The gym is empty—just how I like it. No one to watch, no one to interrupt. I start a warm-up jog on the treadmill, the steady rhythm calming my nerves.
Then, the door opens.
I hit pause and glance up. And just like that, my heart does that annoying little leap—a habit it’s picked up whenever I’m around her.
Kat struts in like she owns the place, water bottle in one hand, a towel over her shoulder. Her black-and-white workout gear hugs her in all the right ways, emphasizing her effortlessly cool look that she has down to a science. Her hair is pulled up, her skin is glowing, and she wears an expression that’s unimpressed but amused.
“Hey,” I call, stepping off the treadmill. “Ready to work out with an elite-level athlete?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Please. I’ve seen you exercise before, remember? It’s not exactly rocket science.”
I blurt out a laugh. “Oh, no. I train completely differently with an audience. I can’t give out my best Regents tips to just anyone.”
She shakes her head, trying not to smile. “How long do you have before training?”
I glance at the wall clock. “Couple of hours. It’s just a light prep for tonight’s match.”
“All right,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “My shift starts at noon. Let’s get this over with.”
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I grab two sets of dumbbells and hand her one. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today. I’ll even let you keep up.”
“Letme?” She scoffs, lowering into a lunge like she’s done it a thousand times. “I’m a trauma surgeon, Archie. I’ve held someone’s liver in my hands while doing CPR. I think I can handle a few squats.”
“Fair enough,” I say, trying not to stare at the effortless way she moves. “But can you do those squats with me distracting you?”
“You mean your constant chatter?” she says, standing up. “Or your face?”
“Ouch. That was unnecessary. Hurtful, even. I thought we were friends.”
She lifts her dumbbells. “Are we?”
I shake my head, taking a step toward her. “You know, this whole banter thing we’ve got going on? It’s dangerous.”
Her eyes narrow. “Dangerous how?”
“It makes it very hard for me to focus on anything else.”
She glances at me, and for the briefest moment, her smirk slips—just a flicker of something softer passing behind her eyes. She recovers quickly, stepping over to the bench.
“Looks like you’re the one who’ll have a hard time keeping up, then.”
Who is this woman? And how long am I going to survive in this world without kissing her?
“Come on, elite athlete,” she barks, continuing her reps. “You’re slacking.”
When I finally manage to set my head straight, I dive into my workout. We settle into a routine, completing some lunges, rows, partner-assisted core work. She’s strong—really strong—and it’s hot watching her compete with me rep for rep, never once backing down.
“Okay,” I pant, breathless when we finish a set of mountain climbers. “You win. You’re officially terrifying.”
She drops to the mat beside me, breathing hard. “You should see me in the operation theatre.”
I glance sideways at her. “Believe me, I think about that more than I should.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away, or even smirk. Just holds my gaze, as if she’s daring me to say more.
But I’m stuck. All my brain wants to do is kiss her, and I’m not a hundred percent sure how she’d react to that. She’s been flirting with me, sure, but the idea of kissing her is mortifying. Because if I miss my shot, I might never get another one.
“So,” she says, shifting onto her side. “I haven’t seen any of those valuable tips yet, let alone a pro-athlete level training routine. Are you all talk, Archie Wilcott?”
