Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset)

by Gianna Gabriela

  I turn to Colton. “I don’t think I’m allowed in there,” I tell him, pointing at the facility. Honestly, I’m not disappointed that we won’t be working out at the butt-crack of dawn.

  His eyebrows bunch in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

  “Kiya told me this gym is for athletes only.”

  “You’re fine.”

  “You don’t recognize rules, do you? If you do, you’re probably the type that doesn’t follow them either, huh?”

  “Football players get some perks,” he responds nonchalantly.

  I roll my eyes. “Of course football players get perks.”

  “Mia, stop trying to find excuses to bail and let’s go.” He smiles. “Unless you’re ready to call it quits?”

  There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of winning. “Not a quitter. Let’s go.”

  We walk into the gym side by side, and I can see that we’re not the only ones here. I guess athletes do have to put some work in. I spot the locker room, and move in that direction with Colton on my tail. We both go to our respective locker rooms, where I drop off my bag, grab my water bottle, phone, and headphones, and head out. I wait for Colton to exit the locker room too, and when he does, I find myself rediscovering his body. Long gone is the long-sleeved sweatshirt and sweatpants. In their place are a workout t-shirt—the Under Armour kind that hugs his muscles perfectly—and basketball shorts, which do little to hide his assets. He really knows how to make my mission impossible.

  He bumps my shoulder, ending my reverie. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” I state.

  “If you want, you can quit now.”

  “And give you the satisfaction? No thanks.”

  “Okay, well, do you want me to go easy on you?”

  “I’m sure I can keep up, Hunter.”

  “You sure? Last chance to bail.”

  “If I weren’t sure I could take you, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “When you say it that way,” he says, and I realize how that may have sounded.

  “Anyway,” I say, ignoring his suggestive comment. “Let’s start.”

  Colton makes his way to the left of the treadmills, where a bunch of mats have been thrown on the floor.

  “Okay, first we’re going to stretch so you don’t pull a muscle and need me to carry you out.”

  I roll my eyes at that but I join him on the mat and begin stretching. “Just so you know, I’d be out of here already if I didn’t love to win.”

  “I’m not too sure about that,” he says.

  “Of course you aren’t. So, what’s the plan for today?”

  “As soon as we finish stretching, we’ll do two miles on the treadmill to get our heart rates going.” If only he knew my heart is already working in overdrive.

  “Then?” I ask.

  “Then, we’ll do push-ups, crunches, sit-ups, and some mild lifting,” he says with a cocky smirk, waiting for me to give up.

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “You say that now.”

  “I’ll say it later, too.”

  He grins. “Okay, today we’ll do five sets of ten push-ups.”

  “Is that what you normally do?” I ask, making sure he isn’t taking it easy on me, but hoping that he doesn’t do like two hundred of them. My will can only take me so far; my physical strength will definitely be an obstacle.

  “Just fifty today since we’ll be lifting later. We don’t want to overwork the arms.”

  “Okay, ready when you are,” I say, avoiding his eyes as I finish stretching.

  He stands up and extends his hand to me. I wrap my fingers around his, and he pauses for a few seconds before lifting me up to a standing position. He walks to the treadmills, and I follow behind, still admiring his body. I hop on the treadmill, pull out my cell phone, plug in the headphones and scroll through my playlists until I find my workout list—my seldom used workout playlist.

  “You going to ignore me?” Colton asks.

  “Do you normally talk when you run?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He smiles this picture-perfect smile and shakes his head, pulling out his headphones and phone. I press play on my playlist, place the device into the cup holder, and touch the ‘quick start’ button on the machine. I start running to the sound of “Wake Up” by Kesha, hoping it gives me some energy. If I’m going to keep up with Colton, I’m going to need it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of him running effortlessly beside me. I pick up speed to match him because at this pace he’ll be done way before me. I’m only supposed to keep up, but keeping up means following the pace he sets.

  About thirteen minutes later, I see Colton get off the treadmill. The asshole can run. I still have half a mile to go. I watch him grab some paper towels and spray to clean down his machine. When he’s done, he comes to stand behind me, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles at the knowledge he’s watching me. I finish three minutes later and wipe down the machine.

  “Not bad, Collins.”

  “Next thing,” I command, breathlessly.

  “Push-ups,” he says, returning to the place where we started stretching. “Okay, so I’ll demonstrate how to do a proper push-up.”

  “I know how to do—”

  “Not the kind they have girls doing in gym class,” he clarifies.

  “I know how to do a push-up, Colton.”

  “Well just in case, we’ll alternate sets. I’ll go first.” Before I have a chance to suggest we both do it at the same time, he lowers himself to the ground and starts. I swear it takes him only two minutes to lift his body up and down ten times. He moves so effortlessly, like he’s lifting a feather and not his two-hundred-pound body.

  “Your turn,” he says, tagging me on the shoulder. I lower myself to the ground and start.

  Up. Down. Up. Down.

  It felt like Colton did his set in seconds. Mine feel like they’re taking me hours.

