Page 80 of Downforce

CHAPTER 23

Max

I woke up cursing myself for not getting to my flat’s gym yesterday. However, after finishing up with the simulator, Samuel and I talked a little more about the car before he went into a few other stories he had about my father.

The next thing I knew two more engineers had shown up and began sharing their stories about the short time they’d worked with my father or what it was like to work at Amato at the height of its glory.

“We’re on track to replicate that,” one of them, James, had said. I made sure to memorize all of their names. Before I knew it an hour had passed, and when my stomach started rumbling, I threw out an impromptu lunch invite. That turned into a couple of hours of bonding with a part of the team I’d only greeted in passing over the past few months.

Right as I’m lamenting my missed workout from yesterday while walking into the gym, I recognize that luck is on my side.

Across the vast gym, beyond the row of treadmills, stairmasters, and lycra workout sets, is the woman who filled the spaces of my conscious mind once I reached home last evening.

I would’ve pegged her for a cardio queen. One of the women who devotes hours to running on the treadmill or the elliptical.

My assumption would be incorrect.

A fact that thrills me as I strut in the direction of the weight and strength training section of the gym. My eyes never leave Annalise’s form, as I take in the burgundy leggings outlining her toned legs and white sleeveless T-shirt she’s paired it with. Not a particularly revealing outfit for the gym, by any means. Yet, the way the pants encase her legs reminds me of the way she felt in my arms that night in Miami.

It leads me to remember how that wasn’t nearly enough time. That night didn’t come close to the amount of time and all of the things I want to do with Annalise.

“That’s it,” a deep, male voice pierces the bubble of my memory.

A scowl covers my expression when a guy with triceps nearly busting through the sleeves of his grey T-shirt moves in behind Annalise as she begins to squat.

“Deeper, let’s go, you can do it,” he encourages.

Logically, my brain understands this guy is some sort of trainer, encouraging her to squat deeper, push harder, and get more out of her workout.

Logic has nothing to do with jealousy rushing through my veins at the moment. The thought occurs to me that he could be her trainer and … something more.

Annalise and I never discussed whether or not she was dating someone. I’m again reminded of Miami. I don’t believe that she would’ve kissed me the way she did that night if she had a boyfriend.

Would she?

I shake my head because as soon as the thought arises in my mind, I dismiss it since it doesn’t matter.

“Come on. Push, up, up, up!”

Her trainer’s words send that prickle of jealousy down my spine, but it’s quickly extinguished by something else. When I hear Annalise push out a harsh grunt as she thrusts the bar resting on her upper back to her full height, my body heats with warmth.

She’s a fucking beast.

In the best way.

“Excellent.” Her trainer holds up a hand for her to high five after she’s re-racked the barbell.

“Impressive,” I say, approaching Annalise before she’s gotten a chance to see me.

I admire the heaving of her chest as she fights to catch her breath, the reddening of her cheeks flushed with exertion, and the stray hairs that’ve escaped the french braid.

My fingers itch to tuck the strands behind her ear to touch her. When I take a step forward to do just that, movement out of the corner of my eye stops me.

It’s her trainer.

“Max Ferreira,” he says, mouth slightly ajar, eyes widened. “I heard you moved into this building, but I wasn’t certain.”

I look him over, positive I’ve never come across him before. “Have we met?”