The door closes behind Elena, and I’m left standing there feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time.
I rake a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath.
Damn.
I shouldn’t be thinking about a client this way.
I know better.
I’ve been in this job long enough to know the rules—hell, I’ve seen trainers get fired for less.
But there was just something about her.
Something in the way she walked out of here—determined, graceful, a little flustered, a little funny. Andfun. Something in the way she laughed at herself. Something in the way she looked at me like she actuallysawme, not the trainer, not the athlete I used to be, not the guy on a poster collecting dust in a basement somewhere.
Her energy hit me like a cold plunge. She was just being herself, too.
It’s been a minute since someone did that.
More than a minute, if I’m honest.
Months. At least.
I lock the weights, wipe down the bench. Try to busy myself. It doesn’t help. My mind keeps replaying every moment of the session:
Her making fun of her ex’s side-quest foreplay.
Her cheeks turning pink when she said “derrière.”
Her half-smile when I told her she looked good for her age—hell, she looked better than half the 25-year-olds in this gym. And has a hell of a head on her shoulders. I get the feeling her last relationship knocked down her self-esteem so she has no idea how awesome she is.
She definitely has no idea how hot she is. That’s for sure.
I shake my head.
Stop. She’s a client. Keep it professional.
Not that I’ve been flirting. I haven’t. If anything,shewas the one.
“Evans.”
I stiffen at the sound of that voice.
Of course, my manager Damien.
He always says my name like it’s something stuck between his teeth. And he walks toward me with that stiff posture that screams:I have a complex about authority because I’ve never had any in my real life.
He glances toward the exit. “That your new training client?”
I keep my expression neutral. “Yeah.”
“I heard some of that ‘conversation’ earlier.” He makes air quotes like a jackass. “Sounded a little…personal.”
I grit my teeth.
“We were talking,” I say calmly. “People talk during warm-ups. It’s normal.”
He crosses his arms. “We’re a luxury gym, Colt. Not a community center. We can’t have trainers flirting with clients.”
