Page 15 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

On cue, she says, “Just kidding. That alpha stud, though, I bet he can give a good pounding.”

Because that’s my mom, even if I make a face at her. Outspoken. No embarrassment. No holding back. All in favor of sex and freedom.

And she’s right. That’s what counts. Live for today.Carpe diemand all that.

The thing is to remain in control. Face the fact that sex is only physical release, only fun, avoiding any feelings.

If only this strategy, this plan didn’t carry its risks. I can’t sleep with my roommates—given they’re interested. Or with my trainer—again. Sex complicates things. I should ignore the attraction. Look elsewhere.

Go out, meet someone. That’s what I need to do. Not upset my life as it is. It works fine for me. I’ll get the girls to organize a girls’ night out.

Scratch that itch without involving the men I already know.

Having a plan makes me feel better. I grin back at my mom as we cross the street and head to the avenue to peruse the stores.

“Tell me more about your roommates,” Mom says as we stroll like two girlfriends. “Oh look! Want a fruit smoothie? Come on.”

And that’s how we get our minds off what happened two years ago and what’s happening to my brother now, and have fun.

6

GIGI

It’s a good thing Mom bought me new running shoes because the exercises Zayne puts us through are designed to destroy shoes, clothes, and bodies.

Possibly souls, too.

I’m glad Bee hasn’t come to class today or she’d murder me for dragging her to this hell.

But Bee is busy with her pack, the lucky girl, like usual. So busy she often misses gym class with me—though, to her credit she hasn’t given up completely. I fully expected her to, once she moved in with them and things got serious, but she still sometimes goes to classes with me.

And perversely, I enjoy today’s class. The more Zayne pushes us, the more sweat pours down my body and my muscles burn, the freer I feel. My mind empties, worries and fears pushed aside with the sole goal of finishing one more exercise, one more lunge, one more sit-up.

“Let me see you work those abs!” Zayne shouts, striding among us like a punishing god, dark hair short and shaved on the sides, a tuft falling in his dark eyes, his jaw dark with scruff. “Let me see you sweat! Feel that burn! Feel the pain!”

God, yeah.

Wait, am I a pain-slut?

Is this why I’m on the floor, sweating and panting and liking it?

Is this why I live in an apartment with two guys I’m in lust with but I shouldn’t sleep with?

Why I keep coming back to this gym, to this hunky trainer who should belong in my past?

Oh my God…

“Everything all right, Gigi?” I realize he has come to stand in front of me. I also realize I have stopped in the middle of the exercise to stare at him.

I mean, what’s not to stare at? He’s gorgeous, pure alpha, sharp cheekbones and a jaw you could cut diamonds on, shoulders like a linebacker—I’m sure he was one at school—and muscles on muscles, sheathed in golden skin.

How is a girl supposed to remain unaffected?

“Gigi,” he says again.

Shit.

“I think… I’m done for the day,” I mumble and scramble to my feet, grabbing my towel from the mat and bunching it up in my hands. This is bad… “I just remembered an assignment I need to hand in tomorrow.”

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