“You like to torture men for kicks. Got it.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “Only the ones who deserve it.”
I huff out a laugh. Because I probably do deserve it.
“Okay, sit up. I’m going to slide this under your back and let you lie on it for a bit. Open up the shoulders, stretch out the chest.”
I’m pushed up to sitting before she even finishes her sentence and find myself face-to-face with her. Closer than I should be, eyes glued to the way her lips move and the flashes of white teeth behind them as she chatters away.
She has no idea how distracting she is.
When she reaches around me with the foam roller, I catch a whiff of cherries and the salty tang of sweat.
“...and then you’ll let your shoulders drop to the floor.”
I missed most of what she was saying, but she’s oblivious. Her small palm lands carelessly in the middle of my chest and presses me back down to the floor.
I think about how bad a chicken farm smells to keep from getting hard. And once I’m lying flat, spine propped over the rounded foam piece, I force myself to focus on the banks of lights above me and the clanking of machinery around me rather than the way she looks hovering over me and the quiet way she murmurs, “Good job.”
She counts under her breath, and I let my eyes close, trying to relax onto the roller, letting myself soften into the stretch across my back and chest. The pain slowly easing when her touch moves to the front of my shoulder, gently pressing down, deepening the stretch.
“How does that feel?” Summer’s voice is curious.
I peer up at her, taking in the earnest expression on her face. The damp hairs at the base of her neck just below her ear. She really is fucking lovely.
And all her attention is on me.
“Really good,” I reply, my voice all gravel. Then I risk looking her in the eye as I husk a deep, “Thank you.”
She brightens, a soft, satisfied smile gracing her features. “You’re welcome. Any time.”
And just like that, I think I have my first gym crush.