Page 12 of The Encore’s Crown

“Warm-up set?” he asks.

“I already warmed up.”

His mouth tightens slightly. “On the treadmill.”

“I have my own routine for warming up. It doesn't need your guidance, okay?”

“I’m sure it doesn't.”

I don't let him see me hesitate. I sit on the edge of the bench, roll my shoulders back, and swing my legs around like I do this every day with a six-foot-four wall of muscle and regret watching me intently. The vinyl sticks briefly to my bare shoulder blades when I lie down. I reach up, set my hands on the bar, then immediately notice how aware I am of him above me.

He steps behind the bench and positions himself with a careful distance, hands hovering where they’re supposed to, making sure he avoids touching me. Professional and detached. The world’s most infuriatingly polite spotter.

“Grip wider,” he says. His voice is steady enough to make me want to bite him.

I look up at him from the bench. “What?”

His gaze stays on the bar. “Your grip, make it a little wider. Your wrists are stacked. You'll pay for it in the morning. Unless the goal is to fuck up your shoulders for the rest of the week.”

“Is being in a gym what makes you this bossy? Testosterone and protein fueled authority?”

“I do things right. Does that answer your question?”

“Yep. Bossy.”

He doesn’t smile. Fine, I can be detached too. I adjust my grip because, unfortunately, he’s right. His eyes track the movement. He's focused now, watching my hands and elbows and the angle of the bar like this is mechanics, not tension.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod.

“On three. One, two, three.”

I lift the bar off the rack. It’s heavy, heavier than I want to admit, but manageable. Kiri’s hands hover close under it, close enough that I can feel the shadow of him there. The first rep is clean.

“Great,” he says, quiet and clipped.

The second rep burns.

“Keep your elbows in.”

I exhale hard through my teeth. “See? Bossy.”

“Elbows in," he says, hands hovering, voice firm. I relent, bringing them in and the rep instantly gets easier. He smirks. "See? Right.”

I hate how fast my mouth wants to smile. I lower the bar again. He adjusts his stance behind me, attentive in a way that makes my skin prickle. He's watching everything now. The bar path, my breathing, my shoulders. The tiny tremor in my arms that I pretend isn’t there.

“Don’t rush it,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Nobody’s going to swipe if the rep takes longer than three seconds.”

I laugh before I can stop myself. It comes out high-pitched and breathless. His face changes, a flicker at the corner of his mouth, there and gone before it becomes a smile. My stomach twists but I ignore it.

The third rep is harder. The bar dips unevenly, my left wrist bending just enough to drop the line. It happens fast, the weight tilting before I can correct it. Kiri catches it instantly. Both hands close around the bar, firm and sure, taking just enough of the weight to steady it. His body comes in closer, heat, sweat and presence suddenly right over me, and all the cold professionalism vanishes from his voice.

“Watch it.”