As I walk to my car, the cool air does little to soothe the warmth spreading through me. My mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, each one about Adam and the undeniable connection building between us.
It’s no longer just about the training sessions—that went out the window the second we partnered for yoga, I think.
No, there’s something deeper forming between us … something I can’t quite put my finger on, but it’s there, palpable and thrilling.
I just need to get my head sorted around this Nocté thing.
As I slide into the driver’s seat, I let out a long breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Slowly, I turn on my vehicle and back out of his driveway.
He’s still standing at the door, watching me leave, and for a moment, our eyes lock. Even from this distance, I feel the intensity of his gaze, a silent promise of something yet to come.
I wave and as I drive away, a part of me longs to turn back, to run into his arms and explore this budding relationship without fear or hesitation. But the other part—the one that’s been hurt and cautious, holds me back.
The road ahead is unclear, but one thing is for certain—Adam is no longer just my trainer. He’s become a vital part of my world, and I’m both exhilarated and terrified by the depth of my feelings for him.
I turn up the volume on the radio, letting Taylor Swift’s “The Man” fill the car once more, but this time, it’s not about hyping myself up. It’s about drowning out the questions, the doubts, and the fears.
As I head home, a single thought echoes in my mind:What if Adam is the man from Nocté?
The possibility sends a shiver down my spine. The truth, whatever it may be, is out there, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face it.
But ready or not, the truth has a way of revealing itself, and I can’t help but wonder—when it does, will it bring us closer together or tear us apart?
CHAPTER23
Adam
As I roll up the last yoga mat, I can’t help but think how quickly this week has flown by.
Each training session with Carlie has been a mixture of hard work and unexpected fun. She has a way of bringing this unique spark of humor to everything she does.
I love it.
I glance over at her as she wipes the sweat from her brow with a satisfied smile, and I feel a twinge of pride.
She’s kicked some major ass this week. Even when she didn’t think she could go any longer—or move her muscles—she made it happen.
She’s a badass.
“You know,” I start, as she reaches for her water bottle, “the more you work out, even when you’re sore, the faster that soreness will start to fade.”
She takes a long sip, then looks at me, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Is that your professional trainer’s wisdom or just an attempt to make me feel better about my aching muscles?”
I laugh, remembering my own early days at the gym. “A bit of both, actually. When I first started, I had no idea. I just thought pain was part of the deal. But really, it’s about getting your muscles used to the movement.”
Her laughter joins mine, and there’s an ease between us that feels like it’s been there forever.
We start to share a few more stories, and I find myself opening up about one of my early gym experiences.
“So, there I was,” I begin, a grin tugging at my lips, “thinking I could handle more weight than I actually could. Young and dumb, I guess. It was my first week in the gym, and I wanted to impress, you know?”
Carlie nods, her green eyes twinkling with anticipation.
“I loaded up the barbell for a bench press. Felt pretty confident—maybetooconfident. I lift it off, and it’s going ... okay. Then, on the third rep, my arms just gave out. The bar came crashing down.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh. “Oh no, did you get hurt?”
I shake my head, laughing along with her. “Nah, the safety bars caught it. But the noise it made ... it was like a gunshot. Everyone turned to look. I was lying there, pinned under the weight, my face fifty shades of red.”