Page 28 of One Shot

“You can kind of fake the lunges. Just do one side, up and down slowly for a few reps,” I tell him.

He just nods again. Is he annoyed that he’s here? He’s not as talkative as he usually is. I snap some quick shots. Looking through my camera, I see I’ve captured at least one perfect shot. He has determination in his eyes and his strong calf muscle pops as it’s being worked. Is it possible to be turned on by a guy’s leg muscle? That is a first for me.

“Okay. Pull-ups next, please.”

He just nods again. He’s not a man of many words today. He must be annoyed. I didn’t even ask him to do this.

I notice his abs tighten as he pulls himself up, who knew they could look even more toned and chiseled. Again, my cheeks start to tingle with heat every second I take in more and more of his built body. His biceps contract as he pulls his chin over the bar. God was showing off when he created this man. No one was meant to look this delicious while sweating profusely.

“Great! Last thing will be bench presses with a barbell. We won’t have to put weights on it since it’s just a mock before the real photos are captured. I’m going to have to stand over you somehow—so it might take a little to get my footing right.”

He just nods again. What is with him?

“Thanks again for doing this,” I mutter before taking any shots. He’s doing me a favor by being here.

“Of course, happy to help,” he replies.

“Are you sure? You seem pretty unhappy to be here. Sorry, that I am making you work out again.”

“Oh. No, it’s not that at all. I am happy to be here.”

“Then what’s up? You’re barely even talking to me, Lucas. Is it because I drunkenly kissed you? I’m sorry abou—” He cuts me off.

“No, it’s not that at all.” He shakes his head no with a slight laugh. “You just seemed to really hate when I called you Chip. I’m sorry. I’m not even sure why I did. I’ve never called you that before.”

“Oh.” Well, I guess that makes sense. I was really thrown off by his use of my nickname and didn’t realize I was coming off as distant or upset.

“See what I mean?”

“Sorry. I was just surprised. No one calls me that except my family and close friends. I didn’t even realize you knew what it meant.”

“I don’t know what it means. I just . . . Well maybe I wanted to be a close friend.”

Lucas locks eyes with me. His brown eyes seem to have extra flecks of gold in them today. Sex jokes and sweetness both from Lucas over the span of an hour? It was going to be harder to resist him than I thought.

“It’s really not an exciting story, but if you want to know, I’ll make you a deal. After we’re done in the locker room, I’ll tell you before we do some shots on the ice. Deal?”

His signature crooked grin spreads across his face. “Deal. Bench press time.”

Lucas helps me maneuver a soft box, used for jumps and step ups, next to the bench so that I can stand slightly above him while he lays down on the bench to get the right camera angle. I don’t love the angle I have just standing to one side of him, so he allows me to have a sliver of the bench to tip toe on. With one foot on the box and one hanging off the bench and Lucas between me, I think I can try to get the angle I want.

“Okay, start lifting,” I say.

He gives me a concerned look and mutters “Be careful” under his breath.

I’ve never seen someone’s muscles from this angle before. He really does emit Greek God energy. My mind starts to wander about how the view looks if I was kneeling over him instead of standing.

Head in the clouds, mind in the gutter, I shift and lose my footing on one of the boxes. I try to regain my balance but it’s like I’m slipping in slow motion.

Fuck.

Now, I’m straddling him. He racks the barbell and quickly places his hands on my hips. Oh my god, what is he doing?! He sits up and his chest presses to mine. We are chest to chest, nose to nose, lips mere inches from each other’s. I take in a sharp inhale as I feel his breath on my skin. My heart is beating so fast I think it might beat right out of my chest. Can he feel it racing? A growing bulge presses against where he sits between my thighs. Those thin gray sweatpants are not hiding much at all. He picks me up effortlessly, pulling me off him as he stands.

“Sorry!” We both say at the same time.

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stood over you. There wasn’t enough room; I was bound to fall. Hopefully I didn’t hurt your. . . you.”

At least I avoided saying ‘hopefully I didn’t slam down on your cock when I fell.’ Although judging by the slight hard on I can see in his pants, I don't think I did. Whoever designed these pants might be my hero. Or my worst enemy. I’ve sworn off love and should be focusing on my future.

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