Page 14 of Over the Moon (Rosewood River #3)

ten

. . .

Eloise

“What is that?” I asked, tracking the notebook on the counter that had our names written in Sharpie across the top as I walked into his kitchen.

“I thought we could start keeping a notebook that we communicate in. You know, like texting but on paper,” he chuckled as he pushed a protein shake in my direction.

Yes, Clark Chadwick was now concerned about my nutritional needs, and he’d convinced me to drink one of his fruity blended protein drinks every day when I arrived in the morning.

Sometimes we drank them after our runs, but today was a swim day, so we didn’t run this morning.

“Thank you.” I reached for the shake and took a sip before turning my attention to the notebook. “Why would we communicate in a notebook?”

“Because it’s your thing, Weeze,” he said, as if it made perfectly good sense.

I flipped open the cover to see a note from him.

Weeze,

I’m feeling stronger than I’ve felt in a long time. I’m getting my stride back. I’d like more time on the ice and longer runs, but I will let you decide.

Professionally yours,

Clark Chadwick

I barked out a laugh. “Professionally yours?”

“Well, you’re so concerned about making sure things are professional, so I was being respectful.”

My stomach dipped at the way his green eyes took me in as he spoke.

“Very professional, Hotshot.” I pulled the notebook from the counter and dropped it into my bag. “I’m glad you’re feeling strong. I’ve noticed it, too. I was going to see if you wanted to get out on the ice today after our swim. And we can definitely increase your mileage this week. You’re ready.”

“Great. But I’d prefer you put it in the notebook.” He winked before slamming the rest of his protein shake.

Damn, the man looked sexy, with his tousled hair falling over his forehead and his arms strained against his fitted white tee.

“Oh, now the notebook is your thing, too?”

“Listen,” he said, as his gaze zoned in on where the straw sat between my lips as I sucked down a big gulp. “You spend five hours a day doing what I want, so I just thought we could incorporate a little bit of you into our days, too.”

I finished off the shake and made my way around the kitchen island to the sink, where I rinsed my glass and loaded it into the dishwasher.

We were so far past being professional with one another, I didn’t know how to handle it.

I’d already seen the man with an incredibly noticeable boner when we had our moment in the river.

Hell, I couldn’t get thoughts of what he’d done in the shower that day out of my head.

This was a disaster. I was incredibly attracted to him, and it was getting more difficult to pretend I didn’t like him.

But the truth was, I couldn’t like him. It wasn’t even an option.

I shook off the feeling and turned to look at him.

“Okay. I like it. Maybe we’ll argue less over things if we write them down and have time to respond.

All while being very professional, of course. ”

He barked out a laugh and led me down the hallway toward the gym. “Always the professional, Weeze.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname, per usual, even though I didn’t mind it at all. I’ve been called Elle and Lo over the years by friends, but no one had ever turned Eloise into Weeze, but somehow it was charming, coming from Clark.

He turned on the music, and we made our way through stretches. He was lying on the table on his back as I felt the area around his knee, doing gentle massage with one hand.

“The inflammation is nonexistent at this point,” I said, my voice slightly dry as my free hand grazed his as it rested on the table.

“Yep. Thanks to you.” His pinky finger hooked around mine, and I didn’t pull away.

“You’ve done all the hard work.” I continued tracing my fingers around his knee, even though there was no need to massage the area at this point.

“I think we’ve both worked hard. I mean, you gave up your life in the city to be here with me. And now the real work starts. I’m finally feeling strong, and now I can push to take things to the next level,” he said, his thumb stroking the inside of my palm.

Why wasn’t I pulling away?

We formed a friendship over the last few weeks, and friends could share moments like this, right?

We still kept things very professional.

Outside the almost kiss that we never spoke of, even if I thought about it pretty much every night when I climbed into bed.

“Yep. Today, we start increasing the weights. And I’ll even give you some freedom on the ice to open up when we get out there.” I pulled my hand away and stepped back.

I was playing with fire, and I needed to be smart.

He sat forward. “I like the sound of that.”

“Great. We’re starting with pull-ups.”

“My favorite,” he said, making his way over to the pull-up bar as I followed. “But remember our deal. For every ten reps that I do, you have to do one.”

I groaned. “Why did I ever agree to that deal? You have to do one hundred today, and as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think I can do ten pull-ups.”

“If I can do a hundred, you can do ten, Weeze. I have five sets of twenty, so you can do two at a time in between my sets just like we did before.”

“Fine,” I grumped. “Get going.”

I watched as he tore off his white tee and tossed it on the ground. His basketball shorts hung low on his hips.

Why was it difficult to catch my breath lately when he took his shirt off?

This damn man was occupying every one of my fantasies, even though I desperately wanted to think of anyone but him.

He got through the first set of twenty pull-ups with ease and motioned for me to jump up.

I positioned myself beneath the bar and jumped up, wrapping my hands around the cold metal bar and pulling my chin just above before dropping down. My arms shook as I got through the second one, and then I jumped down. He stood close, which I knew he was doing in case I stumbled on my way down.

He tried to help me the first time we started this ridiculous competition, and I shut him down. I may not be able to do one hundred pull-ups, but I was capable of hoisting myself up and dropping down when I finished.

We did this routine three more times, both guzzling water before the last set.

