Page 11 of Unraveling with You

I said it quietly, but Remington’s eyebrows loosen in the mirror. Gripping my left foot by the toes, I stretch my quads, doing my best to fake calm despite Remington’s sweet, gentle smile stirring powerful nerves in my belly. At least these nerves feel good: exhilarating, hyper, and anticipatory.

Remington copies me, bending his knee to grab his left foot. I wobble from watching his perfect form, and he holds an arm out for me. I grab it on instinct. Remington meets my eyes. His playful, sharp stare spikes my stomach to my knees. I burst into shy giggles, and Remington softly chuckles.

“I’ve been thinking we should establish some gym rules since that trainer fucked it all up for you,” Remington says.

“Oh. Okay. Like what?” I wobble again. We finally switch legs.

“Like once you hit pain past a good burn, it’s time to switch to the next exercise. Don’t push yourself past it. That’s how injuries happen.”

I nod, copying Remington as he stretches his arms, pulling his elbow over his head. “Okay. What else?”

“I’ll show you the ropes in terms of equipment safety, but I’m not going to be another mansplaining dick.”

I laugh. “What if I need more explanation, though?”

“You can ask me anything, of course. But I think you’ve got this. From what I saw of you exercising, it seemed like you were underestimating your strength.”

I drop my arm, ducking my head with it. Remington keeps his eyes trained on himself in my peripherals, but I still feel self-conscious. What if I disappoint him? With how much crap I get at work for how weak I am, I thinkhe’soverestimatingme.

With my jaw clenched, I speak up with a racing heart. “I don’t know. I still sucked at carrying the soup yesterday, and it was just as humiliating.”

Remington drops everything to turn to me. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. Are you lifting with your legs instead of your back?”

I frown. “Yes. Everyone always tells me that, but that’s what I don’t understand – of course I’m using my legs. I’m standing when I pick it up, and putting weight on my legs. But when things get heavy enough, my back gets involved too, and my whole body strains.”

Remington hums. “I think I might have an idea what’s going on.”

Within a minute, Remington and I have gathered dumbbells in various weights, some type of back brace from Remington’s bag, and smaller wrist straps - all piled together on a workout bench. He stacks the smallest dumbbells before pushing the heaviest closer to me. “Do you think the soup’s heavier than 25 pounds?”

Hoisting the dumbbell with one large end in either palm, I droop it between my knees, just like I would with the soup. “I don’t know, actually. It might be similar to this weight, but the soup’s just so big and awkward, and it’s sloshing around and still boiling, so it’s hard to carry without spilling or burning my legs on the sides of the pot.”

“Alright, then, let’s make it more awkward.”

I laugh. “Oh. How?”

“We can try to lower your center of gravity with a different type of weight.” Remington strides over to another weight rack, sliding off a 25-pound, donut-shaped metal weight with one arm. He drops it onto the bench, and it slips a little from its rounded edges.

“I see. Awkward,” I mutter.

Remington whips his head around to me, letting out a sharp, quick laugh. “You’re funny.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “I’m not.”

“No, you are funny. And not in an I’m-making-fun-of-you way. In an I-didn’t-expect-Lilibeth-to-be-so-witty type of way.”

I bite back my smile, but my lip escapes my teeth’s grasp anyway. “Do I seem too shy to be funny?”

Remington chuckles again, grabbing his back brace. “Oh, no. I know too many people to think it makes sense to judge at first glance. Especially with the shy ones - you all are secret tigers. Or maybe you’re a panther with your black hair and those big, hazel eyes. Or are they green?” I bite my lip as he leans even closer - until he stops himself, zipping his focus away. “But anyway, I don’t know, something about how you say your jokes hits just right. It’s always unexpected in the best way. If I wasn’t so pissed at that trainer, I would’ve busted out laughing with you and your dark sense of humor about that gift card.”

Ducking my head, I laugh. If Remington keeps looking at me with so much warmth in his dark eyes, I don’t think my buzzing knees will last through our workout.

But his voice appears inches from my side, lighting my spine on fire. “Do you know how to put this back brace on?”

“N-no.” I meet his eyes, and my heart flips.

I haven’t been this close to him before, but now I can see a transparent silicone placeholder for an eyebrow piercing through his angular left brow. A swirly tattoo peeks from his hairline, covered by his choppy, short black hair over his forehead. Soft hints of his scent waft over me - a gentle mint from his toothpaste.

Taking the belted brace from him with shaking fingers, I loop it around myself, adjusting it on my waist to match where Remington strapped his on. “I-is that right?”

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