9
Rhett
Summer: Want to come to the gym with me? It will be good for you. You can’t just lie around all week.
Rhett:Are you my new personal trainer now too?
Summer: Will that make you feel better about me being here?
Rhett:Maybe.
Summer: Well, then, I’m whatever you want me to be.
Rhett: That’s a dangerous thing to say.
* * *
“I’ve been doing a bit of reading on good exercises for bull riders.” Summer is waiting right outside the men’s changing room, talking at me the second I clear the door.
“Uh huh,” I say as I step ahead of her toward the cardio area, pulling my hair back with an elastic. Treadmills, bikes, and elliptical trainers face out the windows onto Rosewood Street.
“Do you usually work out much?” She peers up at me curiously as I opt for a bike, thinking it will help stretch out my hip, and shove my water bottle into the holder as I climb up.
“Usually. Lots of balance stuff. But not lately. It’s harder on the road sometimes.”
She hops up on the bike beside me. “I can also help you with exercises to accommodate whatever injuries you might have.” And then she makes this adorable squeaking noise and falls forward onto the handles of her bike. “Shit.”
I look down and stop one side of my mouth from hitching up. She was so busy talking to me that she failed to notice the seat on the bike she chose was way too high for someone as short as her and tipped forward when she reached for the pedal.
Her cheeks are all pink like she’s embarrassed. I try to focus on the fact that she appears to be hilariously off balance rather than gawking at how insanely good she looks in gym clothes. The way they hug her curves could almost make a guy jealous.
“Should I ask if they have any child-sized bikes you can ride?”
“Very funny.” She hops off and eyes the bike like it’s personally offended her somehow. “I hate cardio.”
“Is it because the machinery is too complicated for you?” I wink at her, and she scowls as I step off my bike and point at the too-high seat. “Stand next to it.”
Her arms cross. “I’m perfectly capable of adjusting the seat on my own bike.”
“Could have fooled me,” I mumble as I rotate the knob to loosen the post and drop it down. I raise an eyebrow at her to see if she plans on stepping closer so I can measure the seat for her, but she just continues to mean-mug me. So, I eyeball the height, shrug when it looks good enough, and then hop back onto my bike and start the warmup program.
Eventually, she reaches out and readjusts the seat. Up. Down. And then settles on the exact same spot I had it in the first place.
Stubborn.
“Ah, yes. That looks so much better,” I huff out while keeping my eyes trained on the road out front. I don’t need to turn my gaze on her to know she’s scowling at me.
“Like I said, I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. Especially if you’re going to be a snarky prick about helping me. What if I’d been injured?”
I shake my head and bite back a smile. “Are you injured, Princess?”
“No,” she grumbles as she hops back on and pedals. “But you are.”
“I’m not. I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” Now it’s her turn to shake her head at me, but she doesn’t push it any further. Instead, she pops her buds into her ears and blocks me out as she drops her head and gets to work.
And she works hard. Harder than me. Because I’m too busy stealing glances at her and trying not to get caught. There are enough locals in here already who’ll be talking about the fact I was here with some girl. I don’t need to give them more gossip fodder than that.