Page 64 of Pour Decisions
So I powered through, grateful when he gave me a thirty second break between sets, though it was barely long enough for me to gulp down some water and attempt to marshal my breathing.
We alternated upper and lower body movements, or combined the two for a whole body exercise, though always targeting the same muscle groups. Owen made everything look easy. It wasn’t that he wasn’t breaking a sweat doing everything he instructed me to do, it was more that everything appeared so effortless for him. I had to actively remind myself he was an athlete, had played professional football for a decade. He was used to this.
The bastard even made burpees look easy.
At one point, while I struggled to lift myself off the floor in the middle of one, Owen paused briefly to whip his shirt off, claiming it was getting in the way.
Personally, I thought he only wanted to torture me further. Toshow me what I was missing.
His body was a work of art, every muscle beautifully defined, as though a sculptor had carefully drawn his modeling tool across a mass of clay, deftly shaping every hill and hollow of his shoulders, arms, chest, and abs.
The man even had a goddamn gold chain around his neck, an oblong circle hanging from it. He was sex on a stick, a goddamn snack I wanted to consume.
Jumping to my feet at last, I paused and smirked at him, inclining my head toward the chain and pendant. “Is that so you won’t forget your name?”
Owen glanced down at his chest, where the circle hung in the valley of his pecs. “Nah,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s my number. When I started playing football, I chose the number zero because it looked like an O, but then I carried it with me through each level I played in after that. My college and pro teammates all called me Zero.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, giving him a smile. Briefly, he returned it before barking at me to finish my burpees.
I only survived them by imagining that chain dangling in my face as Owen rocked in and out of my body.
It went on like that, Owen showing me moves that he made look as easy as lifting a twig off the ground while I huffed and puffed my way through them. Still, I couldn’t help but enjoy the jelly sensation that overtook my limbs the longer I worked, and the way my mind went blissfully quiet of everything save executing the movements properly to avoid injuring myself.
And I definitely enjoyed every time Owen corrected my form.
I nearly gave into the attraction between us in one suchinstance. He had me doing bent over rows, here I hinged at the hip, arms extended, then brought my elbows to my hips and back down again. Apparently, I wasn’t hinging correctly—okay, I knew I wasn’t; the twinge in my lower back before he put me straight proved that—so he set down his own weights to assist.
Every nerve ending in my body lit up when he put his hands on me, and there was no way he missed the way I shivered at the contact.
One hand he placed on the small of my back, right over my tailbone, his pinky one brazen flex away from my ass, and the other he spread over my stomach.
God, his palms were massive, spanning nearly the entire width of my torso.
I was a goner the moment he pressed lightly, shifting me, and said, “Tilt your hips, Whiskey.”
It was impossible not to imagine him speaking those same words in bed, my ass in the air, him positioning me right where he wanted before he took me from behind.
I had to guess Owen had the same idea, because as soon as he said it, he stilled a beat before pulling his hands from my body like I’d burned him.
Things were awkward after that, which annoyed me to no end. We were physically attracted to each other, and I didn’t understand why we couldn’t explore that without feelings getting involved.
I had to admit, though, exercising had done the trick. I was more settled than I’d been before we started, like that typical buzz of energy coursing through my veins was quieter. Not gone entirely but…still.
Workout done, Owen and I found ourselves seated on the floor, doing some stretches to cool down, when I decided to throw caution to the wind.
“Owen, I have a question.”
“Shoot,” he said, his voice muffled by the floor where he had his forehead pressed in child’s pose.
“You’re physically attracted to me.”
“Not a question,” he said, raising slightly to look me in the eye. “But yes.”
“And I’m physically attracted to you.”
“I thought you had a question.”
“I’m just wondering…why can’t we explore that? Whyaren’twe exploring that?”