  “You,” I state, feeling like it’s the matchup of a lifetime, both of us seeing how far we can push the other. I take advantage of my rest and watch as Colton’s muscular arms work. I’d told myself I was going to make every effort to ignore him. But my efforts are futile. I am acutely aware of his every move.

  Push-ups, crunches, and sit-ups. None of these things have ever been sexier, but watching Colton do his sets makes them the most entertaining things in the world.

  “Want to quit now?” he asks after we finish the five sets of push-ups, crunches, and sit-ups. My body screams yes! telling me to stop this madness, but my stubborn head says no. There’s only lifting left. I can do this.

  “No. Stop asking. Let’s finish this,” I state, my breaths coming out in short, sharp bursts, making it clear that I never do this shit.

  “Okay, so we’ll do some lifting. You’ll spot me so I can show you the proper way of lifting, then I’ll spot you.”

  “You’re adamant to show me things today.”

  “I’d like to show you things every day,” he says, and I can’t help but smile at his comment.

  “Isn’t spotting someone a very important task?”

  “Yes, so?”

  “So, you might need someone mas fuerte.”

  “I lost you after ‘someone’.”

  “Sorry. Someone stronger,” I say, hating the fact that I have to admit weakness. I’d rather that than drop the weights on him.

  “Was that Spanish? And are you saying you’re not strong enough?”

  “Yes, and I’m saying I don’t know how much you lift.”

  “Where are you from?” he asks, adjusting the weight on the bar.

  “Dominican Republic. I told you that when we talked about climbing trees,” I deadpan.

  “No, I mean where did you live before coming here?” he asks, rephrasing his question.

  “California. Are you really going to have me spot you?” I ask, changing the topic. He’s lying on the bench n
ow, sweat glistening on his skin.

  “Yeah, it’s not hard. I don’t ever have someone spot me. I know my limits,” he says, his eyes holding mine.

  “If you say so,” I say, not feeling at all confident.

  “I do say so.” He winks and starts to lift the weights. “Your job is really to make sure the bar doesn’t fall on my face. I’ll tell you if I need help setting it back in place.”

  “Doesn’t sound at all important,” I mutter, taking my position like I’ve seen it done on TV.

  I watch the way his muscles expand every time he lifts the bar, and for a second I wish…nothing.

  “Yes?” I ask with an unsteady voice when I notice he’s looking at me.

  “Nothing,” he says, equally out of breath. I take note of the sweat on his forehead, the way his chest moves up and down, the tight fit of his shirt. And well, I’ve never found someone covered in sweat sexy before, but there’s a first time for everything.

  Colton sets the bar back in place.

  “Done already?” I ask having lost count of how many reps he’s done.

  “Nope, just taking a break.”

  “I thought someone like you would have stamina.”

  “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

  I laugh at his likely unintentional quoting of Bring It On: All or Nothing.

  Colton resumes his workout. God, the sounds coming from him are mesmerizing. I never thought the sound of someone working out would be so attractive, but on Colton, I don’t know what wouldn’t be. I can feel each grunt in places I shouldn’t, and my mind starts to wonder where else he might make these sounds.

  “Done. Your turn.”

  “Okay, just so I know, this is the last thing I need to do, right?”

  “Yeah, we’ll switch it up throughout the week.”

  “Can we just call it even after today?”

  “Can’t handle it?”

  “Don’t want to wake up at five o’clock every day.”

  “We’ll see how you do and I might consider it.”

  “You’re annoying.”

  “I’m a lot of things. How many pounds do you want to lift?”

  “Can’t I do the same amount as you?”

  “I don’t think you’d want to.”

  “How many did you do?”

  “Three hundred, but I do this every day. And while you do a decent job of faking it, I can tell you couldn’t lift that much.”

  “Give me seventy-five. I’ll start with that.”

  “Wow, you acquiesced faster than I thought you would.”

  “I know my limits,” I respond quoting him. I take his place on the bench while he gets up and stands above me. He doesn’t say anything else, he just breathes and watches me. My skin prickles and goosebumps break out, betraying me. I don’t know which I’d rather have: his eyes off me or on because both elicit a reaction.

  “Well, well, well,” a voice says from behind me. I keep lifting, the seventy-five pounds feeling heavier with every rep.

  “‘Sup,” I hear Colton reply.

  “If I knew you were training people, I would have signed up long ago, Colt.”

  “Right? I would have put my name on the list.” I hear Zack’s distinct voice.

  “Who’s the chick?” the other voice asks again, and I stop my workout, letting Colton help me set the bar back in its place.

  “Don’t you have something better to do, Jesse?” Colton replies, and I sit up.

  “Why, hello there,” Zack says to me.

  “Hey, Zack,” I respond, a little out of breath. My eyes move to see another guy standing to one side. I don’t recognize him, but his blond hair and distinct jaw are familiar.

  “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Zack’s comment drags my attention back to him. “Fancy seeing you at all,” I say, reminding him of how many times he’s missed class already.

  “I gotta do what I gotta do.”

  “Hopefully that means going to class today?” I reply.

  “So, you all know each other,” the other guy says. He’s tall, dark-haired and broad-shouldered. This must be Jesse. “I don’t think the two of us have been formally introduced. You must be Colton’s g—” He stops, looking at Colton.