Post Malone was blaring through the speakers, and I hoped it helped to hide the fact that I was completely out of breath.

I could hold my own in the pool and on runs with him, but when it came to upper-body strength, I was weak in comparison.

I hated that.

Ten pull-ups were a challenge for me, even with breaks. And at the moment, my arms were burning, and I didn’t think I had two more in me.

But I watched as Clark jumped up and grabbed the bar, his back covered in a layer of sweat as every chiseled muscle flexed.

Up and down.

He counted them out, and somehow, he even made counting sound sexy as hell.

“Ninety-eight,” he said, his muscles flexing with every movement. “Ninety-nine. One hundred.”

I shook my arms, begging them to give me two more so I didn’t look as weak as I felt at the moment.

Clark wiped his forehead and pointed at the bar. “Last two, Weeze. You’ve got this.”

I cleared my throat before jumping up and barely catching the bar. My arms were already shaking, and Clark moved right in front of me, where my body hung like a dense weight.

Dig deep, Eloise.

My arms shook so much, it was difficult to get my chin above the bar, but I did it.

“Nine,” he said, standing so close I could feel his breath on my abdomen where my tank top rode up. “One more.”

“Okay,” I huffed, attempting to pull, but not going anywhere.

That’s when two large hands gripped each side of my hips, and I startled.

“Let me help you,” he said.

“No!” I squealed, trying to shake him off. “Because then you’ll say I didn’t finish them.”

“Don’t be a stubborn ass,” he hissed, as he attempted to push me up.

My arms were on fire, but I wasn’t ready to concede. So I did the only thing I could think of before falling to the floor in a heap.

My feet swung up, landing on his shoulders, just so I could catch my breath for a second and readjust my hands.

But the sexy jackass took it upon himself to pull my legs over his shoulders, his hands on my lower back.

Great. Now his face was pressed against my lower belly.

“What the hell are you doing?” I said, trying not to laugh because even though it was totally inappropriate, my arms weren’t shaking anymore, and it was the much-needed break I’d been desperate for.

“I wasn’t going to have you stand on my shoulders, Weeze. Your head would have hit the bar,” he said with a chuckle.

I took a few beats to slow my breathing as he sang along to Morgan Wallen as if this were perfectly normal for me to be straddling his neck.

“Well, nothing about this feels professional,” I huffed, as I readjusted my hands on the bar. “Okay, I’ve got it now.”

“All right, do your thing. Go at your own pace,” he said.

I started to lift up, but my arms felt like jello. I was just able to raise myself enough to put my groin directly in his face. “Oh my god! Back up, Chadwick!”

“Not going to let you fall, I’ve got you. And damn, you smell good, even when you’re working out.”

Was he referring to my vagina? Because that was currently right in front of his nose at the moment.

I pulled with everything I had, lifting myself just enough for my forehead to touch the bar before my arms gave out, and I tumbled down, crashing into Clark.

His loud laughter boomed as he caught me in the most awkward position.

One hand on my ass and the other on my rib cage, his large hand dangerously close to copping a feel of my breast.

He stayed perfectly still before sliding me against him and carefully maneuvering me to my feet.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“Yes. You can remove your hand from my ass now.” I stepped back, arching a brow.

He held his hands up. “Couldn’t really help the way you crashed into me.”

His eyes zeroed in on my fitted tank top, and I glanced down to see my nipples hard enough to be noticeable through both my sports bra and my tank top.

I quickly crossed my arms over my chest and glanced down as my eyes widened at the very noticeable tent in his shorts.

He casually followed my line of sight, appearing completely unfazed. “Hey, what do you expect? You just pressed that sweet pussy of yours against my face. I’m only human.”

My cheeks heated, and I quickly moved across the room to get my water as I processed his words.

“Sorry about that. That was a really bad plan.” I placed the cap back on the water bottle.

“I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t have minded if you stayed there for the rest of the workout.” He waggled his brows at me.

I chucked a towel at his face. “Let’s get back to work.”

He just laughed, and it should have been an uncomfortable moment.

But it wasn’t.

I’d grown comfortable with this man.

Oddly comfortable.

He got back to work, and we moved from one machine to the next.

When “The Man,” by Taylor Swift started playing, I quirked a brow.

“Are you a Swiftie now?” I asked with a laugh, because he knew I was, and he teased me about it several times.

“If you’re going to spend hours every day in here, you should have some music choices, too.” He wiped his face with the towel. “And this song reminds me of you. A woman living in a man’s world, trying to find her place and showing everyone what a badass she is.”

My breath hitched at his words.

This was a damn challenging business to break into not only as a woman, but as a young woman.

And hearing him say that meant something to me.

My lips turned up in the corners, I couldn’t help myself. And then he did the most unexpected thing.

He started belting out the lyrics.

About the double standards women face.

It was sexy and charming… and sweet.

Yes, this beautiful, sexy, successful hockey player had a tender side.

And he was showing it to me.

My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I watched him.

He had zero ego about embarrassing himself, and I admired it.

The confidence. The swagger.

He had it in spades.

When the song came to an end, I sighed. “You’d make Taylor proud with that rendition.”

“She’s not the one I’m trying to impress.” He winked.

Damn you, Clark Chadwick.

You’re making it impossible to remain professional.