A man locks eyes with me, and I brace myself, only for him to ask if I’m using the dumbbells I’m leaning on. I shake my head, resisting the urge to apologize for giving the impression that I could actually lift them.
I’m about to hunt for a water fountain—hydration is key to survival, after all—when I see her.
Ada.
Or at least, I think it’s Ada. She strides confidently across the gym, a beacon of health and athleticism. She has that personal trainer glow, the kind that says,‘I eat burpees for breakfast and have more protein shakers than friends.’
I watch as she nears, her gaze locked onto me with a serious intensity. Her physique is nothing short of intimidating, muscles defined under the skin-tight fabric of her gym attire that hugs her like a second skin.
Jealousy flares inside me.
She’s the embodiment of every fitness magazine cover that’s ever made me think twice about reaching for a slice of cake. I can’t help but compare the definition in her arms to the softness of my own, the tautness of her abs to the comfort of my belly.
My stomach knots with nerves, and I practice the smile I’ve been rehearsing—the one that’s meant to say‘I’m friendly and totally ready for this,’but probably screams‘I’m terrified and considering bolting for the nearest exit.’
I wipe my palms on my not-so-spandexy spandex, hoping the sweat doesn’t betray my cool exterior.
This woman is everything I’m not, everything I aspire to be in those secret, vulnerable moments before sleep when the day strips bare my confidence.
My heart rate picks up, not from exercise, but from the sheer panic of having to match her stride for stride. I can almost feel the weight of her expectations bearing down on me, threatening to squash my newly found resolve like a bug.
Why did I think a woman trainer would be better again?
I’m honestly at a loss.
Thankfully, she veers off, heading over to‘Treadmill Territory’instead.
I exhale a little too loudly.
Dodged a bullet there.
Before I can breathe a full sigh of relief, my thoughts scatter as a man enters the room and stares right at me.
He’s tall, his build athletic but not imposing—instead, it’s the kind of fit that speaks of strength without intimidation. His hair is a sandy blonde, slightly tousled, as if he’s run his hands through it a few times.
But it’s his expression that catches me off guard—a look of shock or maybe confusion?
In a few fluid steps, he’s standing in front of me.
“Carlie?” he asks tentatively, his voice drawing me in like a seductive embrace. There’s something in his tone, a familiarity that shouldn’t be there, considering we’ve never met.
“That’s me,” I manage to say, feeling a little breathless and more than a little lost.
“I’m Adam,” he extends his hand, which I take, finding his grip firm and warm. “Your trainer.”
My brain stutters to a halt.
Adam?
He seems to read the confusion on my face. “I hope you weren’t expecting a woman. I noticed there was a typo in the schedule,” he explains with a chuckle that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are still studying me with that same perplexed intensity. “Unless you’d like to work with Jillian,” he points to the fit goddess across the room, “you’re stuck with me.”
I blink at him, trying to process this new information but my brain has completely malfunctioned.
Can you say plot twist?
CHAPTER3
Adam