Page 9 of Stud

I needed to up my fit factor.

Now I was in Step Class Hell, a charley horse away from face-planting on the linoleum.

“Keep those knees up!” The perky fitness instructor with boobs up to her chin wasn’t even glistening with a hint of perspiration. Not a measly drop. “Work that step, people. And don’t forget to smile!”

Smile? As in slap a toothy grin on my face and pretend my heart wasn’t a live grenade? If I was about to die, I’d do it snarling at Princess McGrin-a-Lot. I turn-stepped and muscled through my three-knee repeaters, glaring my fiercest glare.

An agonizing lifetime later, she flashed her pearly whites, and crowed, “Let’s count it down now! Half-time. Nice and slow. Time to work those quads!”

Now it was time to work them? As if I’d been doing what? Sipping fruity drinks at the swim-up bar? If I could lift my quad, I’d shove my hot-pink Nike Free Run up this dictator’s toned ass. Instead I did a zillion squats and over-the-tops.

“Okay. We’re almost there! Keep it up while I help Cynthia for a minute.”

Ex-squeeze me? Cynthia and her two left feet could die a painful, flesh-eating death for all I cared. Mussolini needed to finish this goddamn routine before I painted the floor green with the kale smoothie I’d sucked back earlier.

Gwen glanced at me and snorted. “You look like hell.”

I directed my death-stare at her and tried to say, “Fitting, because I’m pretty sure that’s where I am.” Except it sounded like: “…be…cause…am.”

The room was jam-packed with people panting and clomping, the wall of mirrors making me dizzy. My chest cavity was about to rupture.

Needing a diversion, I locked my eyes on Emmett, one step in front of me. We’d never traded two words, but I’d learned his name when Rachel used to work at this gym, because true friends helped friends creep potential crushes. I used to follow him around the like a lost puppy, until I learned he was gay.

The man owned his stepper, whipping around the thing like he was born to it. Not even the sight of his perfect body could ease my agony. Still, I looked. His rock hard calves balled and tightened. His thighs were strong enough to crush skulls.

And that ass. Glory, hallelujah…that ass.

I drooled. May as well add more liquid to the quarts of sweat pooling under my stair. With herculean effort, I lifted my leg, but I wobbled. My toe tripped on the lip of my instrument of torture, and I toppled forward. I landed knee first on the step as the class (thank God and every deity there ever was) ended.

The legs I’d been ogling appeared in front of my face. As did a well-endowed crotch that should have had a sign above it that read, Sorry, ladies. I’m all about the cock.

Him and me both.

He extended a strong hand toward me. I took it, grateful. Clumsy wasn’t my usual MO, but that was twice this week a handsome man had helped me find my feet. Maybe I was on to something. Once I was upright, Emmett used his tank-top hem to mop the sweat on his forehead. All remaining oxygen vacated my lungs.

Holy abs of steel.

Slap a long wig over his dark curls, and he could be Tarzan’s stunt double in a hot second. “Hard class,” he said as he dropped his shirt.

Not as hard as his abs. I barely refrained from tipping sideways to watch each inch of delicious flesh disappear below his top. “That woman should be arrested for crimes against humanity.”

He chuckled. “If you came more often, you’d get used to it.”

God, how I’d like to come more often. Which sent my imagination to a certain construction worker, who no doubt had abs for days under his shirt. Owen also had strong hands. Big hands. Hands that hammered things and screwed things, and had wrapped protectively around my waist the other day. I could have sworn he’d held on longer than necessary, was sure his broad chest had swelled faster as he’d gripped me.

Hopefully the sign above his crotch read Ladies First.

My savior smiled at me. “I’m Emmett, by the way.”

“I know who you are,” I said, practically admitting my unrequited crush. “I’m Ainsley.”

Gwen slung a sweaty arm over my shoulder. “Hey, Emmett,” she said sweetly.

Rachel appeared at my other side. “Emmett, hey. How’s it going?”

He crossed his defined arms over his chest and tilted his head. “Do I know you ladies?”

That’s when Gwen betrayed our sisterhood. “Nope. But Ainsley was sweet on you, so we’ve done some basic reconnaissance, which included discovering she’s not your type.”