flicker in your eyes.” His gaze drags low as my body temperature spikes. “And I’d like to watch your chest flush when you catch me appreciating your body. Just. Like. That.”

Chapter 8

Dessert

Robyn

Of course we ordered dessert. How could we not, when he explicitly told me to be myself? He knows how I live for a sweet treat. Our server came around with the dessert cart, and when the wildflower honey crème brûlée caught my eye, I didn’t fight it. That sweet, custardy goodness sang to me.

“Enjoy,” our server says, placing two spoons and walking away.

I’m about to tap into the thin, torched-sugar crust when Dell stands up and moves his chair right next to me. When he sits again, his long leg brushes against mine. He leans in close. “Would you feel comfortable showing more affection at this point?” he murmurs, and my downstairs region clenches.

There’s only one word that flashes in my head like a billboard at night. “Yes.”

Wordlessly, he takes the spoon from my hand and breaks the sheet of crispy, burnt sugar, then drags a delicate scoop. With one arm resting on my chair back and the other elbow propped on the table, Dell grins lazily and whispers, “Open for me.”

What kind of dizzying liminal space am I in? Because I’m simultaneously floating in this aura we’ve created and burning from his attention. His minty fragrance mingles with the honey and vanilla of the crème brûlée, and suddenly, I’m swept away—lost entirelyto him and the gentle taste of sweet custard and crispy sugar melting in my mouth.

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