  “Mia. She’s Mia,” Colton finishes for him.

  “Hi, Mia. I’m Jesse Falcon, kicker, pre-med, and confidante to these assholes,” he says, extending his hand toward me.

  “Hi, Jesse. I’m just Mia.”

  “I don’t know about that if you’ve got this guy training you.” He jabs a thumb in Colton’s direction.

  “Not training me,” I clarify. “Just a bet.”

  “A bet?” Zack says from his spot next to Colton.

  “Tell me more,” Jesse says.

  “What’s going on?” the mysterious blond says, joining the conversation.

  “Your brother here is giving private lessons because of some sort of bet,” Jesse says.

  Brother? I look at the guy more closely and I can see the similarities to Colton; they’re striking. The differences are few, but they’re there. While Colton looks like a man, his brother looks more fratty—boyish. Colton is taller and more muscular, but his brother is well on his way too. Still, Colton is far more handsome and looks like he could take his brother any day.

  “Fuck.” I hear the word escape Colton’s lips and I can tell he’s annoyed his friends are here. He rubs his sweaty forehead as we both stand there. Surrounded by these giants, I’m reminded of how short I am.

  “Nice to meet you, Mia. I’m Nick,” he says with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Hello,” I say a little guarded and see Colton shake his head.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s good to finally put a face to the name,” he says and I’m a little scared of what he may have heard.

  “No, he hasn’t,” Colton states through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah, I have,” Nick says, defying his brother. “Someone can’t stop talking about you,” he adds.

  “Yeah, I keep telling all the guys about your fall on the second day of class, sorry,” Zack adds with a shrug, and I laugh, feeling both embarrassed and relieved.

  “Yup, always talking about the short pretty girl from his class who joined his group,” Jesse adds.

  “Um, thanks,” I respond because what else can I say?

  “Yeah, I would have called dibs, but—”

  “But she’s not property,” Colton fires back.

  “Not my property, that’s for sure,” Zack adds.

  “Okay!” Colton announces. “Thank you so much for crashing our session. Mia and I were just finishing up.”

  “Really, bro? Can’t stay for a few more minutes?” Nick asks, looking disappointed that he can’t keep teasing his brother.

  “Nope, all done,” Colton adds, cleaning the bench I was just using.

  “What’s going on here?” says yet another guy. He’s about the same height as Colton, and just as handsome as the others. It’s like this school is full of GQ models.

  “Colton is training Mia,” Zack states.

  “Apparently for some sort of bet,” Jesse adds.

  “What is the bet?” Nick asks, his interest piqued.

  “None of your business,” Colton replies and it’s like watching a tennis match with all the back and forth. I’m getting a neck workout with how much they volley.

  “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Chase, Colton’s best friend.”

  “Nice to meet you too.”

  For first impressions, this one sucks. I’m sweaty and my hair is likely a mess.

  “We were just leaving,” Colton says, his words clipped.

  “Nah, stay a little longer. We’re not done talking to Mia yet, right, babe?” Nick says and Colton shoots daggers at him.

  “Not your babe,” Colton growls.

  “Well boys, the show’s over. Let’s get to work,” Chase says, noticing Colton’s agitation level rising.

  “But—” />
  Chase stops Nick by saying, “No buts. I’m the captain of the defensive line. I can make them do things to you that you can’t even imagine.”

  “You ready?” Colton asks me as the guys go back and forth with Chase, forgetting we’re here.

  “Yup, all good,” I reply, hoping he isn’t ashamed of being seen with me.

  “So, I’ve thought about what you said,” he says as we walk towards the locker room, nodding at a few other people who’ve arrived.

  “What did I say?” I’ve said many things today.

  “That you didn’t really want to wake up and do this every day.”

  “Okay! And?”

  “I’ll agree to that.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “What makes you think there is one?”

  “Well, is there?”

  “Yes,” he says with a smirk, the mood becoming light and flirty again.

  “See?” I respond with a low chuckle.

  “It’s not bad.”

  “Okay, so if I agree to whatever you ask then it’ll be like I won the bet?” I ask, hopeful.

  “We’ll call it even,” he says as we reach the locker rooms.

  COLTON

  “Nope, I don’t think so. I need to be able to tell people I won,” she says with a glint of fire in her eyes, her competitiveness making her even more attractive. I’m glad Chase ran interference because I was seconds away from punching one of them for making her uncomfortable with all their questions.

  “Okay, fine. So, I’ll let you say you won if you agree to my terms.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “What are your terms?”

  “We don’t do this every day,” I say, signaling to the gym around us. “Instead,” I pause for dramatic effect, because why the hell not?

  “Instead?” she says urging me on.

  “Instead, you meet me for coffee at the student café every day we have class together,” I say, putting it all out there, hoping she accepts my proposal because I have the urge to spend more time with her.

  This wasn’t enough. I need more.

  “For how long?” she asks.

  “Until the end of the semester.” Or forever, I add in my head for fear of sounding like a creep if I say it out loud.