Page 76 of Snatched
“Obviously.”
There’s a beat.
A long one. Yet the air feels charged like a subway track.
“Okay then,” he says. “Let’s get to it.”
I exhale as he gestures for me to follow him to our usual corner of the gym.
We start warming up—rows, light squats, nothing crazy yet.
Both of us are overly focused, like we’re in a competition to see who can look the most unbothered.
“How’s your week?” he asks, voice casual.
“Busy,” I say. “Corporate overlord work. Lots of spreadsheets and soul erosion.”
He huffs a laugh.
“How about you?”
He hesitates. “Fine. The usual.”
I look at him, but he’s avoiding eye contact.
Which meansnot fine.
But we said professional. And friends. And uncomplicated.
So I don’t push.
When our warmups finish, I turn to him, ready for the routine.
Instead, he crosses his arms, gives me a small, cocky half-grin I absolutely feel in my ribcage, and says:
“Before we start… anything you want to discuss? Scheduling? Boundaries?”
I swallow.
“Nope,” I say lightly. “All good…friend.”
He nods, but there’s a smug little spark in his eyes.
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s start, then.”
“Lead the way, Coach Evans.”
Something flickers in his expression. Something dark, amused, and absolutelynotprofessional.
“Oh, I’ll lead,” he murmurs.
My stomach flips.
“And I’m going to work you like you’ve never been worked.”
“That sounds—phrasing-wise?—”
He raises a brow. “What? Motivational?”
