Page 68 of The Fast Track

The lie rolls off my tongue so easily I feel guilty when Mom beams. “That’s a great idea! Do you want me to come with my camera?”

“Er… my phone should be good enough,” I say. I’m finally becoming friendlier with the guys—even fitting in. I don’t want that being blown up by Mom pushing in on our training session with her DSLR. “It’s more authentic that way.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’m so glad you’re finally showing initiative.”

I give Mom a cheesy thumbs-up and scoot out of our apartment as quickly as I can. Her obliviously happy smile makes me feel guilty, especially when I know she’d spit out her oat milk latte if she knew the real reason I suddenly wanted to dress nicely for conditioning.

Pat drops the dumbbell he’s pressing when I walk in. Georgios trips, nearly falling off the treadmill.

“Morning.” Caleb waves at me from the stretch mats. This is the first group session in four months where he’s acknowledged me with more than a grunt.

I try not to smile too widely. This must be how Chloe andSavannah feel all the time. I now understand why Roz takes an hour getting ready every day. Being admired is a heady, flattering feeling I’ve never appreciated because I’ve always been more focused on fitting in than standing out.

“Morning.” I drop my gym bag in a cubby at the entrance and settle myself on the mat next to Caleb.

“How’d you find your first gala after-party?” he asks, gaze sweeping over me appreciatively.

“It was fun. I think I overdid it on the shots, though.”

My stomach flip-flops when Cameron walks in. His eyes go wide when he sees me.

“It was your first time,” Caleb says forgivingly. He tilts his chin at Grayson, who’s entering next to Cameron. “Should’ve seen that one three years ago.”

“You lot talking shit about me?” Grayson approaches, looking amused. It’s the friendliest he’s ever been to me. “I like the pink, Kwong. Definitely your color.”

Cameron gives him a little shove. “We warming up, mate? Or do you want to chat some more about her fashion?”

Grayson blows me an exaggerated kiss as they walk by toward the weight station. Cameron rolls his eyes at me, but he’s grinning. There’s a smile on my face, too.

After the session ends and our trainer departs, I purposely take my sweet time packing up. I make a show of folding my bands, bundling up my hoodie neatly and tucking it into my bag. The guys do their usual goofing off as they wipe downtheir stations. I hold my breath when Pat asks Cameron if he’s coming to lunch.

“Nah, I’ll catch up with you lot later,” Cameron says.

I busy myself stacking weights that don’t need to be restacked and pray everyone will think the redness spreading across my face is the aftermath of a hard workout.

Finally, the doors swing shut behind the guys and Cameron and I are alone.

“Hey,” he says.

I’ve been waiting eagerly for this since Sunday morning, but now that it’s here, I’m tongue-tied and shy. For lack of something to do with my hands, I shake out my hair and tie it into a messy ponytail.

He’s watching me with a small smile on his face. “Gray’s right. Pink really is your color. But maybe give me a warning next time. Nearly let a barbell drop on Pat because I was so distracted.”

There’s not much a girl can say after a compliment like that, so I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him.

His response is instantaneous. He wraps his arms around me, crushing me to him. I tilt my head back, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped. I press my hand to his muscled chest, wishing there weren’t two layers of fabric between us. We’re right back to where we left off yesterday morning, before my fear of Mom knocked me to call time.

The thought reminds me we’re in the middle of the OTC.

With some difficulty, I free myself from Cameron and take a step back.

His eyes startle open. He looks as dazed and breathless as I feel.

“We should do this somewhere more private.” I look around. We’re partially obscured from the row of windows by a heavy-duty squat rack and towers of weights, but anyone walking by could see if they bothered to stop and look more closely.

“Yeah,” he says, blinking slowly, as if he’s just realized where we are. “Unless you want to take a page out of Gray’s book.”

The story of Grayson hooking up with one of the marketing interns on the weight bench has already become legendary. Frank had the misfortune of walking in on them. Their punishment consisted of no full-time offer (hers) and ninety sets of burpee box jumps (his). Not exactly equal, but par for the course when it comes to how discipline tends to be doled out around here.