Page 2 of Fall With Me
I shrug like it’s not my problem. “Now you do.” Pointing to the floor, I motion for him to start.
Grudgingly, he hops down into a plank position, does a push up, then tucks his knees under him and jumps up. He scowls at me as he goes back into his plank.
“One,” I count for him. “Keep going.”
Leaving him to carry out the other nineteen (secretly impressed with his proper form), I go to the women at the upper body station. “Those muscles won’t get worked just standing there Bea,” I say. “Let’s get back at it.”
Whispers of “I wonder if he’s single?” and “Ohhh, he’s sexy” and “There’s the motivation I needed” echo around the room.
Heisattractive and his perfect form and defined (but not bulky) muscles are downright sexy. But if I don’t stop my class—and myself—from checking him out, we’ll never finish our workout.
Clapping my hands again, I shout, “Keep moving, friends. The next time I see someone standing around who isn’t on their fifteen-second break, will get to do burpees, too.”
I’m bluffing, but I want them to exercise.
Every woman, except Bea, gets back to it. Bea, in an attempt to show off for the new guy, introduce herself, or prove she can keep up with him—I’m not entirely sure of her reasoning—joins this guy in doing burpees.
New Guy does three to Bea’s one. Granted, she’s in her seventies…but should I stop her? The last thing I want is someone having a heart attack, stroke, or dying during my class. I care about these women who have consistently supported me since I started working here, but she obviously thinks she can do it.
“Bea,” I say. “We’re about to switch stations. Why don’t you get up and head back to your biceps curls?” And leave this poor man alone.
He’s mine to torture.
Chapter 2
Dawson
I’m in the wrong place. It’s the only logical answer. Or I’m dreaming. I bite my tongue and sharp pressure stings my mouth. Definitely not sleeping then. The schedule said bootcamp. Itriplechecked before dropping Finn off at school this morning. I feel like I walked into the women’s locker room. All eyes are on me, and I don’t like the attention.
I should have just lifted weights today.
Finishing my burpees, I jump up, staring at the instructor, waiting for a bigger challenge. “All done, ma’am.”
She grimaces briefly before a Cheshire grin appears on her lips. The instructor might think it’s scary, but it’s not. She’s too pretty with her shiny blond hair and nicely shaped figure that’s hard to miss in her tight tank top and short bike shorts. The color of her eyes reminds me of raw honey in a glass jar on a sunny windowsill. They’re appealing and completely unintimidating.
“Come on over,” she says, waving for meto follow her.
Right. I’m here to work out (the jury is still out on whether I’ll get a good session in). Not stare at some woman’s enticing eyes.
She points to the mid-range dumbbells in the corner of the room. “Ten reps of full biceps curls, ten triceps extensions, and ten shoulder presses. Take a thirty-second rest, then cycle back through until I say stop.”
She watches me pick up twenty-five-pound dumbbells. Is she impressed? Not impressed? Why do I even care?
Because she’s beautiful, and you want to impress her.Incorrect. I want nothing from her except a great workout.
I extend my weights, tuck my elbows into my side, and pump out ten reps with the same speed up and down. Keeping the same weight, I start right into working my triceps.
The instructor stays where she is, scrutinizing me. I’m comfortable in a gym, but having her openly stare is unnerving. The back of my neck flashes with heat that has nothing to do with exercising. I want to ask her if there’s something I can help her with, but the words won’t form. Instead, I do my best to ignore the fact that she’s observing me like she’s a prison guard.
Finishing the triceps extensions, I pick up heavier dumbbells for my shoulders. Setting my feet, I push the weights above my head, blowing out a breath as I extend the dumbbells above me.
She slow claps.
Startled at her sarcastic praise, I almost lose my balance, but I tighten my core and recover before hurting myself. Yeesh, that was close. Why, exactly, is she clapping?
“Well done, Newbie.” She eyes me appreciatively. “Your form is excellent.”
Yeah, well, blowing off steam in the gym during a six-month long divorce will do that for you. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
