Page 20 of Gym With Benefits

“Let me take it.” Brock wrapped his hands around the weights to pause my struggle. “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

He took the weights from my hands, and I sat up with a muffled whimper, my skin tingling in all the places he’d touched me.

“I’m pretty sure we just trauma bonded.” I gave a breathless laugh, averting my eyes as I tucked an errant lock of hair behind my ear.

His eyes crinkled, but he was mostly the same picture of professionalism as ever. “I’m pretty sure drinks have to be involved for that to be a thing.”

“I’ll bankroll your algae smoothie later. Make it official.”

The facade slipped just enough, and Brock loosened up with a laugh. I may not have been blessed with the impossibly svelte athleticism of the other women here, but I could make him laugh.

“You should finish up on the treadmill,” he said, stepping over to the barbell rack. “Get the blood moving before your muscles tighten up.”

The suggestion brought an immediate visual of the locker room door swinging inward.

“No treadmills today.” The suggestion brought the memory of Dane in the locker room flooding back. “I have a sudden, pressing desire to remain hidden in the corners.”

Brock tucked a twenty-five-pound plate under his arm, a deep laugh vibrating in his chest. “You’re talking about Dane, I take it.”

“He told me he could have my membership revoked,” I admitted, watching him slide the iron onto the sleeve of the bar. “Can he actually do that? Or is he just a garden-variety psychopath full of empty threats?”

Amusement flickered across Brock’s face, though he kept his focus on adjusting the collar lock. “He likes to throw his weight around. Learned behavior from his job, I guess. But mostly he’s the type of guy you take with a pinch of salt.”

“I’ll need a whole vat of it.”

A chuckle broke from him then, relaxed and genuine. He gestured toward the barbell, stepping in close to guide my stance. “Step up. Feet under your hips. Let’s do some bent-over rows.”

A fresh whiff of his peppermint gum cloaked me as I stepped back into his orbit. I bent at the waist and reached for the knurled steel. Brock’s broad hands clamped onto my hips, holding my pelvis back. His touch possessed an incredible solidity. The heat of his palms burned through the tight nylon, forcing a sudden, chaotic rhythm into my pulse.

“Keep your spine long,” he murmured, his breath brushing the nape of my neck. “Pull the bar toward your belly button, squeezing the shoulder blades.”

I hauled the steel upward, my brain stalling as his hands slid from my hips to the small of my back, monitoring the muscle contraction.

He’s a coach,I reminded myself, eyes locked on the floor.He repositions human meat for a living.

But the fiery weight of his fingers felt distinctly personal.

“What, uh, what kind of job requires your default setting to be Asshole?” I asked. Distraction was my only hope of making it out of this in one piece.

Each time I squatted, my ass brushed against his crotch. The man had more restraint than me. He didn’t seem to notice it at all.

“Dane’s a fixer for the D.C. political elite,” he replied, taking on a confidential register as I completed another rep. “He spends his days cleaning up corporate scandals and keeping senators out of prison.”

“Wait, seriously?”

He nodded. “Arrogance is a survival trait in his world. He just forgets how to turn it off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you’re covering for him,” I said with a soft, strained laugh. These weights were for real, and him pressing up against me didn’t help things.

“Well, we’re kind of friends.”

I paused mid-drop, my arms quivering. “Kind of?”

“Since Hunter and I started working here.” He placed the full weight of his thigh between my legs and tapped each of my legs. “Open your stance a bit more. You’re too tight. It’ll ruin your balance if you’re not careful.”

He was ruining my underwear with that move. Not exactly careful on his part.

But I inched my feet further apart before going through with the squat, and instantly felt the increased pull in my muscles.