Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Figures you’ve got a mouth on you,” he says, sighing like he’s already resigned himself to some cosmic truth. “Figures I love a woman with a mouth on her.”
And I hate how much that makes me want to smile.
“Are you going to do a real set, or are you done already?”
My lips part in disbelief. “Excuse me?” I repeat.
He gestures lazily to the pull-up bar, his smirk widening. That isn’t just one dimple, but two. The rugged appeal of this man is hard to resist—scruff on his jaw, and even though he wore a long-sleeve shirt, I could see the outline of strong muscles beneath the fabric. His voice is smooth and deep and does all sorts of things to my body.
“I thought with the way you were doing those, you were maybe pacing yourself.”
Pacing myself?
I press my lips together. If he’s trying to get a rise out of me… it’s working.
“So you’re the resident expert here? Funny, you don’t have a badge, and I don’t recall ever seeing you here before.”
When he takes another step closer, my first thought is… god he’s tall. Intimidatingly tall. But his presence feels… predatory, but in a way that makes me want more.
I really, really need to stop spending every waking hour reading dark romance.
“Not an expert,” he says with a shrug. “I know my way around a pull-up bar though. And you look like a woman who likes to challenge herself.” He winks, and my belly does a flip.
I like to challenge myself, alright. Right now, I want to challenge myself to grow the fuck up and get out of here before I let Mr. Flirt get to me.
I tilt my head. Couldn’t hurt to get a little view, could it?
“Prove it.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He steps under the bar, jumps, and grasps it with practiced ease. His muscles flex as he hoists himself up, slow and deliberate, his form infuriatingly perfect. Each movement is controlled and smooth, like an Olympic gymnast’s. By the time he hits fifteen, my jaw’s tight.
“Show-off,” I mutter.
He drops down, rolling his shoulders as he faces me. “We should have a contest. I’d love to see you try to overpower me.”
I snort. “There’s no contest. You’re predisposed for greater upper body strength.” I jerk my chin over to the leg machines. “Though I could crush your skull with my thighs.”
His gaze grows predatory as it travels down the length of my body. “If that’s a threat, I can live with it. If it’s a promise…”
The thought of his head between my legs makes my cheeks heat instantly.
I should be furious at the audacity, but honestly… I walked right into that.
“Ladies first,” he says, stepping back with a smirk.
I grab the bar again, ignoring the way my palms are slick with sweat. My muscles protest, but I push through, matching his pace with stubborn determination. I feel his eyes on me—heavy, like a weight of their own. They trace the line of my arms, linger on my shoulders, and sweep down the curve of my back.
By the time I hit ten, my body is screaming at me to stop, but I don’t give in. Not with him watching. I drop to the ground, landing lightly despite the burn in my legs, and turn to face him, a little out of breath. “Your turn,” I say, tilting my chin up in challenge.
He steps up, his grin widening as his eyes lock on mine. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, a spark that feels electric. “Try not to be too disappointed,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. It sends an unexpected shiver racing down my spine.
He grabs the bar with a casual confidence that makes me grit my teeth. His movements are fast but controlled, playful in a way that feels infuriatingly deliberate. By the time he hits thirteen, he slows down, lets go with his right hand and drags out the last pull with his left like he’s savoring the moment. When he finally drops to the ground, he’s barely winded, wiping his hands on his shorts with maddening ease.
“I could’ve gone higher,” he says, his voice dripping with smugness. “But I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
I laugh, sharp and short, masking the heat rising in my chest. “Oh, trust me. You didn’t.”
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, it’s like the rest of the gym disappears. The hum of machines fades, the clinking weights vanish. It’s just him, his gaze sweeping over me, staying a fraction too long on my lips. My pulse drums in my ears, louder than it should be.
I hop up and once more… crash out at twelve. It’s hard as fuck, ugh.
Then the clang of weights in the distance cuts through the spell. He steps back, his lips curling up like he knows exactly what he’s done.