Page 21 of Gym With Benefits

“That’s it.” His whispered encouragement throbbed between my legs. “You have to go deep to feel it all.”

Phenomenal lifter. That’s what Hunter had called him. I imagined him now, lifting me into all kinds of positions as he talked me through it in that same deep whisper.

“Nicely done, Jess.”

The bar met the floor with a dull thud. I straightened, my muscles burning and my face flushed from more than just exertion. “Thank you for being nice enough to lie to me.”

“No, I mean it. You have a great foundation,” he said, and pulled a towel off the bar beside him. I made to take it, but Brock held on. “You just need someone to show you how to use it.”

I bit my lips to keep from moaning out loud, but there was nothing I could do about the weakness in my knees.

“Um, I think I’m gonna hit the pool for some cardio,” I said, trying hard not to stare at his gym shorts. To see if there was any sign this was anything more than just a workout to him. The amount of rubbing was significant to say the least.

“I should stretch you first.”

My gaze snapped up. “What? No. No, that’s totally fine. I’m— I’m all loose and limber, thanks. I mean—”

“That’s okay. But there’s no getting out of it next time,” he said, taking back the towel. “My magic hands have a thing for working out tension.”

The undercurrent between us was palpable. Surely he wasn't flirting. This was the standard motivational script designed to keep clients booking sessions.

Yet, as I headed for the pool, the thought of returning to my solitary routine felt incredibly unappealing.

“Is it possible to book a private session with you?” The question slipped out before my internal filter could stop it. “For help with my form. Obviously.”

Brock’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile that demolished my self-preservation. “I thought you’d never ask.”

8

Jess

The bass atDisclosureresonated through the soles of my feet, traveling up my shins and settling into a pendulous drumming in my chest. The interior of the lounge existed in a permanent state of expensive twilight. Smoked glass, charcoal velvet, and low-slung amber lighting that made everyone look like a polished version of themselves.

"Stop tugging at the hem," David shouted over a remix of an old disco track. His hand caught mine before I could adjust the silk slip dress one more time. "The lines are clean. You’re a woman of mystery, not a nervous ninny. Act like it."

He’d spent forty minutes in my closet. A man on a mission. The result was a silhouette of fluid motion and strategic accessories. My hair, usually a containment zone of pins and clips, flowed over my shoulders in loose waves that felt foreign against the bare skin of my neck.

"I feel like a fraud.”

David did a little two-step glide, dragging me along. “Even frauds cut loose from time to time. So you have no excuse.”

He moved with a celebratory arrogance, snapping his fingers and executing a half-turn that ended with his back against the mahogany bar top.

“I’d live a thousand years and never get close to being as cool as you,” I said, only half-joking.

“All you have to worry about is being as cool as you, Seymour.” And the sincerity that crept into his tone seemed so out of place after a night of teasing and messing around, that I just stared at him for a second. “Don’t look at me like that. People might think we’re together.”

“You really are my friend, aren’t you?” I pulled him into a hug.

“Ugh, Jess, I mean it.”

I was still laughing when the bartender came over. David fixed his shirt, and flipped the switch back to dashing and down for whatever.

"Two Botanist tonics,” he said, pointing to a bottle of small-batch gin. “Heavy on the lime, light on the ego." Then he turned to me, the irritation from a second ago now completely gone. “So? Having fun yet?”

“Well, it beats the dank, demoralizing humidity of the thirteenth century.”

He slid my drink across the bar. “I’d call that progress.”