I lifted my eyebrows.
“To each their own, but I want nothing to do with it,” he said.
I was so close to asking what he did want from a partner. What his thoughts were on relationships.
How does this machine work, and also, are you still in love with Kaylee?
But there wasn’t time. We were back at it, and he was in coach mode. I’d been so distracted by him, I hadn’t even remembered to feel insecure about how sweaty I got, or how my thick thighs had dimples in them, or how my stomach had never and would never be hard and flat. I knew we weren’t even supposed to worry about these things anymore as women, but it was so fully ingrained that I couldn’t help it.
After a few more reps on this machine that had me on my back and heaving a weight with my legs, Pace decided to call it. “I think this was a great first effort,” he said. “Do you feel changed?”
“I feel sweaty. Does that mean something?”
He grinned, and a flock of birds took off in my chest.
He swung his arm around me, seemingly not at all put off by the dampness. “Come on. Let’s go stretch. That’s most important.”
“Wah.” I shuffled my feet. “I want to be done.”
“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” He dragged me to the mats in the other corner.
I thought stretching would be gross and sweaty, but this did unexpected things to me. Just as he’d been on the floor, Pace was so tactile and gentle, so hot and patient as he directed me.
“On your back,” he instructed.
I swallowed, doing as he asked and proud I hadn’t blushed wildly at the command.
“I’m going to touch your leg, okay?” he asked.
I nodded with a swallow.
He’d asked me that all day, but for some reason, in this quiet corner of the gym on these mats, protected from the eyes of everyone else, his request felt far more intimate. I closed my eyes as he carefully lifted my leg onto his shoulder. I had to breathethrough my teeth as his touch sent heat pooling in my belly and lower. A hot flush spread up my body, a tingling heat low in my abdomen. If I wasn’t careful, I might feel genuine desire at this inappropriate time. Was it the endorphins from the workout? Was it being hot and sweaty with him?
I managed to open my eyes and found a sight I would never forget. Pace leaning over me, my foot on his shoulder. If I were more flexible, he’d be hovering over me, staring into my eyes. As it was, he had his gaze locked on the ceiling, jaw clenched tight, seemingly a million miles away. I had to get control of myself.
Pace was good at directing me, and I very much liked following his instructions on what to do with my body. In some alternate timeline, this could be very useful information to tuck away. But for now, I did my best to focus on breathing through the burning stretches.
Pace was a professional gym buff, and I refused to play the pervert.
I stared at the industrial cement ceiling and tried my best not to inhale too deeply or give anything away.
The soreness was already beginning to set in as my legs shook with the strain of stretching.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” I said without really considering the alternate context.
My other ankle was still on his shoulder.
He stilled. I stilled.
Wishing, like most times I spoke, I could suck the words back out of the atmosphere from where they hung between us.
Maybe if I pretended that it wasn’t a weird thing to say.
His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. He opened his mouth and then closed it.
I’d imagine he’d say something like,Not the context I was hoping for. Or the classic,That’s what she said. A typicalPace way of playing off the awkward moment, like he was so accustomed to and well-versed at doing.
But instead, he just shrugged. “I can carry you.”
