Page 82 of Snatched
“You’re absolutely not.”
I glare at him over my shoulder. He gives a small, crooked grin.
“Lift,” he says.
I lift, and the bar comes up slowly, until my breath catches at the top.
“Good,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Now, again.”
I lower, then lift. Each rep, he gets nearer. Or I do. Or maybe gravity pulls us together.
By the fifth rep, I can hear his breathing behind me, along with feeling the heat of him. I can almost sense his heartbeat syncing with mine.
“Last one,” he says, his voice low and throaty.
I lift and, this time, something happens. I don’t know if it’s the strain, the closeness, the quiet gym, the sleep deprivation, the ten weeks of tension. But when I reach the top of the rep…
I lean back just a little. It’s barely an inch, but it’s enough to change our vibe completely.
Because he steps forward instinctively to steady me, and his hands land on my waist, gripping me.
My breath stops, and his does too. We both freeze, and the bar hits the ground with a softthudthat echoes through the empty space.
“Elena,” he says, voice ragged. “That was good.”
I turn to face him. He’s too close. Like, impossibly close.
“Yeah? No notes?” I let my hand swipe the side of his leg, testing the waters.
His hands slide off my waist slowly, like letting go burns.
“We shouldn’t…” he starts, but he doesn’t move away.
“Right,” I whisper. “We shouldn’t. Because we’re…friends now.” I giggle. “Even though I’m kind of starting to hate you.”
“Oh? That so?”
“You always push me so hard…” I grin. “I hate it. Plus you just want to be friends. I…kind of hate you, Coach.”
“That right? You hate me now?”
“Maybe a little.”
We stay right there anyway for a beat that feels way too long. The emptiness of the gym is palpable.
I breathe in. He breathes out. Our eyes are locked on one another.
And then, I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do.
I just know that one second my eyes flicker toward his mouth, and the next?
His lips are on mine.
They’re soft, warm, and yet shockingly gentle for someone built like a Greek tragedy.
My hands grab his hoodie. Meanwhile his fingers flex at my waist, resisting, then giving in entirely, gripping into me.
He kisses me once, slow and searching. Then again, deeper, like he’s been holding back for weeks.
