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Jesus Christ. I need to get laid. But not with Aspyn.
As the elevator descends and we get closer to our destination, I’m starting to believe that this was a really bad idea.
The gym, as expected, is empty, and I’m intrigued to see what equipment Aspyn decides to try first.
Step class? Is that some kind of joke?
To my surprise, she walks over to the stationary bike, adjusts the seat, and hops on.
All the equipment in here is brand-new. And for a small gym, it’s pretty impressive.
I may as well do some lifting, if I’m gonna be stuck here, waiting for her to finish. So I won’t hold my breath. She’ll probably last ten minutes, if we’re lucky.
I head over to the free weights and start a set of bicep curls.
Focusing on the mirrors in front of me, I avoid looking at Aspyn, whom I can see in the mirror behind me.
I distract myself by thinking about what I’ve got going on this afternoon, but my mind quickly wanders to our visit to the clubhouse. Maybe it would’ve been easier to keep her away from the MC. Then again, if the club is called in to protect her further, it’s best if she shows her face at least once. Not that I like the idea.
The less people who know about her, the better. And it’s gonna make my job one hell of a lot easier if people think she’s just a blow-in.
Once I complete four sets, I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s been about ten minutes, and sure enough, Aspyn moves off the bike and starts up on the treadmill.
I remember what it was like in my early twenties. Never having to work out, and barely watching what I had to eat. Those were good times, but those days are long gone.
I’m not one to ogle women in the gym. Not that her cute little outfit isn’t a distraction, my dick certainly thinks so, and I’m pretty sure she got the idea last night.
Note to self: pull jeans on when investigating noises around the apartment.
After about another five minutes, my eyes divert over to her. She moves off the treadmill and goes over to the side table to grab a hand towel and pats her pretty little forehead with it. I chuckle to myself.
She wanders over to the lat pull-down, and I wince when I see her reaching for the bar. The person who had it last kept it on a high weight. She’ll never be able to lift that, and she’ll hurt herself trying. I drop my hand weights and turn just as her hands grip the handles.
“Wait!” I say, moving to her quickly. She stops, turning to frown at me. “Have you ever used that?”
She shrugs. “Can’t be that hard.”
I roll my eyes and move toward the pin. Pulling it out, I move it up to the lightest weight. “Doubt you can lift ninety pounds. That’s more than you weigh.”
“I weigh more than that. It’s not my fault the Incredible Hulk was on here before me.”
I snort. “So what you want to do is pull it down all the way behind your head as far as you can, slowly.”
“Got it.”
She reaches up again and grabs hold of the handles and plants her ass down on the seat, bringing the bar with her. I hover behind, but don’t touch her. The last thing I want is for her to hurt herself, but I also don’t want to be right up in her business.
“That’s it,” I say as she completes one. Then another. After the third, she sighs.
“This is hard.”
“Uh huh. Not meant to be easy.”
Four.
Five.
“Okay, I’m done.” She lets the bar go too fast and it clunks loudly as the weight drops and the bar spins around above her head.
