Jogging over to Ross’s was part of the morning routine—wake up; drink a cup of tea, since it was more readily available than coffee; shrug into my workout clothes; and head to Ross’s for an early morning workout session with the guys. So, that’s what I did, only when I knocked on his front door, my chest heaving a little from my sprint over, Ross opened it in his sweatpants and nothing else save for the dog tag hanging around his neck.
His mug froze halfway to his lips. “Kat.” He said my name with surprise, and I had to pry my gaze from the half-naked Ross in front of me. He worked out, I knew that much, but it was different seeing the sculpted muscles under his clothes, rather than just knowing they were there. It was harder to look at him as a work partner or a friend when he was standing there shirtless.
Gathering myself before things could get weird, I braced my hands on my hips and pushed into his house, forcing myself to ignore the awkwardness of my showing up, uninvited, apparently.
“Come in, why don’t you,” he muttered, and closed the door behind me.
I spun around, licking my lips as I made a point of looking only at his face. “You look like hell, boss. Didn’t you get any sleep last night?”
He glared at me and took a sip from his mug. “Not exactly.” He groaned and rubbed his hand over his head. “The bear was on the roam last night. He scared the shit out of me. I thought someone was breaking in.”
“Uh-oh.”
He waved my worry away. “He was playing with the damn garbage can on the side of the house.”
I couldn’t help but snicker.
“You laugh, but it’s only a matter of time before he terrorizes you in the night,” he warned.
“And you worry about me out there all by my lonesome. It sounds like you need a guard dog, Ross.” I smirked.
“Yeah, or bear repellent.”
As we stood in his living room with our hands on our hips, wrapped in awkward silence, my eyes darted to his naked chest again. “Well,” I forced out with a shrug. “We’re still working out, right? I mean, just because the rest of the guys are gone doesn’t change anything.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
I forced myself to look away and I turned for the backyard. I didn’t like that I was suddenly aware of the broadness of his shoulders and the sporadic, deep red furls of hair on his pecs. “Throw some clothes on, would you? I’ll warm up with the bag.”
“Yeah, sure,” he repeated. “It’s not like it’s my house or anything.” Ross grumbled as his footsteps faded down the hallway. Glad that was out of the way, I opened the back door and jogged down the steps to the screened-in porch, beelining for the punching bag.
Opening the trunk of workout equipment, I pulled out the gloves and shoved my hands inside. If I wasn’t fully awake before, I was now.
Taking a deep breath, I let the crisp, early morning air fill my lungs and glanced around the porch. It was a fifteen by twenty-foot concrete slab, covered from the elements, but still cold as hell during the winter. Luckily, it was enclosed; probably someone’s sunroom in another life. Now, it was the pit, our training room—usually filled with sweaty guys and me—complete with a punching bag, elliptical and rowing machines, a weight bench, and a jump rope area in the corner. It was the only unpacked, put together part of Ross’s entire house, aside from his kitchen. At least, I think he had dishes and food in there. The only items I knew he had for certain were a water pitcher and a collection of coffee mugs that he rotated through.
Wiping away the loose hairs clinging to my face with the back of my arm, I widened my stance and began to punch. I was right-hand dominant, so it was all right jabs at first, then I forced myself to change to the left; careful not to let my elbow flare, and to keep the proper form Ross had practically beaten into me.
But even as I tried to focus, I wondered if I shouldn’t have come. Phil, Jackson, Ross, and I worked out five days a week, that didn’t change just because two of us were gone, did it? I tried not to feel like an idiot for assuming otherwise, even if Ross had.
The good thing was that I knew Ross had a weak jaw, and I could knock him a good one if he decided to give me any shit about it. I enjoyed the thought a little too much and continued punching.
Before I’d joined the police team we’d compiled, I could spar well enough to get a few good punches in; but thanks to the guys, I could do a lot more than that now. Specifically, thanks to Ross, I was twice as strong as I’d been before. I felt it in my arms and chest, in my shoulders, and even my forearms. While working out in the military had been a requirement, it was something I actually enjoyed doing with the guys.
By the time my arms were tinged with fatigue, Ross trotted down the steps and into the workout area. He didn’t spare me a glance as he pulled the covers off the weight machine and readied it for our session.
He wore the same thing he did every morning, rain or shine—loose shorts, tennis shoes, and a worn, oversized t-shirt. That was why seeing him shirtless had thrown me off, I realized. It made me feel a little bit better, like I wasn’t a gaping ninny, but simply surprised. That was all. Any human with an appreciation for the fit male form would have noticed. Even if something else stirred inside me too.
“Here,” I said, pulling the gloves off. We each had our own way of warming up. Mine was running, and loosening my muscles with the punching bag. Ross’s was jump rope for cardio, and the bag. We both liked lifting weights after.
“Nice run this morning?” he asked, slipping his hands into the gloves. They didn’t go on as easily, since his hands were bigger and less slender than mine, but I tried not to notice. I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me.
“Yeah, I guess.” I changed the height of the seat on the leg machine and sat down, bending over to adjust the weight setting. “I like that the sun is rising earlier again.”
“It won’t be long before summer’s here and everything kicks into hyperdrive.”
“Yep.” I lifted the first set, feeling my muscles, loose from the run, pull and burn a little with the weight. It was a satisfying feeling, one that always juiced me up in the morning, readying me for the day.
“I didn’t think you’d come this morning,” he huffed between jabs. The punching bag creaked with each strike. “I would’ve been more . . . prepared.”
I upped the weight on the leg machine a little more, pushing myself a bit harder than usual to burn off the extra edge I was feeling. “I didn’t mean to just barge in.”
“Didn’t you?” He glanced at me with a smirk, and reached for the punching bag, to hold it steady.
“Believe it or not, Ross—you’re not the first thing on my mind when I wake up in the morning.”
“Hmm.”
I rolled my eyes and looked away.
Ross continued his warm-up of left and right jabs, a few hooks and bobs up and down; all in perfect form, of course. He didn’t do anything half-assed. When I was finished, I rotated to the bench press so he could use the leg machine when he was ready.
“It’s kind of nice not to have to listen to Jackson giving me shit about not moving all the way into my house yet,” he said, steadying the bag again. He tugged the gloves off, dropped them back into the equipment trunk, and grabbed a hand towel draped over the jump rope hook.
“I don’t know why he’d give you shit. You’ve only lived here a year. It’s not like you’ve had time to move in or anything,” I deadpanned and leaned back on the weight bench.
“Don’t start with me,” he grumbled.
“Oh, I’m not judging at all. In fact, your house in chaos makes me feel better about mine.” I flashed him a goading smile, and reached above my head for the rubber grip on the barbell.
“Hey,” he said nervously, and hurried over. The scent of deodorant and a hint of sweat settled around him as he towered above me. “You plan on having a spotter, or are you a complete rebel today?”
I blinked up at him. His chest still heaved a little from boxing, and his goatee, usually trimmed close to his jaw, was longer than usual, catching the sunlight peeking through the morning gloom.
His scolding blue gaze lingered on me a moment before flicking to my chest. His features narrowed to an almost-glare as he looked at me. “Well?”
My heart hammered a few more heartbeats as whatever was stirring inside me flared back to life like a struck match. I exhaled and tightened my grip on the bar, lifting it above my head. I concentrated on the strain of my biceps and the pull in my chest as I lowered it back down. Not on Ross or the unsettled look in his eyes. Not on my confusion or the uncertainty coiled in my abdomen. Instead, I exhaled it all again with the next lift, staring past Ross and at the ceiling, wondering what the hell had gotten into me, and how exactly, I was going to ignore it.