Lex’s brows jumped. “Sexy. It’s like you’re talking dirty to me.”
That. That right there was why I, and so many women in this town, assumed he was flirting. My face flushed red and I dropped my gaze to the kettle bell, lifting it and shifting it slightly out of the way. Why did he say things like that, especially when he made it clear that he wasn’t interested in me that way? It was misleading and, at this point, downright embarrassing. Anger crawled through my gut and I cleared my throat, trying to rid myself of the feeling. “Most people focus entirely on cardio for heart-related results. They run, swim, dance, bike, etc. And those are all great things to do, but we want to combine the interval cardio training with muscle building to speed up and maximize your results.”
“What about things like… I don’t know. Boxing? My doctor said stress relieving activity would be good for me, too. I mean, kneading dough is practically the same thing.”
I laughed. “Kneading dough is the same as boxing, huh? Maybe I should put a little baking room in my gym.”
“You’re mocking me, but I challenge you to try it sometime,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“Well, let’s have a boxing sparring match and a dough kneading match and see who wins.”
Lex cracked his knuckles. “You’re on, Tripp.”
A flutter began in my chest and swirled down to my belly as Lex’s turquoise eyes held mine. They seemed to get greener as they got closer to his pupil. I cleared my throat, breaking our gaze. My eyes traveled down his lean body. Strong, but not bulky muscles peeked out from beneath his t-shirt. He wasn’t a body builder—not by any means, but I found him sexier than any man I’d met in years. “So, um, as I was saying. For high blood pressure, we want to strengthen your heart. Here’s what I want you to do… you’re going to start with burpees. Then you’re going to flip this tire all the way down to your bakery. Sprint three laps back to the tire. Flip it back here and finish with kettle bell swings.”
Lex gulped, his wide eyes growing impossibly wider. “All that?”
I nodded. “Yep. Be careful—don’t hurt yourself or anything—but you want to push yourself to get your heart rate up. The number of reps you do for the burpees and kettle bell are listed here on my iPad cheat sheet if you need to reference it. The number of reps will change each round.”
“And… do this as fast as I can?”
“Without hurting yourself, yes. Keep your core tight, most of your strength will come from your core and quads. I’m going to be running by your side to watch your form and help you with a flat back—the hardest thing to maintain during these exercises. Any questions?”
“Burpees I’ve done before.” Lex pressed his lips together. “But I don’t really know what a kettlebell swing is.”
“Thank you for asking.” I grabbed the kettlebell and demonstrated how to do it, making sure to keep my knees softly bent. “You control the kettlebell with your arms, but the power actually comes from your hips. And it shouldn’t swing higher than your shoulders. To be safe, I would keep it at your pecs.”
Lex’s eyes flicked to my chest and almost immediately his cheeks flushed red and he dropped his eyes to his feet. He took the kettlebell from me—his fingers still had flour caked under his nails. As his skin brushed against mine, my spine straightened. My gut twisted. And my heart pounded in my chest.
“Like this?” he asked and swung the kettlebell through his legs, popping it up to chest level a few times.
“That’s great,” I said and placed my palm at the small of his back. “Make sure you don’t arch your back with it and it’s perfect.”
He beamed like I’d just handed him a gold medal at the finish line.
“You’ve got a long way to go, friend. Don’t get cocky, yet.”
He flashed a megawatt grin and winked quickly in my direction. “Not yet. But I will later. When I crush this WOT.”
I snorted, covering my mouth with my palm and tried to stifle my laugher. “It’s WOD, not WOT.”
“But…” a look of confusion crossed his face before his eyes fluttered closed. “Dammit, Steve. He told me I was saying it wrong. He said it was like a weird American colloquialism.” Lex shook his head. “I’m going to kill him.”
I snickered. That sure as hell sounded like something my brother would do. “Well, just you wait. A few weeks with me and he won’t be able to take you.” I pulled out my phone and set the timer. “Ready to start?”
Lex nodded. “If for no other reason than to be able to kick Steve’s ass later… yes.”
