Page 8 of Rogue Survivor
Crimson races up her neck to her cheeks, and she chokes on another sip of water, then presses her towel to her nose. “Hercules,” she mumbles.
Shock silences me for too long, and Isabel’s getting redder by the second. Before my wits return to my body, she snatches her phone from the treadmill’s cupholder, and with her towel and water bottle clutched tightly to her chest, races for the locker room.
Well, fuck.
Fifteen minutes later, I push to my feet with a groan as Isabel passes through the gym’s reception area.
“Isabel? Wait up. Please?” I spent every moment she was in the locker room trying to extricate my size thirteen shoe from my mouth, and I have to apologize.
Her brown eyes widen, but she does stop, though she’s clearly ready to bolt any second.
“I’m an idiot,” I say, shoving a hand through my hair, right over the slight dent in my skull. It’s impossible to stifle my wince, and she takes a step closer, concern in her gaze, as I rush to continue. “You surprised me. I… My leg isn’t the only part of me that’s messed up. I didn’t expect…” With a shrug, I stare down at the floor. “My mama would tan my hide if she knew I’d been that rude to you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who ogled you,” she says softly. “Though, in my defense, you spend every workout doing more sit-ups and push-ups than I’ve everseenbefore. Pretty sure if I tried even a tenth of what you do every day, I’d end up in traction.”
“So…I didn’t make a total ass of myself?”
Her smile lights up her entire face, and fuck. She’s gorgeous. Dark brows, full lips, dressed in a pair of slacks and a soft cream blouse that hides everything—except her curves. “Oh, you did. But so did I. We’re even.”
Hold the phone. Is she flirting with me? The color dusting her cheeks and the way she’s staring up at me, light dancing in her eyes, tells me it’s a distinct possibility.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask. “I can practice my water bottle catching skills again.”
She laughs. A sweet sound, almost like birdsong. “Maybe? I have to sneak out of work every day to get here. This is the one hour a day no one needs me.”
Maybe I need you. Working out is a hell of a lot easier with you next to me.
The thought is completely inappropriate, but my brain—andotherparts of me—don’t care. The few minutes we’ve had together? They’ve been the best I’ve had in…too long.
“Well, I’ll be here. And if you ever want to try some push-ups—not that they’re any more fun than the treadmill—I’ll spot you.”
Isabel’s blush deepens and races down her neck. But a moment later, she clears her throat and smiles. “I’ll leave the push-ups to you…Hercules.”
I’m too shocked to say a word as she gives me a little wave and heads for the elevator. The doorssnickshut before I regain the ability to speak, and damn. I wish I’d been brave enough to ask her out for coffee.
Chapter Three
Isabel
“We’re even?”
“I’ll leave the push-ups to you, Hercules?”
As the elevator doors open and I step into the gym’s reception area, I replay every minute of yesterday’s conversation with Connor—the one where I made a total and complete fool out of myself. The hottest guy in the gym. The one whose presence made all my workouts alotmore interesting. Or at least not so torturous. If he’s here today, I’ll have to give up my favorite treadmill—the one with the best view out the eighth-floor window. There’s no way I’ll be able to put one foot in front of the other next to him without falling on my face.
When I emerge from the locker room, I make it all of two steps before I see Connor on the treadmill. Yep, time to head for the ellipticals. Except he jumps off, catches my eye, and smiles, right before he drops to the floor for one of his epic rounds of push-ups.
Flames ignite somewhere deep in my core, and the sensation is so shocking, I almost drop my water bottle. Again.
Do not swoon. You’re forty-six years old. Well past the age you should be swooning over anyone.
Except, that’s exactly what I want to do. And now that he’s seen me, Ihaveto take my usual spot on the treadmill. After all, anything else would be rude. He grunts through one last push-up and collapses to the ground as I set my water bottle in the cup holder. “Got to make every rep worth it,” he says, grimacing as he gets to his feet. “Since I’m the only one doin’ ‘em.”
His wink takes me by surprise, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. Something soft, like sandalwood, along with what can only be purehimunderneath. He hasn’t been here long. Only a slight hint of sweat shines on his brow. Ten minutes, maybe?
He’s still staring at me, hope and something else in his hazel eyes. A look I’ve seen before—every time I look in the mirror. A deep, abiding loneliness. Oh, God. Speak, Isabel.Speak!
“Hey.”
