It’s abigfucking list.
I use my hip to bump open the door, gym bag slung over one shoulder, water bottle in hand, purse hanging off the elbow of the other that clutches my keys. I make it all of two steps into the room when suddenly the floor seems to tilt and my legs stop working.
Before me is a broad, very bare, glistening back, every muscle rippling as it pulls the straight bar attached to the weighted contraption up and down. The flex of each movement is holding me in place, eyes tracking the slow trickle of sweat moving from between shoulder blades down to get lost in the track of his spine.
Then suddenly my exhibition is cut short as the bar is released, the weights joining the rest of the rack with a littleclink. The head attached to this glorious back swivels around toface me, alerted they have an audience by the clang of the door as it shut behind me. A wide grin spreads across Colton’s stupidly handsome face when he recognizes who crashed his workout.
“Why are you here?” I blurt out. Not bothering to compose myself, which is evident as his grin somehow gets even bigger and his eyebrows rise in unison.
Colton grabs a small hand towel from the gym bag by his feet before turning towards me, running the flimsy fabric over his face to catch the sweat the beads across his brow line. It looks like a normal hand towel, one you would find in a bathroom for drying your hands, or to use in the kitchen when cleaning, and yet it looks made for a doll in his large hands. I’m hypnotized by this tiny slip of terrycloth as he stretches it behind his neck before shifting the towel over his pecks and sliding it lower…lower…
Nope, nope too low, it’s a trap, look at his face. That stupid perfect face. Focus on the tousled damp hair. Do not stare at his body. Donotlook down.
“Well, you see, this is a gym,” he quips. “People generally come here to exercise.”
“I meant, why are you here now? This early. The club doesn’t open for a while, and no one is usually here this early.”I meant,where the fuck is your shirt?!
His smile fades a little bit with each of my words. “Do you want me to leave? I wasn’t trying to mess up your schedule.”
I take a beat to look at him. The earnest expression morphing his features as he wrings the towel between his fingers. He looks almost concerned, like messing up my routine would be a detriment to him.
Thoughtful dick. Now I obviously can’t tell him to get lost.
“No, it’s fine you can stay. I was just surprised to see anyone else here right now. I usually have the gym to myself this time of day.”
His brow lifts in time with the corner of his mouth. “Not a fan of sharing?”
“Not my food or my men,” I spit out before thinking, my eyes widening at my own admission, lips slightly parting, grasping at words to recover from whatever the hell that was. This is why it’s too early to interact with people.
Before I can find a way to backpedal, Colton bursts out laughing, bending at the waist to brace his hands against his knees while his whole body shakes.
I cough loudly, feeling my face burn through deeper shades of red the longer he laughs. My arms naturally try to cross across my body, before stopping mid-air when all the bags, keys and bottle clank together in the middle.
I am the definition ofI don’t know what to do with my hands.
I promptly bring my arms back down to rest at my sides and navigate around Colton to get to the treadmills. I’ll just wait for him to leave before I use the boxing equipment in the back. With the way things are going, I would end up losing to the bag in round one. Or maybe this embarrassment will knock me out first.
I drop my bags at the end of the treadmill, not bothering to walk over to the lockers and cubbies set up in the back. With my water safely in its little holder and my phone poised to start my workout playlist, I pop open my headphone case and get ready for my warm-up walk.
I’m barely into one song, incline still only at a 1, when I feel the thud of Colton hopping onto the treadmill directly next to me.
I look around the space, wondering why he would pick the one directly next to me instead of one of the fifteen open treadmills that line the side wall. I don’t see any out-of-order signs anywhere, and they are all the same brand so it can’t be a preference in equipment.
This isn’t proper gym etiquette. And he has too many muscles to not know gym etiquette.
He starts up his machine, and I scan the console in front of him as he speeds up the pace to match mine, except his stride is twice the length of mine and I’m already sweating. Though that may just be from him.
My eyes jump from his console back to mine, over and over, trying to place why the sight is making my brain fuzzy. No water, no headphones, no energy drink. The music he was playing when I walked in is absent, no longer a thrumming undercurrent to my steps.
Is he a psychopath? Who doesn’t wear headphones to the gym? Especially on the treadmill. Is he just going to raw-dog cardio?Monster. This finally gets me to turn towards him, and I realize exactly why he didn’t feel the need for headphones.
He’s chatting away, upper body twisted in my direction that makes his toned muscles flex and pull with each step. His hands move animatedly moving about the space in front of me as he happily continues this one-sided conversation. Does he think I’m listening? Can’t he see the headphones?
Just in case he missed me putting them in, or the less subtle fact that I’m not responding, I wait for him to look over at me and then point up to the headphone in my ear. He cocks his head as his eyes follow where I’m pointing, mouth forming anOhas he nods. I start to turn my head back to the wall in front of me when he bellows, “Can you hear me now?” and throws up a thumbs up, smiling wide when I tentatively give him a thumbs-up back. Did he think I was telling him to be louder?
I pretend to tuck a lock of escaped hair behind my ear, tapping the headphone once to pause the track. The second the beat drops, I’m hit full-on with this man’s ostentatious shouting. He’s midway through a story about when he first started working out and going to gyms, trying to keep up with the oldschool gym bros that had years of lifting weights on his scrawny seventeen-year-old ass.
I let my eyes drift over his wide shoulders, taking in his strong biceps down to his veined forearms.Whatever he’s been doing in the gym…it’s working.
