Kiss and Don't Tell(41)
WINNIE
Working out with a professional hockey player—not something I would set out to do on my own, but now that I’m here, ready to get sweaty with Pacey, well, I’m not regretting it. Especially since just seeing him run gives me all kinds of feels . . . as in, I’m feeling his body moving like that.
His strong, commanding body.
The same body that pinned me to the ground last night.
Sleep eluded me last night for a reason, because all I could think about was Pacey and how honest he is. How open he is about everything. There’s no shame in what he does, in his actions. It’s sexy.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
“Want to go through one of my workouts?”
“You mean do what you do?”
He nods.
“As long as I don’t have to do the same weights, I’m in.”
“Never expected you to.” He turns up his speed and then adds some incline.
I do the same, but I keep my pace at a walk because, let’s be honest, I don’t tend to work out on the daily. I consider a jaunt through the woods a workout.
“Can’t tell you the last time I was on a treadmill. Will you judge me?”
He glances over at me. “Never. I told you, I don’t judge. Everyone has their own pace, their own level. I’m just glad you’re hanging with me this morning.”
See what I’m saying? He’s adorable. Too good.
“Aren’t you the charmer?”
“Nah, not really.” He picks up the incline a few more notches. “You’re just catching me on a good day.”
“Seems like a good couple of days.”
He doesn’t say anything, but instead continues to jog. His thick, muscular arms pumping by his sides are almost hypnotic, so I tear my gaze away and turn my attention back to my treadmill. I attempt a jogging pace, something I know I could power-walk my way through, but adding that extra little bounce to my step makes me feel good about myself.
“Good pace,” he says, while looking over at me. “Looking good, Winnie.” And that genuine compliment makes me hold my head a little higher.
I don’t do this. I don’t work out, and I’ve always had an aversion to going to the gym. Probably because it’s intimidating if you’re not toned and muscled and know exactly what you’re doing. And yet, I don’t feel out of place next to Pacey as he’s allowing me—encouraging me—to just go with the flow.
After another minute, Pacey slows his treadmill and then stops it completely. I do the same, and just as mine comes to a halt, he asks, “Are you ready?”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Nah, I got you.” He reaches out and takes my hand, taking me to one of the benches. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do, but I really enjoy how small my hand feels in his large hand. “Let’s work that impeccable chest of yours. Then we can get in some squats. Don’t worry, we’ll take it super easy.”
“I’m ready for whatever you throw my way.” And when he says work my impeccable chest, I’m hoping he means with my shirt off . . .
And . . . how about we keep those thoughts to myself? Best spare myself the embarrassment.
Pacey walks over to a triangular rack of fixed-weight barbells and selects a thirty-pound bar. “You said you can do the bar, right?” I nod. “Good, so we want to start lighter than that. Thirty pounds should be okay. Lie on the bench and I’ll hand you the weight.”
I lie on the bench and he goes to hand me the weight. I swear he could hand it to me with his pinkies and not strain a muscle. “You must think this is a joke weight.”
“What did I say?” he asks sternly, holding the weight above me. “Comparison takes the fun out of it. Let me see those arms work.”
He’s right. Enjoy the moment and stop putting yourself down. That’s something Mom used to say to me all the time.
Taking a deep breath, I grab the weight and test it a bit before lowering it to my chest and pressing it upward again. Pacey keeps his hand near the bar just in case it’s too heavy, but I’ve got it with ease. I do ten reps and then he takes the weight from me.
“Atta girl,” he says as I sit up. He offers me a high five, and I take it. The pride on his face is so damn sweet, and that smile, oof, I bet thousands of women would line up just to receive that smile from him.
He moves over to the next bench and starts putting some weight on the bar in the barbell catch.
“That’s your warm-up weight?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’ve been at this for a long time.”
I stand behind the rack like he did for me and watch as his large hands wrap around the bar and lift it up with ease. He lowers the weight to his chest, then pushes it up. His breathing is in sync with his arm movements, and it’s like a well-oiled machine working right in front of me. Before I know it, he’s done with his ten and putting the weight back on the rack.
“I know I should be cool about it, but that was really impressive, Pacey.”
He chuckles. “Thanks, Winnie. I’m glad I can impress you.”
“Are we going to go all the way up to three hundred?”
“Nah, this is just to keep my muscles from getting stiff during the off-season. I’m not working on building or anything. Not yet, at least. Also, not that I don’t like what we’ve got going on here, but if I’m going to push the weight, I would probably do that with one of the guys so they can actually spot me.”