“That was my motivation, too, when I started. To kick Steve’s ass.” That wasn’t quite true. In actuality, my choice to start working out was solely my own—my way of reclaiming my life. My body. My confidence. I didn’t care what pant size I was, as long as I was healthy, happy with myself, and comfortable in my own skin. That was what truly mattered, and that was my objective for every client who came into my gym. Back when I was a size double zero? I was the most insecure I’d ever been. I was the most miserable I’d ever been. Now, as a muscular, curvy size 6, I felt more at home in my own skin than I ever had before.
“Okay, let’s get started!” I hit the button on my phone, starting the timer. Lex jumped into his first set of burpees, which I watched carefully, noting his form. His good form. He clearly did them frequently. Next up, tire flips. I ran beside him, cheering him on. Some trainers did the opposite—they yell, they berate, they bully as a way to enhance the workout. Why in the hell would that work? I guess for some people it did, but that wasn’t my style. I was there to support, not discourage. And in my gym, it simply wasn’t allowed… and all my trainers knew it.
I sprinted beside him as he finished up the first round, swinging the kettlebell through his legs. “Take it easy,” I cautioned. If he’d never done it before, he could overextend his back or shoulders. The last thing I wanted was for him to hurt himself. “Go slower with these until you’re used to them.”
He grinned, “Eh, they’re not so hard.”
I lifted a brow at him. “Oh yeah? Let’s see if you’re whistlin’ a different tune on round three.” Then, I pointed a finger at him, standing a safe distance away. “I’m serious though. Take it slowly.”
He nodded and after he set the kettlebell carefully down on the sidewalk, saluted me with two fingers pressed against his damp forehead. “You got it, boss.”
“No breaks!” I clapped my hands. “Back to the burpees! Go!”
We continued that way for two more rounds. And by the final tire flips, I could see his pace slowing. Sweat poured down his chiseled face and I couldn’t help but notice that his reddish brown hair was darker when sweat-damp. He grunted as he flipped the tire the final time, dropping it back onto the sidewalk. I grabbed it and propped it up against the outside wall of the gym. “You got this, Lex! You’re killing it!” And I meant every word. He was tearing through this workout.
And he was so ridiculously sexy. Not because of his body or muscles—which, okay, I wasn’t blind. Those were sexy, too. But his determination? His hard work? That was sexy as hell. And frankly, these workouts made my job so much more fun when I had a client like Lex. If my goal earlier was to get him to quit… my goal had completely changed now. I wanted him to stay. To thrive. This sort of work fed my soul in a way nothing else did.
“Oh, God.” He paused, bracing his hands on his knees briefly. “I need a second.”
“Take a breath,” I said. “Have a sip of water. You’re doing amazing work, Lex. Don’t push it, though. Take the breather.”
To our left, I heard my name called out and looked to the street where my friend James was riding his motorcycle. He paused at the stop sign and waved, checking behind him to see if he was blocking any other vehicles… he wasn’t. “What’s up, babe?” He called out over the roar of the engine.
“What are you doing here?” I yelled back to him. James was one of my oldest friends from summer camp. He ran an interior design firm and his husband, Nate, owned
a bunch of rentals in Maple Grove.
“Helping Elsa spruce up the café. Dinner tonight?
“I have plans with Yvonne. Tomorrow?”
“It’s a date,” he said, and I blew him a kiss. To my right, Lex grunted, tossing his water bottle to the ground.
“I’m ready,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. “Let’s finish this.”
I felt startled by his sudden change of tone and blinked as I turned back to Lex and saw the drastic change in his demeanor. Whereas before he was smiling and joking around, despite being tired, now he was grumpy, his mouth set into a frown.
“Awesome!” I said carefully. “Let’s do it. Just be carefu—” But I barely got the words out before he bent down, grabbed the kettle bell and swung it hard into the air. Too hard. He was flinging it carelessly up and down—between his legs, then up to his shoulder height.
