Page 14 of Unraveling with You

And I love pleasing Remington. I lunge a little deeper, aching to do a good job for him.

Except with my extra pushing, an acidic burn rages throughout my thighs, almost too heavy to withstand.

Remington’s dark brows furrow. “You okay? You’re doing more than usual.”

“I’m fine,” I huff, struggling to steady my heart rate.

But the second I bite my lip, pushing through the burn in my legs, Remington waves his hand.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy. You’ve done plenty.”

I flush, dragging each heavy foot as I fetch my metal water bottle. When Remington breaks into his first lunge, my stomach plunges further; he’s not smiling anymore.

“S-sorry,” I mutter.

His eyebrows scrunch. “How come?”

“I made you upset.”

He breathes evenly through each lunge, keeping his elbows slightly bent as he holds the dumbbells at his sides. “It’s not about me. I’m just a little concerned, is all. I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m pressuring you to push past your boundaries.”

My heart flips. “O-oh, no, I–” Crossing one arm over my chest, I grip my opposite shoulder. “It’s all me. It sounds silly, but I wanted to do a good job in front of you because I–”

I swallow hard. How do I explain that I not only want to please him, but also that I enjoy his praise? And “enjoying” doesn’t fully cover it since I really like him too. Romantically.

But Remington’s expression softens. My heart jolts at his serious, aching stare. “I’m sorry, Lilibeth. I don’t think I made something clear: I’d rather you be safe because I’malreadyproud of you. You don’t have to do anything except show up, and you should feel proud of yourself for it. If you need to stop early, that’s honestly impressive too. It takes a lot of courage to know your limits.”

My heart hammers harder than when I was exercising. As Remington stops lunging, we face each other directly. I can’t bear to return to the mat’s center for my turn, a magnetic pull tying me close to Remington’s heaving chest instead. The longer my eyes zip over him, the deeper my longing is to belong in Remington’s world.

I don’t want to only be his gym buddy. I want to know what he likes, what he hates, and what he does when he’s bored. And I’ve never felt like this with anyone else before, but I might even want to go to Club X with him to experiment my deepest fantasies.

But we’re nowhere near that. With how awkward I am, I don’t know how to bring us closer.

But I want to try. I swallow hard, landing on a terrifying question: even if Remington isn’t on the same page, does he even like me back romantically? I don’t know if I should voice it, but I don’t think I can hold in my feelings for him any longer. It hurts.

If only I had an ounce of the cool, sly courage he carries in those broad shoulders. Rather than seeing myself as a badass wild cat, Remington is more of a panther than anyone I’ve met.

“Can you show me how to have more courage, in general?” My voice comes out soft and shaky.

Remington tilts his head, taking a step closer to soften his voice too. “What do you mean? Like, in all of life?”

But seeing him this close, my tiny shred of courage melts beneath his stare. I fidget with my waistband. “I-I don't know. Never mind.”

Remington doesn’t say anything for at least ten seconds, thrusting my heart into another gear. But then he places his overheated hand on my shoulder, passing behind me.

“Okay. No worries.”

I can hardly breathe. Remington dropped the heavy subject for my comfort, but now that he’s been extra sweet about my awkwardness, guilt stings my core for accidentally holding in other secrets: Remington still has no idea that I know he works at Club X, and I haven’t known how to bring it up. What if he’s angry when I tell him I talked about him with someone else? Or thinks I’m clinging to him just to fuck him?

He seems to trust me. The longer I wait to admit what I know about him, the higher the chance my accidental secret will expand into offensive territory. And I want to grow closer to him, not hurt him.

Remington has already moved to the pulldown machine to set up my weights. I fetch my tote, chasing after him.

Before I can overthink it, I sputter my first thoughts as I halt at his side. “I told my friend Gabby I met a nice Remington, and she said she knows you.”

Remington freezes. When he looks at me, genuine shock freezes over his usual, neutral coolness. “Gabby, who?”

I swallow hard. “Gabby Ricchetti. We cook together at Salucci’s downtown. She–” An unspoken knowing crosses Remington’s dark eyes, and I’m terrified. But I have to keep going. “She said she knows you from Club X.”

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