Page 6 of Work It Out
Samuel finished scouring the kitchen counters and strode toward the cabin’s only bathroom. “Hey, I need…” The words started out in a pleasant tenor but quickly morphed into a groan. “Damn it, Ray!”
She let loose her best evil doctor “Mwah-ha-ha,” complete with maniacal hand rubbing. Warning him that she’d left her delicates drying in the shower would’ve been the nice thing to do, but she’d learned to embrace the little joys on days like this.
Samuel poked his head out of the bathroom, one rubber glove–clad hand clamped over his eyes, the other pointing a bottle of cleaner toward the shower. “That’s seriously messed up. I help you out of the goodness of my heart—”
“The goodness—” She choked. “When I asked for your help, you said, and I quote, ‘Scrubbing toilets isn’t in my contract.’”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And I said, ‘How about a bet?’”
“I know, but—”
“Andyousaid,” she pitched her voice low and sarcastic, “‘Name it, munchkin.’”
His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed. “Admittedly a poor choice of words, but—”
“Did I or did I not whoop your ass in said bet?”
“I think I tore my freaking quad!” He plunked the bottle on the counter. “You make Thumbelina look like an Amazon. How the hell can you squat that much?”
“It’s called leg day. I’ll introduce you to it sometime.”
He snorted. “I’d scrub a hundred toilets before I let you near my leg day, you sadist.”
Samuel was an awesome trainer, especially when it came to drawing in middle-aged women. He was attractive, if not as strikingly handsome as Nate or as heavily muscled as Blaine or Jared. He’d mastered that long, lithe runner’s look so many women coveted and had abs any guy would kill for if it didn’t mean leaning out to 4 percent body fat.
But what really called to all the mommas on his roster was that certain…quality about Samuel that made people either want to protect him from the world or torment the shit out of him. Today, Rayah was guilty of the latter (which was okay because she spent most days firmly in Camp Protector and he tormented her, too).
Her resident expert on all things nutritional, cardio, and yoga had the lower body muscle composition of a preteen girl and the overblown ego of a teenage boy. Luckily for her, they only ever did cardio together, maybe the occasional arm day. He’d had no real understanding of how strong her legs were.
It hadn’t been a competition; it’d been a massacre.
“Blaine should’ve warned mebeforeI agreed to it,” Samuel grumbled.
“Blaine made a hundred bucks,” she reminded him.
The whole crew, with the exception of Pierce, had gathered around to cheer and jeer and place bets. Well, Grace had stood off to the side and smirked at Jared and Nate when they’d wagered fifty bucks each on Samuel. Blaine had been all too happy to cover that bet. Probably because, as he’d later pointed out, he was the only one who’d braved leg day with her. Now, Samuel stood in the doorway to the bathroom, digging his thumb into his right thigh.
“That boo-boo won’t get you out of cleaning the bathroom, so scrub, scrub.” She flicked her fingers, shooing him away as she went back to yanking her clothes out of the closet and tossing them into the bin. “Lay my delicates on the bed. I’ll throw them in last.”
“You may as well be my sister.” He disappeared back into the bathroom, not that some measly wall could impede his complaining. “I shouldn’t have to go anywhere near yourdelicates. Especially when they look like something you’d see at a porn shoot. When do you even wear this stuff? All you do is work, and then you only wear sports bras and leggings.”
Oh, no he didn’t.
She plopped her hands on her hips and marched to the doorway. “Are you slut shaming my choice in underwear?”
Samuel frequently struggled with social cues, but he was well familiar with the look currently aimed his way. “Hell, no!” His rubber gloves squeaked as he put his hands in the air again. “No shaming of any kind.”
“Good. Now, I suggest you drop the commentary before I tell you exactly when I wear that lingerie.” She raised one brow.
His face turned green. “Shutting up.”
She turned back to the bedroom and smothered a laugh with her hand. She’d tell him she liked to prance around her house in nothing but pretty underthings when hell froze over and he started eating trans fats. Unfortunately, that bout of humor didn’t last long.
Time was running out. Fast.
Good thing she was fastidious.
