Page 23 of Ruin Me With Lies
Still, I suck it up and turn back.Flouncing out in a mood would only make me seem easily wounded.And that’s not the image I want.
“Never let people see what wounds you.Or it will forever be used against you,”my dad always said.
For the next thirty minutes, I throw all my indignation into my workout.Stefano and I move around the gym like opposing magnets, always on opposite sides, always maintaining distance.Like we both have viruses neither wants to catch.
I ask Gio for help with the cable machine.He’s kind and easygoing, quick with a smile so we gab and joke while he assists me.
But Stefano seems annoyed by this.Like a playground bully who doesn’t want anyone else to play with his friends.
Five minutes later, I bother Gio again to spot me on barbell squats.Just to rankle Stefano some more.
Stefano watches us in the mirror as he pumps weights.And not in a good way.He watches me like I’m a threat.Like he doesn’t trust a single follicle on my head.
My own fault.
I never should have exposed my knowledge of field work during the Russian ordeal.Should have just translated the conversations and left it at that.But it was either play dumb to protect myself, or take the risk and help.And between them getting screwed over and attacked or me stepping in?I’ll choose the latterevery time.
Because Stefano Castello needs to live formeto live.
After ten minutes on the StairMaster, I head to the pull-up bar to finish things off.But the step-up bench that’s usually beneath it is missing.
Gio notices me glancing around.“Need a hand?”
His shirt has mysteriously disappeared.
“Uh, yeah.”I scratch my neck.“There’s usually a step-up bench here…”
“It’s alright, I got you.”
He strides over, his defined chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, and grips me by the waist, lifting me with ease.
Once I have a solid grip on the bar, he lets go.“Want me to wait?”
“Yeah.I’m going to failure.”
He waits, watching as I power through rep after rep.Until my muscles burn, my grip weakens, and I fail at another rep and have to give up, let go.
He catches me by the waist, easing me to the ground.
“Thanks,” I pant.
“You’re pretty strong,” he says, his gaze lingering on my heaving cleavage.“You work out like you’re training for something.”
Ah.He’s a breast man.And judging by the way mine are holding his attention…
Good.That’ll make him easy.
“I am.”I dip into my sports bra for the inhaler nestled between my breasts.“Someone has to survive to tell the tale after the zombie apocalypse.”I jab a thumb at my chest and sing, “And it’s gonna be meee.”
He laughs.Full bodied, deep, with his entire well-defined chest.
I take a hit from my inhaler.
Gio frowns, nodding at it.“Why do you go so hard if you’re asthmatic?”
“If you can’t beat them, join them.”I shrug.“I choose to workwithmyflaws instead of letting them limit me.Trust me, I could go even harder, but my body and I have a deal.As long as I don’t push past my limits, it behaves.”
Except sometimes I get in my feelings, break that deal, and have to act fast before the symptoms kick in, especially when I forget to take my pre-workout albuterol.Like I’m doing right now.
