I’m looking forward to seeing her.
Way more than I should if she’s just going to be aclient.
Thursday, 5:27 PM
I keep checking the wall clock like it owes me money.
Professional.
It’s basically a mantra at this point.
I’ve wiped down the bench three different times. I re-racked the dumbbells in order of weightand shade of metallic paint,which is a new one for me. I even rolled out my damn quads just to kill time.
My Apple Watch buzzes.
Heart rate: 67 bpm.
Good. Calm. Controlled. Fine.
Professional.
I got this.
Footsteps sound down the hall.
My heart spikes to 76.
Calm down, Evans.
Then she appears.
And…
Oh.
Oh, I’m fucked.
Elena walks in wearing a deep forest-green matching set—a longline sports bra hugging her waist, high-waisted leggingssculpting the exact curve of her hips and thighs, the fabric buttery and perfectly fitted. Her honey-blonde hair is in a loose braid over one shoulder, a little wavy at the ends, like she let it air-dry on the subway.
She looks soft and strong and insanely confident.
But also a little nervous.
And absolutely, undeniably gorgeous.
My throat closes, and something feels like it just punched my gut and released dopamine everywhere.
My Apple Watch buzzes again.
Heart rate: 99.
Jesus.
Get a grip, Evans.
She smiles when she sees me. “Hi.”
I gulp.
