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“These contraptions look intimidating,” Erin says with a scrunch of her nose, eyeing up the gym’s exercise equipment.
“Once you know how to work them, they won’t,” I reassure her. “Besides, I’m here to guide you every step of the way, remember?”
She nods, fiddling with the hem of her new sports crop top. Her beautiful belly button is exposed, and I scrape together every ounce of self-control not to gawk at it. I bet it’s as soft as velvet.
“Am I doing it right?”
Her question jerks me back to reality like a rubber band. She’s fumbling with the equipment, and I gently adjust the machine for her.
She thanks me with a heart-stopping smile. “Sorry. I’m probably the clumsiest client you’ve ever had.”
I shake my head. “No way. Last week someone fell off the running machine, and it wasn’t even turned on.”
Her eyes twinkle. “You’re making that up so I feel better about myself.”
“I swear it’s true. Last year, another guy had to go to the hospital because he dropped a kettlebell on his foot. Oh, and this one lady got her hair tangled in a weight machine, and we had to cut it off to free her.”
Her eyes turn to slits. She doesn’t believe a word I say.
“All true, I swear,” I chuckle. “So yeah, you’re not the clumsiest client I’ve ever worked with.”
She lets out a breath of relief. “That’s good to hear.”
“Relax, Erin, you’ve got this.”
I coach her through her first set of exercises. Her confidence seems to grow with every one of them, and by the end of our session, she’s beaming.
“That was fun. I didn’t think it could be, but it was.” She takes a big gulp of her water and smiles at me. “Thank you for the workout session. I needed that.”
“Working up a good sweat can be meditative.”
She winces. “Talking about sweat... I’m going to hop into the shower.”
We pause next to the rowing machine for a moment until I find the courage to speak. “I wondered if you wanted to grab a drink with me later tonight? I get off early today.”
She beams at me. “I’d love that.”
Damn, she’s beautiful when she smiles. “Great. I’ll pick you up at eight,” I say, barely able to contain my ridiculously big grin.
She nods, and I watch her walk her gorgeous ass out of my gym. I enjoy every minute until she disappears around the corner.
A burly guy jumps from the running machine and towels his neck dry. “Who’s that? She new here?”
“She’s one of my new clients, yes.”
He whistles between his teeth. “She’s a fox. Is she single?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s got a boyfriend,” I reply, my voice bordering on anger. I know lying is not okay, but I can’t help myself.
“But you’re not sure? Then it’s probably nothing serious, right?”
Jeez, give it up, man.
He leans in and whispers. “Would you give me her number? I’d like to hit her up, even if it’s only for one night.”
My hands ball into fists. I take the biggest breath I can muster so I don’t punch the guy in the face. “No, I can’t go doling out my client’s personal information. Besides, she’s unavailable. If you keep pushing the issue, I’ll have you removed from the gym.”
His eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “Dude, relax.”
“I will if you stop hitting on unsuspecting women. They’re here to work out, not get a date. Leave them in peace.”
He rolls his eyes at me and walks away with a shake of his head. Good riddance.
I sigh. What the fuck is wrong with me? I never get angry at gym members, but I almost lost my shit back there. The way he talked about Erin made my blood boil. To him, she’s nothing but a foxy catch. And technically, he’s right. She’s gorgeous, and I’d love to grab hold of her curves, but she’s so much more than her looks. Erin is kind and determined and down-to-earth, nothing like those shallow barbie dolls who often come in here and touch my biceps way too much.
I’m still reeling over the guy’s attempt to get Erin’s number so he can have a one-night stand with her when she catches my eye. She’s walking the hallway to the exit and doesn’t realize I’m watching her through the tinted glass windows. Her hair is damp and spread over her shoulders, her gray sports bag dangling from her wrist.
God, I want to kiss her, push her against the wall and show her what a real workout with me is like. I don’t make a move, though. Unlike burly guy over there, I don’t want Erin for one night of passion. I want her in all the other ways as well. As my partner. My friend. My... I swallow. My soulmate.
Fuck. The realization sinks in, hitting me so hard in the chest that I need to sit down for a moment and catch my breath. My grandmother used to say you'll know instantly when you meet the one. Is this what’s happening to me? Is Erin my soulmate? The one I’m destined to spend the rest of my life with?
When I think about it, it doesn’t feel weird at all. Last night was amazing. We talked and bonded and laughed. And we had a great time today. It’s like we connect on a higher level, as crazy as that sounds.
The rest of the day crawls by. I check the clock every thirty seconds, which only makes the time pass even slower. At seven-thirty, I finally get to leave. I love my job, but I want to focus on other things today. Scrap that. I want to focus on one thing: my date with Erin.
I hop on my motorcycle and stop by my place to change before picking her up. Since it’s almost eight, I don’t have a lot of time to get dressed up, but I do the best I can. I fire off a quick text to her, telling her I’m taking her to L’artichaut, a fancy restaurant on the edge of town that serves delicious French cuisine. The place even got a Michelin star last year. It’s the only star restaurant in a four-hundred-mile radius around Trout Creek.
The owner and chef, Stuart, is one of my clients. I called him earlier today and asked him for a table. The restaurant was completely booked, but he owed me a favor and ensured we’d have a table tonight.
After one last check—keys, wallet, phone—I lock the door and climb on my motorcycle. I drive straight to Erin’s house, so excited I’ll probably get a speeding ticket, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. Tonight, all that counts is making Erin happy.