AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Is this a private training room?”
“Yes, I rent it so I can come whenever I want. Much more convenient than having to redo my entire flat. Okay,” he says, clasping his hands. “Let’s start with side-lying clams. Are you familiar with those?”
“Yup. Let’s do it.”
He lays out two yoga mats, and we get into position, facing each other. I peer over his shoulder, keeping my gaze fixed on the floating shelf lining the wall behind him. If I plunge into those silver eyes, my body will turn into Jell-O.
“How many reps do you do?”
“Forty, usually,” he says, settling his head on his hand.
My mouth falls agape. “On each side?”
He nods quickly. “Let’s go. One, two.”
After the tenth rep, my muscles are burning, but he looks perfectly fine. I try to empty my brain, but at sixteen, my leg drops like a lead weight, and I flip onto my back to recuperate. I release a growl of frustration. “I can’t.”
“It’s okay. I’ll finish, and then we can do the other side.”
The other leg is no better. This time, I actually give up after the twelfth rep. My chest is heaving with every breath, and beads of sweat prickle my neck. Wade, on the other hand, still looks like he’s just chilling on his sofa.
Next, we do the bird-dog exercise. We get on all fours and extend one arm and the opposite leg, holding for two seconds before switching sides. He does fifty reps on each side, and I do fifteen. But reverse lunges are even worse. While he does forty reps, I do ten on each leg. The only exercise I’m somewhat successful at are squats—thirty-seven reps versus his fifty.
“Not bad,” he says, grabbing two bottles of water from the shelf and throwing me one. I gulp down half of it in one go. Damn, this is intense.
“Now that we’re warmed up, we can—”
“Wait.” I wipe my forearm with the back of my hand. “This was only your warm-up? Like, every day, this is your warm-up?”
“Not every day. This is my warm-up when I do a balance workout. You don’t have to do all the exercises, but it’s a fun training session. You’ll feel good afterwards.”
How am I going to survive this?
An hour later, I’m pretty much dead. The only exercise I really managed was the “overhead slam.” I’d never heard of it before, but it was pretty fun. We grabbed a ball off the floor, stretched our arms high above our heads, and then slammed the ball back down all our strength. I guess seeing Karl’s face on the floor helped a little. The slams are a lot more physical than you’d think, though. I also managed some dumbbell lifts with the smallest weights available—two pounds—while Wade did multiple sets lifting forty.
When he moved on to knee-tuck jumps, I decided it was time to stop and watch, which is what I’m doing now. It’s been far more pleasant. Especially since Wade took off his T-shirt. He’s now hanging by the arms from a tall machine, crunching his sculpted abs as he brings his legs up. His chest is glorious, glistening with a sheen of perspiration under the bright lights of the training room. I bite my lip, not missing a second of the show. This is rather entertaining.
“Can I ask you a question?” I venture.
He blows out a gush of air, bringing his knees up. “Shoot.”
“What was your childhood like?”
His legs drop again, dangling for a few seconds as he adjusts his grip on the bar. “Am I talking to Roxy, my fake girlfriend, or Roxy, the journalist?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Honestly, they’re equally curious. “Both.”
He stays silent as he completes one more rep, so I add, “I looked you up online. There’s nothing on your life before you went pro.”
“Yes,” he says simply.
“I need an angle for my story, and—”
“No,” he lets out with a huge puff of air.
I blink back. “What, no?”
“You won’t be writing the success story of the poor kid making it to the pros.”