“Lex,” I cautioned. “Easy. You’re going to hurt yourself. You have twenty more to go and you’re done—”
Once again, I wasn’t able to finish my sentence. Because before I could, the kettle bell slipped from his hand, went flying through the air and crashed right through my car window.
3
Lex
Well, shit. “Oh, God. Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” I rushed over to where shards of glass were sprayed inside the front seat of the Toyota RAV4. The kettlebell was perched neatly in the passenger seat like it was meant to be there, waiting to be buckled in.
What in the ever-living hell had I been thinking? I hadn’t been thinking, if I was being truthful. The second that biker guy started chatting Ronnie up, something primitive had taken over my brain.
The biker guy pulled over, hitting the kickstand of the bike and yanking his helmet off as Ronnie rushed over beside me.
I grabbed my cell from my back pocket. “I should call the cops, file a report and try to find the owner of the car—”
Ronnie placed her hand gently over the screen of my phone. “No need.”
“No need? Do you know whose car this is?”
The guy from the bike gave me a pitying smile, his helmet clutched in his hand. “It’s Veronica’s.”
Veronica’s. Ronnie’s. I should have been focusing on the fact that I had just smashed the window of the woman I’d been crushing on for two years. But for the life of me, all I heard in that moment was this man calling Ronnie by her full name. In a way that was more familiar than I had ever been with her. Veronica. It sat in my gut like undigested junk food.
Normally, I was even-keeled. Passive. I’d never thrown a punch in my life, except into a ball of dough that was in need of kneading. But the sight of this man—he was everything I wasn’t. Adventurous, riding a motorcycle. Casual, but stylish. Rugged. Me, on the other hand? I played life pretty safe and drove my little Fiat. I was far from trendy and stylish. And rugged? Yeah, not so much.
“It’s fine,” Ronnie said, but the expression on her face betrayed her words. “It’s fine,” she said again. Then repeated it one more time. Almost like, if she said those words enough, she could convince herself it was true.
“It’s not fine. I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what came over me,” I said. Except I did know and when my gaze flicked to the biker guy—he seemed to know, too.
Ronnie eyed me up and down, her brow arching in a playfully discerning way. “You’re not on ‘roids, are you?”
I snorted a self-deprecating laugh and looked down at my body. I wasn’t a scrawny guy by any means, but I also definitely did not have the kind of muscles that came from steroids. I lifted an arm and flexed. “If I am, I think I need a refund.”
“Could have fooled me with the way you flung that kettlebell.”
I cringed. “Again, I’m so sorry. I’ll help you get it to the mechanic down the road and I’ll pay for it.”
Ronnie nodded, her face a ghostly shade of gray despite the smile she tried to plaster on her face. Which only made me feel worse. I didn’t deserve her kindness. Yes, it was an accident—but it was still my fault. “Let me check and see if the gym’s insurance will cover it first,” she said.
I shook my head. “No, because then your premium will go up. Save the insurance claim for something major. I can take care of this.”
In reality, I didn’t have a ton of cash lying around. Enough. I’d been good about squirreling away my savings and I was comfortable. But depending on the damage I’d done here, this could put a pretty sizable dent in the fifteen thousand dollars I had saved over the last few years.
Ronnie gave me a smile and placed her hand on my arm. “We’ll figure something out. It was my fault, too. I’m the trainer. I should have been making sure your form was—”
“It’s very sweet of you to try to share ownership of this fiasco, but it’s not true.” Ronnie had tried to stop me from my wild kettlebell swings and I simply didn’t listen.
“The car should still start just fine,” the biker guy said. “I can help you get it down there.”
“Don’t you have an appointment to get to at Elsa’s?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but she’ll understand.”
Ronnie looked between me and the biker guy, then swiped her hand across her brow. “Oh, I’m sorry. Lex, this is James. James and I have known each other for years. Lex owns the bakery down the street.”
James took my hand. His grip was more firm than necessary in that stupid, macho way men typically shake hands. I was never one for displays of masculinity… well, hell. Not usually. Today wasn’t exactly a good indication of my typical personality. “Nice to meet you,” I said.
