“Tell me about your facility.” Kat couldn’t keep the bounce out of her step as she walked beside Michael into the practice building. The well-lit interior of the building had surprised her, as most of the places she trained at were darker, saving on ambiance to add maximum value.
Then again, the Bobcats organization could afford to throw around a few pennies.
He tossed her a quick glance that asked, Why did I ever agree to this? “It’s a practice facility. I don’t know… weight room, workout areas, practice field, places for massage and physical therapy and medical… just, you know. The usual.”
He acted like she should know this. He must be laboring under the same misconceptions the rest of the world was when it came to professional athletes. Most of them struggled to make a living and weren’t privy to high-priced facilities and state-of-the-art techie stuff. Those who had access were household names. Of which she most certainly was not.
Not yet anyway.
Or rather, not for the right reasons.
She heard the clang of weights before they turned a corner and saw the door to the weight room. Something in her vibrated, and she clenched her fists in anticipation.
A hard workout. A long, sweaty, intense, body-crushing round with weights and machines and her playlist in her ears. Something to take the edge off.
Something to help her forget what her manny had looked like, all rough and scruffy, half-dressed and irresistibly grumpy, only an hour before.
Her body tightened in anticipation again, but it wasn’t because she was thinking about the weights.
“Wait here,” Michael said as they approached the door. “I still have to clear it with the trainer in the room before it’s okay.” Without waiting for her agreement, he walked in.
So she took a moment to observe without his knowledge. He’d shaven, and from the fact that he never seemed to have anything more than a day’s growth on his chin in any photos she’d found, she assumed clean-shaven was his preference. Pity, since the scruff and bedhead did something a little animalistic to her. She preferred the scruff.
And since she wasn’t supposed to “prefer” anything dealing with her manny, it was best he kept a clean-shaven look.
He wore just a simple T-shirt and tear-away workout pants—which likely covered shorts—and running shoes. Beat up ones, at that. It was as if the only flash the man carried was his car.
That made her snort. That car… so typical.
Just then, he turned his head to look at her, and her breath caught. Something about the way he watched her, like a mixture of pain in my ass and something darker, deeper…
That was probably insane, that being considered a pain in his ass would make her happy.
When he motioned her in, she followed, unsure what she would find inside the weight room. But was relieved there weren’t many people there. The trainer talking to Michael—a younger, bald black man wearing a Bobcats warm-up jacket and cargo shorts—stood with his hands on his hips, looking skeptical at best. A few players—she assumed they were, based on their size—lifted weights. Another jogged on a treadmill. A few more stood on mats by a mirror, presumably stretching, but mostly talking.
But as she surveyed the room, the lifting, jogging, and talking seemed to come to a stop until all she could hear in the room was the hum of the air conditioner and the beep of a protesting treadmill.
“She’s your responsibility,” the trainer muttered to Michael. “You can’t leave her in here. If you’re not with her, she’s gone.”
“No,” Michael started to argue, “she’ll be fine. Seriously, she’s an athlete. She won’t get into any trouble.” He added the last with a piercing glare toward her, almost as a warning.
Trying her best for innocent, Kat batted her lashes and grasped her hands to her heart.
After studying her for a moment, Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll stay with her. I’ve got a meeting in an hour,” he warned. “You’re not staying past that.”
“An hour’s good,” she agreed hastily, not wanting to push her luck. “I’ll go stretch.”
Michael watched as Kat walked toward the mats at the back. Interestingly, she kept her hoodie on and fully zipped up now, as opposed to earlier when it had been open. This, despite the heat and humidity the room constantly carried. Women he knew would have taken the chance to show off their toned bodies in a room full of professional athletes.
She is a professional athlete, you nitwit.
Since he had practice after his morning meeting, Michael had no intention of working his own muscles to fatigue. He wandered over to where two linemen—one of whom lived in his building—were bench-pressing. As they switched between sets, he chatted with them, keeping an eye on Kat.
But she was in her own little world now. Earbuds in place, jacket still on, eyes closed, she ran through a series of stretches that looked sort of fluid, like yoga, but a bit too aggressive to be yoga. Every time she bent over, he noticed several heads swiveling her way.
“So, who’s the chick?” Donny, the lineman sitting on the bench, asked.