I look up at him, and our eyes lock—again, a silent conversation in a glance. Adam’s attention seems split between my elliptical settings and something less tangible, something that’s not spelled out on the digital dashboard in front of us.
“So, Carlie,” he says, and I can’t decide if my name sounds better or just different when he says it. “Tell me something about yourself. What do you do when you’re not braving the gym?”
I nearly miss a step, and it’s not the added resistance that catches me—it’s the question I always dread when I meet new people who have no idea I write dirty books for a living.
What do I say?
Well, Adam, I weave steamy love stories from the comfort of my couch, complete with rugged heroes and bold heroines who enjoy a good shag.
“I’m a writer,” I blurt, which is true enough. “Fiction, mostly.”
The word ‘erotic’ sits at the tip of my tongue, but I wrestle it back.
Not yet.Not ever.
“Fiction, huh?” He sounds genuinely interested, the question mark at the end of his sentence inviting more than just a polite nod. “Anything I might have read?”
This time, I snicker far too loudly to be ladylike.
Unless his bedtime reading includes shirtless men on the cover and a heat level that could melt steel,doubtful.
“Not likely,” I say instead, with a laugh that I hope doesn’t carry all my nerves in it. “It’s a bit niche.”
Adam smiles, and it’s not a half-smirk this time but a full-on grin that reaches his eyes. “I like niche.”
And just like that, I’m not just a woman on an elliptical anymore—I’m niche.There’s something in the way he says it that makes me feel special about that.
“What motivates you?” he asks next, shifting smoothly from my professional life to my personal ambitions.
It feels intimate without crossing a line, and I’m caught off-guard by how much I want to answer.
“Other than not making a fool of myself?” I retort, but then I get serious. “I guess I want to be someone who can be proud of what she’s accomplished, you know? Not just in writing, but in life. In …this.” I gesture to the gym around us.
Adam nods, and there’s a respect in his eyes that makes my heart expand. “I get that. We’re all here to be better versions of ourselves.”
I take that in, thinking about all of the people in here working their asses off simply to be better versions of themselves, too.
“I guess, I never thought of it that way,” I say with a soft smile. “I always assumed the people who frequent gyms are kind of born that way.”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little. Okay, maybe a few. But for the mot part, we have to earn it.”
I blink at that. “Hmmm.”
We settle into a contemplative silence as I continue to push myself on the elliptical.
“You ever watch a horror film where you can predict who’s going to trip over nothing while running from the monster?” I ask, the memory of last night’s movie combined with my hydrangea bush escapade sparking a laugh between breaths.
Adam chuckles, nodding. “I have. Makes you wonder if they’ve ever heard of track practice in horror movie land.”
“And yet, I can’t stop watching them. It’s like, they’re so bad, they circle back to being good,” I admit. “Besides, it makes me feel better about myself at the end of the day. At least my two left feet haven’t resulted in a horrific and bloody death.Yet.”
“Definitely something to be proud of,” he fires back. “And I totally agree about the so-bad-they’re-good horror movies. Ever watch Nosferatu?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, definitely one to add to your list, then. My brother Brian and I watched it one night, and because it’s a silent film, we made up all the dialogue. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life,” he says, his eyes sparkling with the memory. “Fair warning, though. Beersmayhave had something to do with the hilarity.”
A completely dorky giggle escapes my lips. “I’ll have to check it out.”