Oh, God.
No. I don’t care that he looks hot right now. You will not swoon for this man.
Focus.
With his free hand, he adjusts my fingers, then he orders, “Lock your arms in place.”
Jesus, he looks good on top of me.
Greedily, my eyes take in the sight of him standing over me. He’s wearing the usual black cargo pants and t-shirt, but on him it looks porn-worthy. He doesn’t even strain under the bar's weight, which tells me he’s freaking strong.
Unlike me.
For fuck’s sake! Focus.
“Ready?” he asks, his tone not as harsh.
I nod, but the moment he lets go, my arms buckle, and he has to grab hold of the bar again.
Letting out a sigh, Misha shakes his head. “Fuck, you’re weaker than I thought.”
That feels like an insult.
As he carries the bar back to the weights, I shoot a scowl at him. He places lighter weights on the bar, then comes back to me.
“If you can’t lift this, you might as well call it a day and go home.”
This time Misha comes to stand behind me. “Arms up.” He sets the bar down in my hands and lets go of it.
The corner of my mouth lifts when it’s not too heavy. “Do I just hold it?”
“Khristos,” he mutters. “No. Lower the bar to your chest, then push it back up.” His face appears above me. “You weren’t lying when you said you hate exercise.”
I almost drop the freaking weight but straighten my arms in time. “I thought you didn’t remember?”
“I never said that.”
Lowering the bar to my chest, I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I said it didn’t matter to me,” he corrects me.
“Right,” I mutter as I keep doing sets.
“Jesus!” I hear Abbie cry angrily.
My head turns in her direction, and I watch as she struggles to free herself from where Instructor Nikolai has her pinned on a mat.
“Focus,” Misha snaps.
I turn my attention back to what I’m doing until my arms are trembling with exhaustion.
“How many more?” I gasp.
“I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“That’s not an answer,” I gasp as I push the weight up. “Five? Ten?”
“Keep talking, and I’ll make it fifty,” he threatens.