Page 110 of Snatched
Sometimes I “drop something off.”
Sometimes she “needs help carrying something to the storage floor.”
Sometimes her door mysteriously stays locked for thirty minutes and when she opens it, she’s got messy hair and a flushed face. I even dressed up as a UPS delivery person one time.
Every time she looks at me over that desk, I swear something punches me in the chest.
I’m supposed to be her trainer.
Her younger guy.
Her little…whatever I am.
But then she touches my wrist, or laughs quietly at something stupid I say, and suddenly I’m not twenty-seven anymore.
I’m a man.
Her man.
Even if I’ll never say it out loud.
2. Early mornings at the gym
The 6 a.m. sessions are the worst.
AKA the best. So we start scheduling our workouts then, instead of evenings.
Because the gym is empty and she comes in wearing something soft and clingy, and suddenly I’m forgetting every professional guideline ever written.
I spot her through deadlifts.
Through hip thrusts.
Through rows that shouldn’t be legal in public.
She teases me under her breath, and the banter goes something like this:
“You’re staring…”
“I’m checking form.”
“Uh-huh.”
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
And I’m done for her every single time.
3. Late nights at the gym
Some nights she still comes after work to get some exercise in, sporting her pencil skirt and heels when I’m closing the place down, a schedule request I made to Damien.
I swear that’s going to kill me one day.
I turn off half the lights.
Lock the front door.
We “stretch.”
