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“Right next to my left shoulder blade. But it’s really not that bad, I promise.”

“May I?” He asks, lightly tracing his fingers across my back. I shiver despite the heat and nod. His fingers gently massage the muscle in my back, and I involuntarily let out a whimper.

He stops. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, “it’s just tender. She threw me off my balance and the dumbbell sort of pulled my arm back in an awkward way. I’m sure I just pulled a muscle.”

His fingers resume their gentle kneading as I struggle to not moan. The pressure hurts, but feels good at the same time, and I find myself wanting James’ touch everywhere on my body.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” he suggests. “I need to check the cameras so I have valid reason and solid evidence to ban them from coming back.”

“I can just go home. It’s getting late, and I might put some ice on this before bed.” I turn to face him, and his expression shows a hint of disappointment. “But, I suppose I could stay a bit longer if I can see the video from the cameras. I really want to see how much she went out of her way to screw with me.”

“Deal,” he agrees, leading the way toward the front desk. He coaxes me into the chair behind the desk as he stoops over the computer screen, clicks a few things, then pulls up the grainy black and white video recording. We say nothing as we watch the playback of Madeline stepping off the treadmill before she takes a clearly out-of-the-way path to walk by me and intentionally hook her foot over my leg.

James is silent for a moment before he shakes his head. “Well, at least I have a reason to ban them now. She’s lucky you didn’t get hurt worse, or there would have been hell to pay.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter. I’m still pissed, but my temper is cooling by the minute, and I actually feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that they’ll be pissed about not being able to come here anymore. Especially Brady. Serves them right.

James turns to face me, the intensity of his hazel eyes making me feel like I’m in a spotlight. “Are you sure you’re okay? Not just physically, but . . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence, knowing that his point is coming across without the words.

I give him a soft, reassuring smile. “I really am okay. It’s been a tough couple of months, but things are getting better, slowly but surely.”

He seems to contemplate for a long moment before being satisfied with my answer. He opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, then turns around and walks around the desk. “Well, I have to clean up for the night. You’re welcome to stay — I don’t want you driving if you’re still shaken up.”

“I can help you clean up,” I say.

“You really don’t have to do that.” He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out some cleaning solution and paper towels.

I decide to ignore him as I stand and grab another bottle of cleaner from the cabinet. “It’s the least I can do after causing so much trouble today.”

He mumbles something under his breath about ‘more trouble,’ but I don’t catch enough to understand what he’s talking about.

We work in silence, starting at separate ends of the small gym, spraying and wiping down the equipment. My heart flutters in my chest as the scene from earlier replays in my head: him standing above me, his eyes raking over me, telling me that he loves seeing me in that position.Fuck. The incident with Madeline has been in the forefront of my mind since it happened, but now it’s quickly taking a backseat to the fact that James and I are alone again.This could be dangerous in the best way possible.

WHEN I FINISHwiping down most of the machines on my side of the gym, I sit on the piece of equipment closest to me, the hip adduction machine that faces the mirror. I use the bar under the seat to pull the footholds together in the middle and straddle it as inconspicuously as possible. Embarrassingly, I’m slightly out of breath after working out, yelling at Madeline, and now wiping down half of the equipment in the gym. My ponytail is falling out too, so I pull the hair tie out and move to redo it. The muscle in my back twinges again, but it’s bearable as I carefully hold my hair up behind my head and loop the band around it a few times. It doesn’t need to look cute, but I at least need my hair off my neck until I can go home and shower.

I feel James’ eyes on me, so I lift my gaze in the mirror and immediately meet his. I’m not shying away any more after all he’s said to me. His brows are furrowed and his lips are drawn in a tight line amidst his cropped facial hair.

“What?” I ask. He’s clearly thinking about something, and he doesn’t look very happy about it.

“What?”

“You’re unhappy about something.”

He shakes his head slightly, breaking eye contact, and lets out a sigh. “I’m not unhappy. I’m . . .”

He stops, as if that’s enough of an answer, so I prompt him again. “You’re what?”

“Conflicted.”

“Why?”

He glimpses at my reflection in the mirror again as I casually cross my left arm straight over my chest and use my opposite hand to pull it tighter, stretching the muscles in my upper left arm and back. Without warning, James drops the bottle from his hand and walks over to me, his steps heavy and slow.

My breath hitches as he places his hands on my shoulders and begins to massage, digging his fingers in just hard enough for it to hurt. I close my eyes and let out a low moan as his fingers melt away the tension. He’s especially careful to ease up the intensity around my shoulder blade so he doesn’t hurt the pulled muscle.

“Open your eyes.” His low voice commands, gentle yet full of authority.

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