It’s not cute. But it is quite endearing.
Next, I have Crew show us some push-ups, squats, then sit-ups. Each is more entertaining than the last, and Connor follows his lead with a grin, pretending to huff and puff when Crew speeds up. It makes my heart beat a little faster. How dare he be so good with kids.
“All right, good job, little buddy,” I say, and find Crew a folded mat to sit on. “Here, you can watch a show while I finish.”
“Can I take pictures?” he asks eagerly.
“No.” We learned that lesson the hard way when he took a very entertaining video of Lyndi and Ward and posted it online.
I find a quality, educational show and leave him to his thing.
“He’s cute,” Connor says, hefting himself off the floor. I left him doing push-ups, but he’s not out of breath. I should have put a twenty-five-pound weight on his back. Or Crew.
I would agree with him, but conspiring with the devil is against my moral code. “He’s all right,” I say. It’s far from the truth. That little boy has everyone wrapped around his finger. He is the only constant man in my life, after all. I wish my mom would be satisfied with that. She’s called me twice since our last dinner, asking how things “worked out” with Xavier. I cringed each time and ended both conversations disappointing her.
Thinking of my mother and her impossible standards makes my head throb. I slip the ponytail from my hair and shake out the strands, letting my nails scrape against my scalp.That’s better.
“Wow.”
My eyes fly open to find Connor watching me. “What?”
He steps forward until his chest nearly touches mine. He brushes a strand of hair off my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. His fingers trail down my neck and over my shoulder. Tingles explode along my skin with his touch.
“I’ve never seen your hair down. It’s so long.” His voice is rough and low, and I can feel the vibrations coming off his chest.
My breath lodges in my throat, and a shiver comes out of nowhere. I swallow, lacking the ability and desire to push him away.
“It’s so beautiful,” he whispers, as he slides his fingers through my hair again. He’s barely touching me, but every nerve ending in my body lights up with the feel of him. What is he doing to me? And why am I letting him? My mind races, reminding me of his words from the closet. He wants to know me. Has he really been attracted to me all these years?
A weight slams down somewhere in the gym, yanking me from the moment. I blink and step back, out of his reach. I twist the ponytail holder around my hair, locking it away from him.
He watches me with an expression I can’t afford to decipher right now. Time to get back to torturing him…I mean training.
I spin around to look at the wall. Anywhere but at him. “Why don’t we try some handstand push-ups today?”
“What’s that?”
I drop my hands to the floor and kick my legs up against the wall. Then I dive into a push-up. I can only do about six of these on account of the blood flooding my head, but I do them with confidence then drop my feet and pop back up.
Connor studies me, his expression almost frightened. “Do I have to?”
“If you don’t, you’re wasting your money by being here.”
His eyes lock on mine and his jaw flexes. “I’m not wasting my money.”
I purse my lips and dust my hands off on my yoga pants then motion to the wall. “All right, well, give it a shot.”
“Okay.” He runs his hands together and steps from the wall. Then takes a few steps closer. Then back again.
His eyes narrow. “How do I get up there?”
I shrug. “Throw yourself up and let the wall catch you.”
“Very helpful, coach.”
I’m not sure how to explain it. I took gymnastics when I was younger. I assumed it was common knowledge how to throw a handstand.
“Um, here…” I move next to the wall. “Try kicking your legs up, and I’ll steady you on the wall.”
