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Heavy footfalls pounded as the motor of a treadmill hummed. I turned the corner and came up short.
Him.
“Morning, neighbor!” he shouted, face all chipper like he’d already gotten in his Wheaties and knocked out a decent warm up.
“What are you doing here?”
“Girl, last night I killed half a bottle of wine and, after my company left, I annihilated an entire pizza. From lips to hips, I swear.”
He was making fun of me, and I sort of liked it. Hiding a smile, I climbed onto the other treadmill.
The gym was nothing fancy, but it was private, for residents only, and had all the basic necessities. Two treadmills, a step machine, free weights, mats, yoga balls, and a few press machines. Except now, there was a wolf in my den.
I adjusted the incline and set my track for eight miles. My gaze skittered to his settings and saw he’d already been at it for thirty minutes. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t Noah time. It was me time. I plugged my headphones into my ears and hit play.
Florence + the Machine’s Shake It Out came on, and my body fell into a steady rhythm as I shut out everything else. The drums kicked in, and she sang about burying regrets and pushing through challenges, and my heart rate picked up the pace. By the time her voice careened into the first climax, my speed was up, and I was going full throttle.
I loved to run, the freedom of it, the results, the endorphins. It was exhilarating, and it was mine. Faster, I raced to a goal I couldn’t see but felt deep in my bones. There was a better me out there, and if I ran hard enough, I’d eventually find her.
All of my issues peeled away as sweat broke over my skin and my mind cleared. The chorus kicked in, and I was lost, going hard and fast toward everything I wanted and—
My steps faltered as my earbud was yanked out and Florence cut off.
Noah ran at a rapid pace, his head angled in my direction. “Hey.”
I quickly lowered my speed and scowled at him. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. What are you listening to?”
He was like a child that needed constant attention. Adorable, but draining. “Music.” I plugged my earbud back in only to have it yanked out again. “Hey!”
“Talk to me.”
It was too early for conversation. “I don’t talk when I workout. I clear my head and listen to music.”
He pursed his lips. A second later, he jumped off his machine and was fiddling with his phone and the sound system by the door. I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to touch that. I always brought my own music.
“I think that belongs to someone.”
“Yeah, me.” He plugged his phone into the AUX outlet. “Now, we can both listen.”
I had a rapid two-second guessing game of what song he might choose. I wasn’t even close.
The quick bass came on, and Robin Thicke’s sexy voice filled the gym, talking about good girls getting nasty and wanting dirty sex with blurred lines. Noah bounced back to his machine, cranked up the pace, and tossed me a defiant smile.
Oh, was this some sort of challenge? Okay. I increased my stride and ran full speed ahead. Impressively, he kept pace. His longer legs meant he wasn’t working as hard, but whatever. I’d outrun him any day.
I was in a full body sweat when Rhianna yelled Na, na, na, na, come on and started singing about whips and chains in S&M. His music wasn’t my type, but I was picking up on a theme in his playlist. When the chorus belted out about the scent of sex in the air, my body started to stir.
At seven miles, my heart was thundering, and my legs were throbbing. The music dropped to a thrumming pulse as Nine Inch Nails’ Closer echoed through the gym, and I laughed. The guy truly had a one-track mind.
I dropped my speed, and he dropped his, but we didn’t talk. We dialed back and glanced at each other every two and a half seconds as we cooled down for the last mile.
But I didn’t feel cool. I felt tight and burning hot and ready to launch myself at him. This was absolutely not how my morning was supposed to go.
I clicked off my machine, more concerned about getting a head start to safety than conquering that last tenth of a mile.
“You quitting?” He punched his speed down to a slow crawl.
“I’m done. See you later.”
He frowned, but I pretended not to notice as I wiped off my machine and made a quick escape.
The elevator was busy during this time of the morning, so I impatiently poked the button like a Morse code, as if that might get it here sooner. My gaze shot to the stairs, and I debated.
