I’d been watching my girl like a hawk, just like I’ve done many times before. Sierra was posted up in front of the squat rack, chalk dust still lingering in the air like smoke.
The scent of rubber mats, metal, and something citrusy — probably her shampoo — filled my nostrils.
She liked the free weights section. Didn’t talk to anyone, with her big headphones and that golden hair tied back in a ponytail.
The harsh lighting made sweat glisten on her temple, and it caught the edge of her jaw like a spotlight. Her sports bra was short-circuiting my brain.
Sierra Johansson was my Roman fucking Empire.
And I was positive she was trying to kill me right now — or to drive me to kill someone else.
The gym was crowded, but I barely registered anything else: the sound of a bar dropping behind me, the hiss of a cable machine, and the grunts of guys trying to impress their reflections in the mirror.
I wouldn’t blame anyone for looking because,fuck, but I’d definitely have to fight the urge to gouge their eyes out with a spoon.
The way her ass looked in those leggings knocked the breath straight out of my lungs. They were the deep charcoal ones with the contour seams.Deadly.
The fact that she was squatting 250 lbs like it was nothing made me even more feral for her. Her quads flexed smoothly and powerfully, like poetry made flesh. She was badass, and she was all mine.
As she racked the bar again, she clocked me watching through the mirror. I gave her a slow, appreciative once-over, raising my brows as if to say,“Yeah, and?”
She rolled her eyes at me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. Shaking my head subtly, I cocked my head to the side, giving her a pointed look, and her expression told me she knew what I was thinking.
You’re gonna pay for that later, Darlin’.
She could act unimpressed all she wanted. Joke was on her — I wasn’t trying to impress her. I was trying to make damn sure no one else ever measured up again.
I strolled over to the bench next to the squat rack, her eyes following my movements.
“Oh wow, what are the odds? This bench is free? Right next to you?Crazy.” I put my hands up to my face in faux-shock.
She didn’t even take her headphones off, just regarded me with an unimpressed lifted brow. Setting down my towel on the bench, I picked up some dumbbells.
I shuffled in front of the mirror, making sure I was directly in her line of vision, and started with some curls.
Super subtle.
I mean, I hadn’t whipped my shirt off yet. That had to be worthsomething.
Sierra stepped under the bar again and lifted it, while her eyes kept flickering to me. She was trying so hard to focus on her reps — it was adorable.
“You know, most peopletrainwith a partner. Not stalk one,” she grunted.
I set the weights down, giving her a sideway glance. Casually, I pulled off my pump cover to reveal a tank with cutout sides so deep, I might as well not be wearing it. Which, of course, was the point.
“Nah, stalking is when you aren’t invited. You keep leaving the door open.”
“You’re not even actually working out.”
I grinned and winked at her through the mirror. “Sure I am. I’m training my patience. My restraint. My ability not to bend you over this bench right now.Growth.” I positioned myself right behind her, pretending to spot her.
A flush crept into Sierra’s cheeks, and smug satisfaction vibrated through every pore of my body. “This is a public gym.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t make those little sounds when you lift. They go straight to my head. And not the polite one.” I said in a low voice, a dark edge to it.
Sierra swallowed, her throat bobbing visibly. “You need help.”
“Maybe try looking at me like you did last night when I had your knees over my shoulders. Thatmightcalm me down.”