“I’ve had your croissants before,” James said. “They’re incredible. My husband and I were in there a few weeks ago and it was so damn good, we bought the whole box of day olds to eat the rest of the weekend.”
I inwardly cringed. Husband. He wasn’t even interested in Ronnie. I smashed her car window as a result of my effort to show up a man who had zero chance of having sexual chemistry with her.
“Actually,” He pointed at me. “I think Nate owns your building.”
“Nate Townsend?” I asked, and James nodded. Of course. This was my landlord’s husband. Why wouldn’t we add that humiliation on top of everything? “He’s a great landlord.”
James winked. “And an even better husband.”
“You need to get to Elsa’s,” Ronnie said giving James a quick hug. “You’re going to be late.” She took the helmet from his hands and put it back on his head. “Thank you for your offer to get me to the mechanic, but as long as Lex is able to help, we’re probably fine. You don’t mind, do you?” She turned, directing the last question to me.
“Of course not. If I said I did mind, you should have James here kick my ass.”
Her smile widened and it was nice to see it wasn’t forced. “I don’t need James to kick your ass. I can do that all on my own.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve got this covered,” James said. “See you tomorrow for dinner.” With a wave and a kick to the bike, he revved it up and took off down the street.
I grabbed the tire and helped Ronnie move the equipment back into the gym as Callie came running to meet us.
“What the hell happened?”
“I’m an ass,” I answered. “That’s what happened.”
Ronnie’s hand connected with my bicep and the feel of her soft skin against mine sent goosebumps racing down my arm despite the warmth of the beautiful day. “Everyone’s fine. We just need to get my car down to Trina’s.”
Callie’s gaze shifted curiously between Ronnie and me. “I’ll explain later,” Ronnie said, waving her sister away as she grabbed her keys and a dustpan and broom.
I took them from her. “Let me sweep up the glass. It’s, quite literally, the least I can do.”
Ronnie smiled and the sight of it made my insides go gooey. “Fair enough, Lex. You sweep up the glass. I’ll meet ya out there.”
Twelve hundred dollars. Twelve hundred dollars to replace a windshield. And Trina had a reputation
for being a fair mechanic. I had no doubt that she was being honest with us. She told us she could complete the work by the end of day tomorrow. In the meantime, Ronnie was left without a car and I felt terrible. We sat in my Fiat as I started the engine.
“Should I take you home or back to the gym?”
“The gym is fine… Callie’s waiting for me there. And really, it’s only half a mile. I could just walk.”
“No, no. I feel bad enough. I’m not making you walk back to the gym from here.”
“How does this little car survive in the snow up here?” Ronnie asked.
“She manages,” I answered, patting my hand across the Fiat’s dashboard. “Over in Europe, we don’t have the fascination with giant SUVs like you do here in the states.”
“Listen,” Ronnie put her hand up, all playful sass and attitude. “In New England? Four-wheel drive is a necessity. I don’t care if it’s a Fiat or an F450, but you better get all those wheels turning once that first snow of the season hits.”
She wasn’t wrong. I loved my little car and I was lucky that work was literally a stairwell away, since I lived up above my bakery. But if I had to get around more? I would have invested in all-wheel drive.
I licked my lips nervously, gripping the steering wheel and stealing a glance to my right at Ronnie. She seemed relaxed, reclined in the passenger seat. The seatbelt cut across her lean chest and emphasized her beautiful, curvy breasts—which admittedly were hard to miss in the low-cut tank top she wore. I quickly diverted my eyes back to the road and pulled out of the parking lot, heat warming my cheeks. I’d wanted to take Ronnie out for so long. One year and 331 days to be exact, but who was counting? Since the day we met when I delivered a blueberry pie to the Tripp’s home on Father’s Day.
Normally, I wasn’t shy about asking out a girl I liked. But since I moved to Maple Grove, my priorities were different. My life could literally change any minute and I needed to be ready for that. I needed to be free to move at the drop of a hat and be available when the time came. That typically didn’t go well with a girlfriend.
Sweet on You Page 2