I have to make a decision and get moving.
But before I can flip that mental coin, Faith steps out of a heavy gray door on the left side of the station and hisses, “Clear! We’re clear!” and my feet start jogging her way without my conscious permission.
She has that effect on me, this woman, which is probably all the evidence I need that our first workout session should be our last—no matter how good she looks in tight black spandex pants and a tiny red T-shirt or how damned happy I am to see her.
Chapter Seven
Mick
Faith watches me jog across the grass toward her with a grin, setting my heart to pounding even before she grabs my hand and pulls me through the door.
She presses a finger to my lips and whispers, “Quiet now. Ninja style.”
“Got it,” I whisper back, just barely resisting the urge to kiss her fingertip.
I’m calling this off today.
Right? Maybe?
Fuck if I know. Two seconds in her presence and my resolve is already faltering.
We jog down the long hallway, our sneakers squeaking lightly on the tile as we pass the men’s locker room and slip into the firehouse’s weight room.
Inside the gym, the space smells of feet, decades of dried sweat, and the metallic scent of weights beginning to rust, but I’m so happy to be spending time with Faith I don’t mind the funk.
“Okay, what do you want to do first?” She turns to me, her hands propped on her hips. “I usually start with jumping jacks and a few stretches, then do legs or arms, depending on the day, and finish up with a run. We can run outside as long as we stay close enough to the station for me to be back in less than a minute if my pager goes off. I usually circle the impound lot behind the station a few dozen times.”
“Sounds good,” I say with a clap of my hands. “You lead. I’ll follow and work in. I haven’t lifted in a few days so either legs or arms are good for me.”
She crosses to an open space on the carpet by the wall and starts her warm-up. I fall in beside her, silently approving of the pace she sets with the jumping jacks. Within the first few minutes, it’s clear she isn’t here to play—a fact that becomes even more obvious as we move into a grueling circuit targeting calves, inner and outer thighs, and quadriceps. We shift between the machines crowded into the small space with companionable ease, our conversation limited to discussion of reps, constructive feedback on form, and the occasional words of encouragement.
But when silence falls, it isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, I find working out with Faith pretty damned relaxing…except for the moments when I can’t keep my eyes from wandering where they shouldn’t.
Faith’s body is a thing of beauty at all times, but Faith in action, with her strength, flexibility, and raw determination on display is so damned sexy it’s a minor miracle I’m able to keep my own body under control.
But a hard-on in these flimsy track pants wouldn’t be easy to conceal.
“Okay, what do you think?” she asks, her breath coming faster as we finish our last set of weighted squats and set our dumbbells back on the stand. “Want to do some sit ups and then head out?”
“Yeah.” I dry my sweat-slick hands on my towel. “I think another ten minutes in here or so is all I can take before my nose falls off.”
She laughs as she swipes an arm across her forehead. “Oh God, I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? It’s the carpet. Too many years of sweat soaked into it. Even cleaning it doesn’t help.”
“I’ve smelled better things,” I agree.
“But you know, a part of me kind of likes it.” She lies down on the large mat by the mirror on one wall and brings her hands behind her head, making it hard to keep my eyes off her stomach as her T-shirt rides up. “Is that weird?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I drop to the mat next to her. “There’s something primally satisfying about a healthy sweat stink.”
“Yeah. And it reminds me of good times growing up,” she says. “My cousins and I used to come here and work out with Uncle Tip after school. It was a family thing.”
“That’s cool,” I say, exhaling as I bring my elbows to my knees. “My family was never into exercise. They’re more into cooking and eating and talking about cooking and eating.” I lie back down, but Faith remains at the top of her sit up, staring over her shoulder as my shirt rides up. “Are you checking out my abs?” I tease.
“No,” she says, her breath rushing out as her gaze flicks back to the mirror.
“It’s okay,” I say, drawing the hem of my tee up a little higher. “I don’t mind. You can ogle me all you want.”
“I don’t want.”
“Come on,” I wheedle. “One more peek. You know you want to.”
She pops to her feet and turns to stare down at me, letting her gaze drag up and down my stomach before she sighs. “You’re a mess, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one.” I stand, too, and slip my arm around her waist. Even with both of us sweaty and sticky, it feels so good to touch her, to have her lean into me.
“I’m not a mess.” She tips her head back, bringing her lips inches from mine. “And I don’t kiss while I’m on duty, so don’t even think about it.”
“Too late,” I confess.
“Well stop thinking, and let’s get going,” She giggles as she spins out of my arms and jogs toward the door at the back of the room. “This workout isn’t over. Only slackers skip the run, Whitehouse.”
“There are other ways to get your heart rate up, Miller,” I shoot back, following her out into the sunny winter afternoon. “Things a lot more fun than running.”
It’s cool outside—probably no more than forty-five degrees—but after our time in the weight room the air feels good against my skin. I’m already smiling, looking forward to the run when Faith turns to me, all the teasing and laughter vanished from her expression.
“Yeah, well, I don’t do those sorts of things casually,” she says, seeming uncomfortable for the first time since we met up today. “So, if that’s what you’re looking for, we should probably stop this right now.”
I blink, but don’t grant myself the luxury of a hasty apology.
I don’t like seeing Faith uncomfortable, but I’m also not sure what I’m looking for. As much as I really don’t want to ruin our nice afternoon, I guess now is as good a time as any to have the “how serious do we want to be and are we on the same page?” talk.
I did promise her I’d be honest, after all, and I make it a point to keep my word.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” I say, holding her gaze. “At first I just wanted to date you long enough to get you out of my system, but—”
“Well, that’s great,” she says, rolling her eyes. She starts to back away, but I reach out and catch her hand with mine, stopping her.
“But it’s not like that now,” I promise. “I really like you. So much. But I spent my last year of college in a really difficult relationship.”