Page 11 of Not On Your Life

I huff out a breath.Of course, I can.

I use everything that wasn’t thrown out of me when I was nearly catapulted off the treadmill and pour it into my upper body.

Nine. Ten.

Whoo. I’ve still got it. I grin and drop from the bar. “Is that it?”

She lifts a single brow, a look that’s always been attractive on her. It’s both tempting and adorable, drawing me in and pushing me away simultaneously. “Oh, we’ve just begun.”

Perhaps I’d been a tad overconfident.

“Bench press, man makers, and burpees are up next,” she says, a wicked glint in her eyes.

I only know one of those words.What did I get myself into?

After what I put her through, that calculation on her face can only mean one thing. She plans to torture me. But she doesn’t know she’s been torturing me since the first day I met her.

Mentally, emotionally.

Surely nothing she can do will hurt me more physically.

Then, after she’s had her fun, we’ll talk.

By the time my hour is up—I should have opted for the thirty-minute training session—I haven’t gotten so much as two words out. Mostly because she pushed so fast through the circuit, I needed every breath I could wheeze into my lungs to remain in a vertical position. But also because she shut me down quicker than I could get a word out.

I should have tried to right my wrongs over something I’m good at. Like sitting. Or eating.

I could definitely beat her at eating. I wonder if she’s still on that weird diet. The no gluten, dairy, and sugar-free. I’m not even sure what she eats. Is there anything left?

“That’s it,” Maddie says, stopping her treadmill. I was supposed to be doing a cooldown. But when Maddie hit eight on her screen, the only logical thing to do was follow her lead.

I yank the clip out, and my treadmill immediately stops. But my legs don’t. Both of them turn to pool noodles, trying to hold up my giant-sized body, and I grip the handrails again.

I’m getting sick of this machine.

“So…” I follow Maddie to the front, practically running to keep up with her, which is hard to do with the cramping muscles in my legs. “About that talk.”

She stops short, and this time, I do ram into her.

I drag myself back, but my knees buckle, and I reach for the nearest machine to keep me stable. My sweaty palms slip, and I narrowly miss smacking my face into the metal bar.

Her eyes flit over me like I’m nothing more than a fleck of dust swirling through the air.

“I don’t get paid to talk; I get paid to train. And your time is up.”

She spins, flipping me with her two-foot-long ponytail as she retreats. The citrus, beachy scent momentarily disables me. That’s always been her favorite move. Mine too.

I shake my head free of the haze I’m under and hobble after her. “So, I’ll pay you to talk.”

She sends me a narrow glare over her shoulder. “That’s highly inappropriate and could be misconstrued. You, of all people, should know that.”

“I’ll be back next week then.”

If I can walk.

“Fine.” She stops at the front desk and types into the computer, ignoring me like…well, like she always has. Like I’ll never be worthy of her attention.

“Come more prepared next time,” she says flippantly.