She has since the first day I saw her in class. She was so unbelievably smart, confident, beautiful, and downright stubborn.
And I was…me.
Maybe that’s why I resorted to teasing her. I didn’t know how else to reach her level. But slowly, the teasing turned into hatred…on her end, anyway. But I couldn’t stop, because her hating me at least meant she acknowledged me.
Maddie comes around the corner, engaged in a conversation with a man who has way too many shoulder muscles. He must be in the habit of skipping eye day though, because he can’t seem to keep them off of her.
He touches her back and leans closer to whisper something in her ear.
I grab the nearest thing at my disposal, a can of protein, and squeeze.
Maddie says something while simultaneously pulling away from him. I can tell she’s rejecting him from ten feet away, but Mr. Neckmuscles doesn’t seem to have a clue.
“You sure you don’t want to come over later?” I catch the man’s next words.
That’s it. It’s my turn to strangle someone.
“I’ll see you next week.” Maddie’s tone is clipped. End of discussion. She spins on her heel and heads in my direction. Her frown turns even frostier when it finds me.
“Great, you came back.” Her tone is as flat and dry as the Arizona desert. About as prickly, too.
“Never could get enough of you.”
The faintest blush kisses her cheeks and it matches the pink top she’s wearing. “The feeling isn’t mutual.”
Didn’t think it was.
Her eyes dart to my hands. “Were you going to pay for that?”
What? Oh, I rotate the bottle in my hands to see what kind of damage I’ve done.Eighty dollars?
I put it back on the shelf, angling the dent in the canister away from me. “If you’re good at your job, I won’t need it.”
“Health is apersonalchoice.” She spits at me. If looks could kill, I’d be seriously wounded right now. “Let’s go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, running to catch up with her. I have to give the woman credit; she never does anything halfway. Not even walking.
“What torture devices do you have planned for today?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything before stepping on a treadmill. My goal today is to get her to talk to me about something besides training. Even if all she offers me is one word, and a mean one.
She’s good at those.
“Same warmup.” She puts in her earphones and starts the treadmill at seven-five.
I can’t play that game today. I slowly work up my pace, sticking below her speed for the entire warmup. If I butter her up and let her take the win, will she be more inclined to talk to me?
“So, what’s your main area of focus?” she asks, the second she hits stop on the treadmill.
How is she not breathing hard?
I blink and draw in a slow, deep breath. “What?”
“What’s your goal for personal training?” She heads for an open bench.
Well, besides apologizing to her, there isn’t a goal. “Um…” What do most people come to the gym for? “Weight loss?”
Her eyes narrow, and she scans my body. Not like the hundred other times, she’s tried to kill me with her eyes before. This time, she’s looking at me, seeing me. Whether or not she likes what she sees is another story.
“Do you mean increasing muscle?”
