Page 14 of Class Act

“Sadist,” I shot back.

I was still smiling, wiping my small hand towel across my forehead and down my face as I left the locker room at the far side of the building when I ran into someone. Strong, warm hands closed over my bare upper arms as I attempted to rear back. Those hands kept me from slamming into a concrete wall. The mystery hands released me once I had my bearings, and I looked up to see none other than Ford Whittaker hovering over me.

It took a minute for my surprised brain to accept what I was seeing. I’d run into him around town before, which made sense because it was a small town, but had never entered his personal space. To be clear, I didn’t follow him anywhere. It was happenstance, and we were never within twenty feet of each other. I made sure of that, because every time I saw him, a flush came over my skin and my heartbeat quickened visibly--things I had no desire for him to see considering they’d be odd reactions out of someone who was supposed to be a stranger.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he said, as he released his hold on me.

I glanced around and then back at him. At least at the gym, the flushing and heartrate could be easily ignored. I’d seen him here before but played it off.

“I’m not usually in this section of the building.”

His eyebrows raised in amusement. “You’re not usually in the exercise section?”

I was so busy cataloging his sweat-damp hair and slightly flushed face to answer very quickly. His shirt didn’t have sleeves, and his arms were all lean and long muscle, not big and bulky, but well defined. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body and smell the scent of his soap--or maybe it was his deodorant--which meant I was standing way, way, way too close. I side shuffled a bit, using my towel once more to wipe at my forehead. With my light coloring I could only imagine how incredibly attractive I looked at the moment. Actually, I didn’t have to imagine because I’d seen it in the mirror two minutes ago. Strawberries and cream. Then I remember that had been the birthday cake he’d requested, and a new blush rose.

“I do yoga,” I replied with glittering wit, tearing my mind away from all strawberry related thoughts.

“Ah, I see. Not much use for weights and treadmills then.” He nodded as though I’d said something profound. “I don’t do yoga.” An odd little nerve-giggle escaped against my will as he asked, “What brings you to this, the dark side of the building, where everyone just grunts and sweats?”

“Spin class.”

He pulled a face and gestured to my sweaty towel. “I’m guessing it wasn’t your idea?”

My shoulders tightened causing my posture to abruptly become straight. I wasn’t sure if that was an insult or commiseration. “Why do you ask?”

“Sweaty towel, red face, general look of having survived something.”

My genius reply was to blink at him a few times before nodding. He smiled, and I decided I should shove off before I embarrassed us both by taking another whiff of that delicious scent.

“Well, I need to get these sweaty clothes off and take a bath,” I said.

The words hadn’t even finished leaving my mouth, and I already wanted to slap my palm against my forehead and commence digging a humiliation hidey-hold to crawl into. I couldn’t have just said goodbye? Maybe thrown in a casual ‘have a nice day’? No, I had to mention sweaty clothing and nudity.

He clicked his tongue, probably also baffled by my choice of words. “Okay.”

I kept my lips firmly together to avoid saying something else incredibly wonderful.

“Ford!” A deep voice called from the side. “My man.” It belonged to a muscle-bound guy I’d seen before. He maybe lived at the gym based on the way he looked.

I used the distraction to slip away and hurry toward the front doors to make my escape. Once I’d reached the door, I pushed it open and found my feet didn’t want to move outside. After a very short inner battle, I allowed myself one last glance. Ford was still standing where we’d spoken, facing my direction and talking to the muscle mountain guy. Maybe he sensed me looking, I don’t know, but he glanced up, and we locked eyes for a brief moment before I ducked out into the cool evening air with toes that wanted to curl inside my shoes.

*****

“Okay, so you told him you were taking a bath?” Aryn said, holding up one side of the bulletin board trim I was stapling up. “What did he say?”

I shook my head and slapped my palm against the open side of the stapler. Aryn had popped by my classroom looking for my opinion on a lesson plan but had found me fighting with a long border that would not be contained. She’d immediately set down her notebook and come to help, clearly understanding that most people don’t tell paper borders what a letdown they are, so I must be having some feelings that needed discussing.

I shifted closer to her and lined up the blue paper. “He only said ‘okay.’ He was probably too embarrassed to say anything else. It’s not really an appropriate topic of conversation for virtual strangers.”

“Baths are inappropriate?”

“Maybe not baths,” I glanced at her. “But talking about stripping off my sweaty clothes? It’s private time, and you’re . . .” I lowered my voice, “. . . naked.”

She bit down on her lips before they could finish tugging up. “And you’re worried that he was involuntarily picturing you stripping and bathing and was too embarrassed to continue the conversation.”

I slapped the stapler and scooted again. “Yes. Or else he’s wondering what type of exhibitionist goes around telling people about her bathing plans for the day.”

At this she did laugh. “Hailey, trust me, you didn’t say anything scandalous. Awkward, maybe, but not inappropriate. What would you have thought if he’d said, ‘Well, I’m off to shed these sweaty clothes and hit the showers?’”

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