I smiled. “No. Sometimes you need someone with real muscle spotting you.”
She shook her head and walked past me toward the weight rack, doing a poor job of concealing her smile in the mirror. She reached for a set of weights and took up residence on the mat a few feet away—far enough that I knew she wanted some space. It was no use though. The moment she’d arrived, other athletes scooted closer, pulled their weights to the edge of the mats, and lingered nearby her until she’d glance up and flash a smile or a nod. She had a gravitational pull about her and it was hard to keep my distance, especially since these fleeting moments were all we had.
I was in the middle of a set of dead lifts, breathing heavy and trying to focus on my posture, when I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye. She was at the corner of the mat watching me, and when I dropped the weights and took a deep breath, she stepped closer.
“Impressive,” she said with one arched brow.
The fact that she looked that sexy while sweating through her workout clothes was actually impressive.
“Thanks.”
“I just finished my first round and my legs feel like Jell-O.” She laughed, wiggling them out for emphasis.
I glanced over at them, glad to have an excuse. They were long, toned, heartbreaker legs. “They look good to me.”
She paused and cleared her throat. “Yeah, well I have soccer to thank for that.”
“Football,” I corrected with a smirk.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, I need your help with free weights. I never do them without a spot.”
I nodded. “All right, let me just finish up one last set.”
She nodded and pulled up a bright blue medicine ball to bounce on while she waited. Her blonde ponytail swished from side to side and her smile was wider than it’d been all day.
“Just going to watch?” I asked with a laugh.
She smiled and bounced. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. “Why not?”
I swallowed down a shaky breath. Her workout top was damp and I watched as a single drop of sweat rolled down the front of her neck and disappeared down the center of her chest. She tilted her head, watching me watch her. Maybe it was the endorphins or the sweat or the cut of her tank top, but I found it hard to stay away. Why was it so hard to stay away?
“Freddie?” she asked, pulling my attention away from her body. “All done?”
I hadn’t even started.
I stepped over the weights and waited for her to stop bouncing. Up, down. Up, down.
She smiled and stood. “C’mon. The bench is over here.”
Something changed after that, likely because she was tired of putting up a fight. We stayed together for the remainder of our workout. I spotted her when she needed it, trying my best to keep my focus on her form and not her body. The worst of it came when I was helping her with sit-ups. She was lying on her back and I was leaning over her, holding down her feet and knees to keep her in place. Had we been naked and back in my flat, the position would have meant something else entirely, and my brain was having a hard time separating fact from fiction, right from wrong.
“Ten,” I counted as she sat up.
Her lips came within inches of mine. I caught a whiff of her hair, something sweet and scented.
She leaned back for another sit-up.
“Eleven.”
Her breaths came heavy and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes held mine and she broke out in a cheeky little smirk after I counted away another sit up.
“You all good there, Archibald?” she asked, falling back to the mat.
“Brilliant. How about you, Foster?”
She glanced away and laughed. “Peachy.”
“Good, ’cause you’ve still got about twenty more.”
She exhaled and sat up, coming within an inch of my face. All I had to do was lean forward and her mouth would be mine.
“Freddie,” she said, jarring me out of my intense staring contest with her lips. “You didn’t count that one.”
“What number were we on?”
She huffed out a breath and collapsed back on the mat. “You were the one supposed to be keeping track.”
Bloody hell.
“Andie!”
I turned in time to watch Nathan Drake, Portuguese soccer player and all-around chum, walk up onto the mat, eyeing Andie like she was his salvation. I tightened my grip on her knees, feeling her pulse jump against my palm. Sure, I’d known Nathan since London and sure, he’d been fun to have around for a laugh, but now that he was stepping closer and smiling at Andie as she was edging out of my grip to stand and greet him, I decided I didn’t like him much. Maybe not at all.
“You two, how you say, exercer together?” he asked, his heavy accent muddling the words. He pointed back and forth between us, but ultimately fixed his attention on Andie as if I didn’t exist.