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“Is that required, using a towel?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. But it’s gross if you don’t. People are sweaty and smelly. Believe me, you want to protect yourself from that.”
Okay then.
He gets in position on a bench and lies back. “Okay, now watch me. I’m not gonna use much weight, because I want you to focus on my form.”
Once on the bench, spreading his legs wide, he takes the two weights he’s holding, slowly lifting them straight up from his shoulders.
Looks easy enough.
Wyatt repeats the movement a few times, and while he keeps telling me to watch his ‘form,’ I am more interested in watching his muscles and the tattoos that cover them, as well as sneaking peeks at the bulge between his legs that his shorts stretch over.
This is fun.
Then it’s my turn.
I lie back and Wyatt positions my legs so my knees are in the right place. He puts two tiny weights in my hands and stretches his fingers over mine while he guides me. Up, down, up, down.
“I can do this, Wyatt. It’s not hard.”
Jesus, does he think I’m a total wimp?
I bring the weights down to my shoulders and push straight up, like he showed me. I do it again.
And then I do it three more times, and I feel like my arms are going to fall off my shoulders. My arms shake as I try to push them straight, and Wyatt guides me as I bring them back down.
I sit up. “Oh my god. I didn’t know I was so weak. How embarrassing.”
He sits on the bench next to me, something he says you can do when no one’s waiting, and pats my thigh. “Everyone is a beginner at least once. It’s going to be hard at first. You haven’t done weights before. You always focus on cardio. Now your workouts will be well-rounded.”
He smiles down at me, and at our closeness, I’m nearly speechless. A shock of hair falls onto his forehead and I want so much to push it back off his face.
So I do.
I giggle. “Just had to fix that.”
He rakes his hands through his hair likeno big deal. “I usually wear a cap at the gym to keep the hair out of my face. Forgot it today.”
We’d better get moving before I touch him someplace else.
I slap my hands to my thighs. “Okay. What’s next?”
“You ready for some lunges?” he asks.
“Sure. Why not?”
I stand, my arms hanging like noodles out of their sockets, and he shows me how to do a lunge in a way that won’t mess up my knees, apparently a big deal in lunge-land. I do a few of themwith him by my side doing the same. He’s solid and makes it look easy, of course.
I’m so wobbly I nearly fall over.
“Break time,” he says, helping me back to a standing position.
His hand lingers on my arm and I look at his grip, his large, warm hand dwarfing my upper arm, and I can’t help but wonder what that hand would feel like on another part of my body.
He picks up on my tiredness, thank goodness. I could have said something but didn’t want to look like a total wimp.
He walks me to the women’s locker room. “Hey, how about we meet out here in fifteen minutes? There’s a vegetarian restaurant around the corner we can try, if you’d like to join me.”
