“Two minutes total,” came someone’s answer just as the crowd reached one, and both contestants flopped down on the floor, chests heaving, both dripping in sweat.
He maneuvered himself around the guys watching to walk up beside the mat. Kat rolled over onto her back, laughter lighting her face. Her sweatshirt was long gone, and she wore only the sports bra and her shorts. Her stomach and the fronts of her thighs left a sweat print on the mat.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked. God, that sounded pompous.
“What… does it… look like?” she gasped, hand clutched to her stomach as she fought for breath. The hard muscles of her abdomen contracted and stretched with each labored breath.
“Friendly competition,” Rodman said with less effort, though he was clearly still winded.
“And the winner, in two minutes with sixty-three burpees, is Kat Kelly!” Caleb walked between them and grabbed one of Kat’s arms, holding it as high as she could reach from her position flat on the mat. She laughed, and Rodman cursed and rolled onto his stomach again.
“I told you not to slow down, man,” his counter said while the guys all cheered and jeered simultaneously.
“This,” one of the linemen said with a leer, “is going on Facebook.” He held up his phone and started walking away, several guys following, asking to see the video.
Lovely. Just fantastic. More video evidence of his complete ineptitude. He started to walk to the teammate with the phone, but then his strength coach clapped a hand over his shoulder. With a mental groan, he watched it unfold, helpless to stop it.
Kat finally sat up, taking the towel another guy handed her before receiving a fist bump of congratulations.
“Can she come back every day?” Caleb asked under his breath. “Seriously, just breathed new life into some of these jackwagons who have been going cruising on autopilot for too long.”
Michael started to snap no, she sure as hell can’t come back when he looked around him. Yeah, several guys were still hanging by her, but others had gone back to their workouts and were, to his mind, attacking it with an intensity he hadn’t seen in a while in the weight room. There were always a few guys who lived for weights, but mostly it was a routine they had all become complacent in. Now, though…
Huh.
“It’s up to you, man,” Caleb continued as he checked his clipboard. “But as far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome back, as long as she signs a waiver.” He left Michael to check in a few new arrivals to the weight room.
“Hey.” Kat walked up, zipping her hoodie as she approached. “I can catch a cab back to the apartment if you have practice.”
“I do,” he said slowly. “What, not gonna ask if you can use the sauna or get a massage?”
She wrinkled her nose as she flipped the hair of her ponytail from the collar of her shirt. “That’s going a little too far. Using weights that nobody else is currently using is one thing. Taking up a trainer’s time for a massage… something else entirely. Though I wouldn’t say no to a recommendation for a massage after hours.”
He surveyed her, watching as she still worked to slow her breathing.
“I told you I wouldn’t get in the way. I meant it.”
And he saw she did. For all her antics and love of attention, she had stayed on the fringes in the weight room and actually used it for its intended purpose. And used it well.
“You impressed Caleb,” he said, walking out of the weight room with her. “The strength coach back there. He said you can come back anytime if I was okay with it.”
Her face lit with hope. “Seriously? You’re kidding.”
He might regret it later, but… “Yeah, it’s fine with me.”
“Thank you!” In the empty hallway, she did a little dance of glee, then threw her arms around him for a quick hug. She was gone before he could react, but his arms itched to pull her back against him for another, longer hug.
Perv.
“If you want to catch a cab, I’ll show you where to wait up front. Kristen will help you get one.”
He tried hard not to touch her—even a brush of arms—the rest of the walk to the main desk so he could give his body time to calm down before practice.
Kat stabbed a piece of lettuce and glared at it. “This has to be the worst part about my job.”
Aileen Rogers, who had introduced herself as a sports reporter first and Killian Reeves’ wife second, grimaced. “Do you have to eat the rabbit food?”
Kristen Kelpar, the assistant Michael had left her with over two hours earlier, rolled her eyes. “You work out for a billion hours a week, and your least favorite part of your job is eating salad?”
“I like working out.” Kat let the fork settle back into the plastic container that held the take-out salad.