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“And we’re going to get me there so I look the part for the movie.”
“Exactly. We’re going to start with legs today.”
“I thought you said you wanted to define my upper body.”
“And we will, but you need a solid foundation under you to support what we’ll put your upper body through. So today, we’re going to work on strengthening your legs a bit, then we’ll move to arms and core tomorrow.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
He’s not distracted anymore. All of his attention is on me. I don’t remember the last time I had a man’s undivided attention. Especially a handsome man.
It’s been a long time.
And of course it happens with a guy I’m working with, in a city nowhere near where I live.
Because that’s just my luck.
I focus on the tasks at hand: squats, kettlebell swings, and lunges. My legs are rubber by the time Ben ends the session.
“Shit, I’m out of shape.” I pat my face with a towel. I’m a sweaty heap, and I’m exhausted.
“I worked you hard,” he concedes with a smile. “Come on, I’ll stretch you out.”
He tosses a mat onto the floor, and I lie on my back. He pushes my legs up and then to the side. He stretches out my back and my arms.
His movements are quick and efficient, his hands strong and confident.
I really need to work on shaking off the lust I have going on here.
“Go change, and I’ll take you to lunch,” he says, surprising me.
“I have lunch at home.”
He pats my shoulder. “Trust me, Rina.”
Hearing my nickname has never sent electricity up my spine.
Until now.
It doesn’t take long for me to clean up and get dressed. When I walk out of the locker room, Ben’s waiting for me. I see he’s changed from gym clothes into jeans and a T-shirt. His arms are ridiculous, the muscles well-defined under the sleeves of his shirt. It’s cool out, so he snags a black jacket off a hook as he leads me outside.
“We’re just going down the street. Mind if we walk?”
“I’m with you,” I reply, walking next to him as he sets off down the sidewalk toward the heart of the city. “Did you grow up here?”
“No, I’m a transplant from Wyoming.”
I glance up at him in surprise. “Really? Why here?”
“I like it here. And my best friend moved here. I visited a couple of times and decided to make the move, as well. Did you grow up in California?”
“Yep. Born and raised. Started working at three.”
“That’s pretty young.”
“I was a cute baby. In movies by four, and on television with a contract for a sitcom by nine.”
“I take it you didn’t go to regular school?”
“No.” I smile and dodge a crack in the sidewalk. “We had tutors on set.”
“Do you still live in LA?”
“Hell, no.” I shake my head adamantly. “Never again. I live in central Oregon now.”
I’m sure he has a ton of questions. Everyone does. But rather than ask, he’s quiet as he leads me into a restaurant. We’re seated quickly.
I don’t have to pay attention to being recognized anymore. For a long time, it happened everywhere. But now that I’ve been out of the business for a dozen years or more, I’m rarely recognized.
It’s awesome.
It also helps that I went back to my natural blond hair color, rather than the dark hue that was part of my image for so long.
Once we’re seated and have menus, Ben turns to me. “I’m going to show you how to order healthy food off a menu.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And here I thought this was just a friendly lunch.”
“It’s both.” He slips into the booth next to me so he can share my menu, and I feel my heart beat a little faster at the close proximity. “The first thing most people gravitate toward when eating healthily is the salads. But if you look at the caloric content, some of them are worse than getting a burger.”
“I’ll have a burger then.”
He glances at me. “Smartass. I want you to stick with high-protein meals. You absolutely could order the burger with a lettuce bun and a salad on the side with no dressing. I usually ask for a side of lemon to squeeze on the salad as dressing.”
“Mm, delicious.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I used to count every calorie that went into my mouth. I can do this.”
“I don’t want you to obsess about the calories,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re going to be burning a lot of them, and replacing them is good. But I want your food choices to be deliberate.”
“Got it.” I scan the menu. “I think I’ll have cheesecake for dessert.” His head whips up at that, and I can’t help but laugh. “Got you.”
“You get one cheat day a week.” He slips back into the seat on the other side of the table. “Save the cheesecake for that day.”
