Her cheeks go pink, but she doesn’t look away.
“Well,” she whispers, leaning in just slightly, “you told me to wear something comfortable.”
“Comfortable,” I repeat. “Not criminal.”
She bites her lip, and I lose every coherent thought I’ve ever had.
Damien calls from across the room, “Everything okay over there?”
Elena doesn’t turn.
Doesn’t flinch.
Just whispers, “He hates not being the hottest one in the room.”
I choke on a laugh.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “You’re evil.”
“Only on Tuesdays,” she says sweetly.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
And I know, without a single doubt:
I’m not surviving this session.
“Deadlifts,” I say. “Stay focused.”
Elena raises a brow. “You’re not going easy on me today, huh?”
“No,” I admit, voice low. “I’m not going easy on anything.”
Her eyes flare.
She steps back toward the bar for another set and I swear the gym tilts a little.
All I can think is,wine-red, one-shoulder, and curve-hugging.This outfit was manufactured in a laboratory to destroy me.
“Alright, Coach,” she murmurs. “Show me what you want.”
I nearly forget how to move.
She stands over the bar, feet planted, hands reaching down.
The position is…dangerous.
I step behind her, close enough to correct her form but not touching.
“Elena,” I say quietly, “bend at the hips, not the lower back.”
She lowers her hips slowly. Much too slowly. Clearly she’s doing this on purpose.
“You said control the situation,” she reminds me.
I inhale sharply through my nose.
