He hops on the pegs and shows me how to get the machine going, instructing me to start with no incline and push until my legs are jelly. The song Batdance starts to play providing me with a good groove, slowly I start to push the foot pads making the machine move. Kohl moves to another weight machine while I begin to exercise for the first time in my life. After four minutes, my legs feel like goo but I keep pushing. After ten minutes, my endorphins kick in while Journey sings about believing.
My legs are jelly, I’m dripping sweat in places sweat shouldn’t be but with each push of my feet all my stress begins to melt away. The entire viral photo incident, the hateful words, my self-hate and the ache I carry over my mom disappear into the music and sweat. My mind clears as I lose myself in the peace that settles over me.
A hand grips my shoulder startling me from my revelry, I lose my balance on the machine and fall off to the side landing with a thud on a rock-hard body.
“Oomph,” I say, throwing my body off to the side to get my weight off him, landing on the floor next to him, flat on my back, spread eagle.
With a smirk, he jumps to his feet. Reaching out his hand he offers to help pull me off the ground. The moment my hand interlocks with his, a jolt shoots up my arm. He must get zapped too because he pulls his hand back dropping me back on my ass. Forcing my body off the ground, when I stand my jelly legs give out from under me sending me careening into his solid bare chest, his arms caging me to stop my fall. I breathe in his scent, an intoxicating blend of vanilla and sweat. Moving me to a nearby bench, he hands me a bottle of water.
“Every muscle in your body is going to hurt tomorrow. You seemed in a zone, what were you thinking?” he asks.
Panting heavily between sips of water, “I wasn’t thinking, my mind was calm and clear. It was bliss. I may need another shower now though,” I joke, sweat soaking through my sweatshirt. “Does someone have a really big t-shirt I could put on?”
“Here, put mine on or take your sweatshirt off. Not like I haven’t seen it before,” he jokes with a devilish grin, tossing his shirt in my face.
“Your shirts don’t fit me and I will not take off my shirt, you haven’t seen this in all its glory,” I insist, waving a hand over my body, a flush filling my cheeks.
“Oh contraire, I have seen it, I just haven’t had a chance to enjoy it,” he smirks. “My shirts fit you fine. Put it on,” he commands and for some reason, his order sends a pulse through my veins throbbing between my legs. “How’re your feet? Using the elliptical that long in socks probably wasn’t wise.”
Hobbling behind a machine, feeling the muscles pull in my thighs and calves, I pull my sweat-soaked shirt off and slide his t-shirt on. His sweet smell filling my nose when it passes my face. It’s skin tight, of course, but it’s dry and cooler. Resuming my seat on the bench, holding up each leg I analyze my feet, “Ironically, they’re in good shape. My whole body feels a little sore but my feet are fine.”
A huge smile breaks across his face, he winks at me before his eyes move down to rest on my chest. His flirty ways and his reputation are battling in my head.
“Why do you do that?” I ask, covering my chest with my arms.
Crinkling his brow, his smile dropping to a small grin, “Why do I do what?” he answers confused.
“Flirt with me. Make comments about my body like you enjoy it? I mean, come on, Kohl; look at me, this is not attractive. You have gorgeous women throwing themselves at you, you would never want someone like me.”
His eyes flare for a second before they soften and melt into mine. “I’m only going to say this one time. So, listen and listen well. I flirt with you because I love making you blush and it’s sexy as hell. You are sexy as hell. I will be the judge of what I find attractive. Size doesn’t matter to me, what matters is on the inside. Now, if you are offering to strip down and stand before me naked I’ll point out the parts I like the most. Everything about you is amazing inside and out.”
His truthful stare is too intense, his words too good to believe, the conversation more than I can handle even though I’m the one who initiated it. Averting my eyes to a spot on the wall over his shoulder, I make a quick subject change, “Didn’t you promise me coffee and chocolate if I came here tonight?”
“Too much snow,” he shrugs, “Best I can offer is water and a protein bar,” he says giving me his million kilowatts smile that lights his eyes like a kid on Christmas morning. His eyes roam shamelessly across my chest, “I like you in my clothes,” he adds moving back to continue lifting weights.
I watch sweat glisten over his chest, the occasional drop traveling from his hairline down the ridged planes of his chest before meeting its end in the waistband of his low riding shorts. I long to travel the path of that drop of salty liquid, my tongue snaking out to lick my lips in anticipation. His eyes track my tongue, his muscles tick, and his nostril flare.
Watching his muscles flex and pull, his words replay in my mind. Shaking my head, I know this is nuts. I’m naïve but not stupid, Kohl Black can have any woman he wants. There’s no way he wants me. There is no way I’m reading
