I move to the incline bench. Start loading plates just to have something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve dragging her out by her pretty pink leash.
Then I hear her behind me.
“Hey,” she says, all syrup and smirk. “This the part where you spot me?”
I don’t turn around. “No.”
“Oh.” She clicks her tongue. “Then is this the part where you tell me to fuck off and do it anyway?”
Goddammit.
I look. And yeah, she’s already at the squat rack. Thigh highs on full display, back arched, eyes on me through those stupid glitter heart lenses. A demon in a Bratz doll wrapper.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, stepping in anyway. Standing behind her. Not touching. Not breathing.
She lifts the bar. No weights, just the bar. “Too late.”
And then she drops. Smooth and slow. Like she’s been practicing just to destroy me.
She lets out a little sound on the third rep. Not a grunt. Not strain.
A fucking moan.
Soft. Pitched. Purposeful.
My jaw grinds so hard I feel it in my molars.
“You doing okay back there?” she asks sweetly, glancing over her shoulder.
“I swear to God, Delilah.”
“What?” She rises, racks the bar, and turns. “Scared I’ll make you blush?”
“I’m not playing with you,” I say.
She steps into my space. Close enough I could count the sparkles in her gloss. “Good. I don’t want you to play. Games end in restraining orders.”
My hand twitches at my side. She sees it. Smiles like she’s winning something.
“You don’t scare me, Jett,” she whispers. “I like broken things.”
Fuck. Me. I believe her.
My brain white-noises. My cock’s halfway to a felony.
And for one fucking second, I want to ask, what do you see when you look at me like that? What broken thing are you hoping I am?
“What the fuck is this?” I manage.
She shrugs, sweeping those glittery eyes over me like a goddamn menu. “I’m learning new ways to deal with my anger.”
“Anger,” I echo. “You want to learn about anger from me?”
Why the fuck am I talking to her? Why am I still standing here?
“I signed up for hands-on training,” she purrs. “What days do you get personal?”
Depends where my hands are going. “I’m here every day.”
