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Chapter Nine
Isabel
“You coming back anytime soon?” Phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder, I waved at the guys leaving as they finished a group training session with Aiden.
Involuntarily, my eyes strayed over to where he was wiping down the equipment they’d just used. Each flex of his arm had my body humming some happy little tune. Gawd, I needed a hobby.
Or a better vibrator.
Or a dog.
Or a new brain.
Kelly sighed, yanking my attention back to our conversation. “Doctor wants me to stay off my ankle for one more week, then I can try teaching. As long as I’m not going crazy.”
“Boo.”
“I know.”
I pulled up the schedule, squinting at the computer screen. “I can probably shift around a couple of people so no one takes on too much to cover you for one more week.”
“You don’t want to pull another three-class day?” she teased.
“Hell no.” I arched my back, which was still sore. “Not when I do two the day before. I’m too old for this shit.”
“You’re twenty-five, Iz.”
“Yes, but my attitude is so, so much older.”
Aiden approached the front desk, eyes on a small piece of paper in his hand. His arms were still sweaty from his session, and I wondered—just a teeeeeeny tiny bit—what they’d feel like if I trailed my fingers down the curves of his biceps.
“How many people did you have in class last night?” Kelly’s voice pulled me out of my little stare-fest, which was good because so far, I’d done nothing to abjectly embarrass myself. My current streak felt very, very impressive, all things considered.
“Ummm, hang on.” I clicked the mouse a few times, leaning in to see the tiny numbers. Maybe I needed glasses. “Thirty.”
“Oh, you bitch, my highest is twenty-five for that time slot.”
I laughed under my breath. “Anything else, Kell? I need to get some work done before a training session.”
“Nope! Love you, bye.”
I was shaking my head as I hung up. Aiden’s eyes flicked to my face as he set the paper down next to the phone. “Kelly’s ankle doing better?” he asked.
I nodded. “She can’t teach for another week, but I should be fine with coverage.”
Aiden folded his arms over his chest. “How often do trainers get injured like that?”
“Not often,” I told him. “I think she aggravated an old injury.”
Without realizing what I was doing, I stretched my wrist out and flexed my hands. He noticed.
“What is it?”
My hand stopped. “Oh. Nothing. Still just a little sore from yesterday.”
He looked like he was going to say something, opening his mouth, then closing it with a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Very slowly, he and I were treading onto more neutral ground.
“My elbow,” he said, after another pause. “Hyperextended this more times than I can count. Worst one was my second to last year fighting. Cortez caught me in an armbar, and that asshole would not let go.” He unfolded his hand and tapped the side of one thumb. “Comminuted fracture in one of my early fights. I swear, I still feel it sometimes when it gets really cold.”
