Page 33 of Get Me to the Starting Line

I want to correct him—it had nothing to do with him—but what can I say? We move on from strength training to functional training. All the while I try to keep Leah out of my field of vision and utterly fail. I see her stealing glances every so often. My body is going to hate me tomorrow.

Especially since I let Mick convince me to do weighted Bulgarian split squats as a finisher. I should have told him I was absolutely maxed out. Bulgarian split squats are the worst on the best of days. But Leah was watching.

Mick tosses me a towel and I pat my forehead, trying to stop my legs from shaking.

“Damn, Jules,” Paige says from across the room as they make their way over to me. “Should I book you in for an extra massage this week?”

I nod, because yeah, my body will need it after this.

“Great, I’ll put it in your calendar. You remember my sister Leah, right?”

I nod again.

Leah narrows her eyes. “Hello,” she says slowly, drawing out the word like I’m a child. I fight to keep the smile off my face when Paige nudges her not-so-subtly.

I clear my throat. “H-Hi.”

“Riveting greeting, you two,” Paige laughs. “Keep her company for a sec, I’ve gotta find Adam and tell him we’re ready to go.”

“Sure.”

Leah stiffens but doesn’t object as Paige jogs away. There’s a beat of silence and then another. The clink of weights and grunts of the people lifting them fill the space between us.

She’s looking at anything but me. I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to break this semi-truce we’ve apparently formed. Last time we spoke, she did apologize, and I don’t want her to regret that.

“You d-don’t look like you’ve seen many weight rooms.” There, that seems innocuous.

She sighs with all the exasperation I would expect of a mother. What did I say?

When she finally meets my gaze, there’s not quite anger there. More like apprehension.

“I cannot figure you out,” she says.

“What?”

She’s locked in on me, assessing. “You don’t hear it, do you?” When I don’t respond, she rolls her eyes.

“Let me put it this way for you.” Her hands come up in air quotes. “‘You don’t look like you’ve seen many weight rooms’ sounds like ‘your body doesn’t look like you work out.’”

I feel my jaw drop. What the hell? “T-That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“You look uncomfortable in here.”

“Ever thought that has something to do with you?” she says, taking a step forward, nullifying the sting of her words. If she really was uncomfortable around me, she would have backed away, not come closer. Right?

I can’t handle her closeness, not when the endorphins from my workout are coursing through my body. But I don’t want to move back in case she takes offence to that as well. God, this woman is a minefield.

Are all women like this? I haven’t spent much time with them besides the occasional one-night stand, and there wasn’t much talking involved. Or the need to be on my best behaviour. The women wanted me, and I needed to scratch an itch.

Never this.

“How am I supposed to know that?” I can hear the frustration in my own voice, which is no doubt why her cheeks flush.

“You could think before you speak.”

I quirk a brow. “Do I look like a guy who doesn’t think through every word?”

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