Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(13)

My skin began to heat under the spotlight of his attention, and I burned the image into my memory for when I had a quiet moment, later.

My mouth had gone dry.

I swallowed hard.

Then I found my voice as my brain cells finally began to fire again. “Really? You invite me here and do that” —I gestured toward him with a wild wave of my fingers— “and I’m supposed to think only friendly thoughts?”

His lips twisted into a smirk. “Try.”

I forced my attention back to his face and held his stare. “All I see is sex on a stick.”

Oh, shit. I blurted that out loud.

His knees lowered to the floor, then he pulled his hands from the sand. “Try harder.”

Nice. Flirtatiousness? How about smoothness? I sighed heavily. “Not helping with your word choice.”

He ignored my quip, stood, then grabbed the buckets by their handles before lining them up against the wall. All business. Like he hadn’t noticed my skimpy outfit. Or my sexiness. Or maybe he had—but I’d been too gobsmacked by his erotic pushups.

“What’s with the sand?” I followed him.

He grabbed a white towel, then wiped it down his neck and over his chest. “I straighten my fingers, then sink my hands and curl them in a partial fist to anchor myself. Builds hand strength for drumming.”

“You’re a drummer?” I paused midstep with a heavy blink.

“Since I was five.”

“I had no idea.”

He regarded me for a moment. “You never asked.”

True. But then, I hadn’t needed to know much about a guy who was supposed to be a one-night stand. Now that we’d sidetracked into friend territory, the rules had apparently changed.

I nodded toward the buckets. “I wanna try.”

His brows lifted as he followed my gaze. “The sand?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“No. You’ll hurt yourself. And too coarse on your skin.” He walked to a shelf, then grabbed two black metal handles on circular bases. “Try these.”

I dropped my bag beside his, then watched as he placed the handles on the floor about my shoulder width apart. Dropping to my knees, I eyed the handles. Then I grasped their rubber-covered handholds with a solid grip and positioned myself into a plank above them.

Under his scrutiny, I tightened my body from head to toe, then lowered until my nose was a couple of inches from the floor. I held my breath as fire ignited deep within my muscles.

On a steady hard exhale, arms trembling, I pushed back up again. “Okay. I’m good.” I dropped my knees then stood.

His deep chuckle rankled me.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “Obviously I need to do more of this.” I circled a finger around the gym floor.

He shot me an amused look. “Why don’t we start with running?”

From a small refrigerator beside the shelving unit, he grabbed two bottles of blue Gatorade, then headed toward a far door. I followed, skipping my steps faster to keep up with his long casual stride.

“So what makes you such a great personal trainer?” I wondered if he’d offered because he wanted to be around me more...or if he’d done the same for others. “You a jock?”

“Ran track in high school.”

“Ah.” In other words, no big deal to show some girl how to run around a track.

Outside, the sun glared from a clear blue sky. I pulled my shades back on as a slight chill in the morning air danced over my skin. I surveyed the clay-colored rubberized track and the aluminum stadium bleachers that lined both sides.

“What is this place?”

He lifted his baseball hat and spun it forward before pinching the bill and tugging it down his forehead, shadowing his eyes. “Old private college. Town converted it to a community center a few years back.” He tilted his head to the side, assessing me for a moment, then stared through the opening in the chain link fence. “We’ll start with a nice-and-easy jog around the track for a warmup.”

Sounded simple enough.

Once our shoes hit the track, he set that nice-and-easy pace—also known as brisk—which I matched, determined to keep up. Around the first turn, I grew seriously winded, uncertain I could keep up a conversation. Good thing Darren wasn’t talkative while running.

Midway down the next straightaway, my lungs began to burn. My focus attuned to the individual elements of my body: long breaths gulping in and out, brain forcing tired legs to keep the tempo, arms pumping opposite every stride.

My pulse pounded my eardrums.

My lungs scorched with every breath.

My legs just…stopped…at the beginning of the second turn.

I doubled over, hands on knees, gasping for air. Dots appeared at the edges of my vision.

“Easy there, Flash. Stand straight. Hands behind your head with your chin up; you’ll breathe easier.” He clamped a strong grip on my forearms then lifted them.

Suddenly we were in each other’s space. Him lifting my arms up above my head. “Breathe,” he commanded in a low tone.

Close. Too close.

Sweat glistened on his face, a single drip falling from his hairline to his brow.

Right, “You’ll breathe easier.”

My gasping breaths sucked in his controlled exhalations, mingling our air. Our lips hovered mere inches apart as he stared down at me for the briefest second.