Page 105 of Betting on Bailey

“Clearly not.”

“Why would it be? You’re my client.”

“At times, I feel like your punching bag.”

“I don’t beat you up.”

“You don’t build me up.”

“Motivation—”

“Yes, of course. Whatever it takes to motivate your clients. The beatings will continue until morale improves, right?”

“You could always have another trainer if you want.”

“Because you want to pawn me off. Think I’m a lost cause, huh?”

“Do you see him?” Lucas points to a guy who is as ripped as can be. “He’s one of my clients. He’s here constantly. He had a show last month, and he took first place. Did amazing. He has another shower coming up in a few months. My biggest concern with him is burnout. It’s not easy to go show after show and try to keep your body ft so low and be healthy.”

“Do you insult him to get him motivated?”

“Yes, actually, but we’ve been friends forever, so it’s all in good fun.”

“You don’t know me, but you insult me all the time.”

“And you insult me in return.”

“You started it.”

“Does that matter? If you can’t handle what I’m dishing out, look elsewhere, but it’s working for you. You’ve been surprising me.”

“If I could just curb the cravings…”

“If you want something sweet, eat fruit.”

“More bananas.”

He rolls his eyes. “And you dare complain to me about the shit I say to you after that?”

“After what?” I bat my eyelashes.

“You know what,” he growls.

And I can’t help it. I smile at him, a real one.

He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t return the smile, but… is that a smolder? Holy shit, is my plan starting to work after all? Because I never in a million years thought I might be able to pull this off.

Those blue eyes of his… so bewitching…

“Stretch,” he murmurs, and I finally comply. I don’t look at him, but through the mirror, I can see that he’s watching me more than he isn’t.

I finish stretching a little past my hour mark. He still walks me to the front, but I’m not really walking. I’m so sore that I can hardly move my feet, just shuffling along. For whatever stupid reason, I brought in my gym bag and my bookbag. A brain fart, I guess, and it’s not doing me any favors.

Before we reach the welcome desk, there’s a bang, and I realize that, somehow, one of my books dropped. Fuck.

My legs shake, and I can barely squat to pick it up.

Lucas surprises me by picking it up for me. He hands it to me, his luscious lips curling into a smirk.