Page 39 of Dance of Defiance
Non-consensual distanced hangouts.
That works.
By now, I’ve started to get a decent feel for his schedule, which, it will shock no one, considering his delicious muscles, involves a heavy dose of gym time. I’ve followed him to Equilibrium, averyexclusive, ludicrously expensive gym in midtown four days in a row now. And that’s put a damper on our “hangout” time, since they don’t let non-members past the lobby.
…But as of today, that’ll no longer be a problem.
I already have access to a fantastic gym at the Mercury. But what the hell—I decided to treat myself to a membership here. I mean, there’s even a steam room.
I linger in the lobby after Roman swipes his card and heads in, giving him enough time to change and stash his shit in the locker room before he hits the weights. Then I do the same.
The nice thing about Roman’s preferred time slot at the gym is that there’s basically no one here this early. The finance bro’s, I assume, come either on their lunch or after work, and the trophy wives are still sleeping. So the free weights area iswide open.
“Need a spotter?”
Roman about shits himself—and almost drops the insanely loaded barbell he’s benching—when I walk up and lean down right in his face.
“What thefuck?!” he sputters, his face reddening as he grunts and shoves his arms up, re-racking the barbell before moving to a sitting position on the bench. He glares at me. “The fuck are you doing here?!”
“Working out,” I shrug innocently. “What areyoudoing?—”
“I’m a member,” he mutters, glaring at me.
“What a crazy coincidence. Me too!” I flash him a grin as I roll my shoulders and stretch my arms, letting the tank top ride up over my abs. “So, you need a spotter or what?”
Roman’s dark brows knit, his mouth thin, the picture of un-amusement.
“This is a very exclusive gym.”
I snort. “Well, look at you, you fucking classist. I didn’t peg you for such a bougie bitch.”
His face darkens. “Don’t call me that.”
“Bougie?”
“Bitch.”
I shrug. “Stop acting like one, then.”
Roman stands abruptly, his fists clenched. “If you’re looking to get hit in the mouth, why don't you just say so.”
I grin at him. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, baby.”
He shakes his head slowly, scowling. “Are you fucking insane? Like, legit question: are you?”
“Would it be super corny if I saidyoumake me insane?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. Just obnoxious, and a waste of your time.”
Ahh, so we’re still barking upthattree.
“Whatever game you’re playing,” Roman mutters as he sits down again on the bench, lies back, and positions himself under the barbell, “I want out of it. Now fuck off before I call Security.”
I sigh. “I’m amember, asshole.”
He ignores me, positioning his hands on the bar and lifting it from the rack. He lowers it to his chest with a grunt, and I immediately move into a spotter position, standing near his head, my hands hovering just under the bar in case he needs it.
“I don’t need your fucking help,” he grunts as he starts to bench the bar up and down.
