enters the doorway to my weights room, hands on hips, the baggy sleeves of her sweater scrunched at her elbows.
She’s lighter today. Brighter. Her eyes have a healthy glow.
And even though her nightmares haven’t disappeared, at least our new routine of a daily movie session has ensured she’s getting a nap during the daylight hours. The time she now spends reading might be doing the trick to distract some of her negative thoughts, too.
“I want you to go for a basic run.” I keep pushing out my muscle-up reps, dragging myself over the bar again and again.
“Basic run?” She steps into the room, moving toward the treadmill with trepidation. “Define basic.”
“I want you to run a mile.” I drop to the floor and shake out the burn in my arms. “Without stopping.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad. A mile isn’t far.”
“It is if you’re not used to running. Hell, even a couple hundred yards can be difficult on the body if you haven’t exercised in a while.”
She climbs onto the machine and attaches the safety clip to her sweater as I approach the side of the conveyor.
She presses buttons, placing the starting pace high. Far too high for a beginner.
“You might want to dial it back a notch. You can work up to a fast pace over time. Today is about getting through the mile however possible. I don’t care if you have to granny shuffle over the finish line.”
“Granny shuffle? Where’s all that faith you’re supposed to have in me?”
“I’ve got faith. I just don’t want you falling on that pretty face right out of the gate.”
She huffs. “Fine. I’ll start with a light jog.” She presses buttons again, turning on the machine, the conveyor slowly sliding into gear. “Do you have any music?”
“Yeah.” I return to the chin-up bar and grab my cell from the floor. “What’s your preference?”
“I don’t mind.” She undoes her ponytail, her stride flawless as she refastens it higher and tighter. “Whatever you usually listen to will be fine.”
I start my workout playlist, the intense beat of Slipknot’s “Duality” filling the room.
I try to concentrate on my reps as she runs. I clasp the chin-up bar. Do another set of muscle-ups. But my attention keeps drifting to her. Her stride. Her ease.
She increases the pace, pushing harder, moving faster. I don’t hear her panted breath over the music. Instead, I feel it. The heavy lift of her chest. The distinct purse of her mouth. Each step acts like a cattle prod to my libido.
“You’re fit.” I pull myself over the bar and pause, waiting for her response. “Why didn’t you mention it when we were discussing the list?”
She presses the treadmill dashboard again, creeping the pace higher. “I didn’t think you’d want to know the intricate details of how Luther liked his women in peak condition.”
She’s right. That information isn’t welcomed. In fact, my anger spikes, the reminder of her captor spurring me to push out an additional two reps of pure frustration before falling to the floor.
I slump onto the bench press, watching her, amazed by her.
Tightness enters my chest and it has nothing to do with exercise and a whole hell of a lot to do with things I shouldn’t be thinking about.
She decreases the pace for long enough to remove her sweater and throw it to the floor. Then she’s back running again, her oversized T-shirt billowing at her hips. It’s not enough to stop the display of her bouncing tits. Or to hide the hardness of her nipples pressing against the thin material.
It’s times like this where I wish it had escaped my attention that she didn’t have any underwear in yesterday’s load of laundry. She has no visible panty line either. And maybe I’m daydreaming or living in a fucked-up fantasy, but I don’t think she’s been wearing underwear at all. Not now, and not since returning stateside.
Fuck me for being the prick who noticed.
I shove to my feet, needing an additional set of reps to drag my attention away from something that will get me killed. Something that’s a fucking dick move to even think about.
She deserves better.
Decker trusted me with her protection. He didn’t give me an all-access pass to ogle his sister.
I drag myself up and over the bar, punishing myself, pushing so fucking hard my arms scream in protest. And still I can’t stop the imagery taking over my mind. Can’t drag my fucking gaze away.
She’s completely oblivious. She keeps running, surpassing the mile marker to