10. Shayla
10
SHAYLA
T he day I’d been dreading was finally here. I had to talk to my father about Mom’s diagnosis. After crunching some numbers and reviewing Mom’s treatment plan, it was clear I needed to bite the bullet and ask for his help. Adding some cooking classes to my already full-time schedule wasn’t going to cut it. Neither was the measly amount I made from my social media accounts where I posted nutrition and cooking content.
I wasn’t delusional enough to think my father would give us the money out of the kindness of his heart, but I thought maybe he could be persuaded to grant me my inheritance early. He was the executor of my late grandfather’s will and trust. And there was a nice little nest egg sitting in an account somewhere just waiting for me.
Unfortunately, I couldn't access it until I was thirty or got married, whichever came first. However, my father had the power to release the funds to me early at his discretion. I needed that money to help my mother pay for her treatments. Her only other option was to take out a second mortgage on the house and even then I wasn’t sure it would be enough. She could barely afford the monthly payments on her current medical bills, and those were about to double.
The prospect of speaking to my father had me wound so tight, I could barely sleep. I finally gave up and decided to head to work early to get a workout in before anyone else got there. It was the best way I’d found to manage my stress, and I’d been given permission to use the weight room as long as I didn’t interfere with the team’s workouts. It was an added perk to working for a professional hockey team. It saved me money on a gym membership, and right now, I had to cut back anywhere I could.
Once I finished with upper body, I checked my phone to make sure I was still good on time before moving to the power rack for squats. I finished my first set and returned the barbell to the J hooks. Placing my hands on my hips, I drew in a deep lungful of air to catch my breath and prepare for my next set.
“Your form could use some work,” a deep voice drawled from behind me. I whipped around to find Easton watching me as he leaned casually against the leg press. What the hell was he doing here? I still had at least thirty minutes before anyone was set to arrive.
He noticed my shock and smirked as he pushed off the equipment.
“I could give you a few pointers,” he offered as he stalked toward me.
How long had he been watching me? I didn’t see or hear him come in. Had he been here the whole time? My cheeks flamed as I considered the possibility of him watching me work out. I’d never liked exercising in front of people. It was a lingering insecurity from my time with Calvin. He used to insist I go to the gym with him and stay on the treadmill or elliptical for at least an hour. I wanted to try lifting, but he insisted cardio was what I needed most.
“That’s what will burn off all those extra calories,” he’d say, the disgust evident in his voice. What he didn’t realize was that most days I barely ate a thousand calories. On the rare occasion he took me out, I allowed myself to indulge and have a burger or pizza, but then he would criticize me for it while scarfing down chicken wings and fries and washing them down with beer. It got to the point where I only ordered salads just so I didn’t have to endure his reproach. Only then did his eyes soften with silent approval, and I was rewarded with affection. He actually held my hand or slung an arm around my shoulders as we walked down the street when I stuck to his approved diet. And I let him get away with it for far too long. He wrecked my self-esteem and made me hate my body so much that by the time I kicked him to the curb, I’d been obsessively tracking my food intake and making myself throw up if I went over by even one calorie.
“Would you like my help?” Easton asked,drawing me back to the present. I shook away the memories, blinking rapidly to clear the image of Calvin’s disappointed expression.
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” I replied, too caught off guard to think it through.
“Get into position,” he instructed, motioning to the rack. I dipped under the barbell and placed it across my shoulders, gripping the cool metal on each side. His large palms curled around my hands, and the unexpected contact made me gasp. The sound of his low chuckle whispered across my ear, and I scowled. He knew exactly what his touch did to me, yet being this close seemed to have no effect on him at all.
“Your hands are too far out. Bring them in a couple inches,” he said, scooting my hands in until they were in a satisfactory position. “Now, let the bar roll down your back just a bit. You want your shoulders bearing the brunt of the weight, not this little notch here.” Warm fingers pressed into the vertebrae at the base of my neck. It was tender from where the barbell had rested on it during my first set, and I had to admit, his way felt a lot better.
“Now step back, and let me see your stance.” I did as he instructed, and he moved away. His gaze felt like a brand on my skin. I could feel it moving down my body as he took in my stance, and I fought the urge to squirm under his inspection. It was discomfiting to have all his attention on me and not be able to see him. I needed to distract him so he didn’t focus on my flaws. My compression shorts did little to hide my cellulite, and Easton had an unobstructed view of my ass.
“What are you doing here so early?” I blurted out. He was quiet for a beat, then released a heavy sigh.
“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get a head start on my day.” That, I could relate to.
He stepped up to me again, and the heat of his skin warmed my back. Goosebumps pebbled my arms, and my breath hitched. He leaned in, his mouth only millimeters from my ear.
“Spread your legs for me.”
My eyes widened at the command, and my nipples pulled into tight peaks. I was thankful there were no mirrors facing me so he couldn’t see my reaction. I gulped past the lump in my throat as his leg slipped between mine. He tapped my instep with his foot.
“Wider,” he rasped, his chest rumbling against my back. He was so close, I could smell the spicy, masculine scent of his body wash. I fought the urge to close my eyes and lean into him. This was Easton Walker: playboy, super star hockey player, and bane of my existence. He was not interested in me. He’d made that perfectly clear. I needed to stay strong and not fall for his charms again. The flirting and teasing were all a game to him.
Gritting my teeth, I did as he asked, settling into a wider base. “Good,” he praised, and I ignored the way his deep voice made my stomach dip. “Now go down,” he said, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I was fully aware he was merely instructing me to do a rep so he could observe my form, but those words and that voice made it sound dirty, like a command I wanted to obey.
I waited for him to step back to give me enough room to complete the move, then lowered myself into a squat. It felt a little odd with the changes he made because I’d been doing things the same way for so long, but I felt steadier, more balanced.
“That’s better,” he announced, crowding my space again. “But you need to keep your spine neutral,” he instructed, running his fingers down each side of my spine. I fought a shiver as the skin on my back tingled beneath his touch. “You’re arching your back too much,” he continued, sliding his hand around my waist and flattening it against my stomach. “And you need to engage your core more.” My abs instinctively clenched in response to the contact. “Now I’m going to do one with you so you can see how it’s supposed to feel.”
A bead of sweat rolled down my back, and I was suddenly self-conscious about how much I was perspiring. I was certain he could feel the dampness through the thin material of my shirt, but if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care. I was all too aware of his hand resting just below my heavy breasts, his thumb toying with the edge of my sports bra.
“Ready?” he asked. I wasn’t, but I nodded anyway. “Ok, down,” he coached. I lowered myself slowly, trying to remember everything he’d told me. It was hard to think straight with his chest brushing against my back and his thighs bracketing mine. “Hold for one second and back up.” I did as he said, feeling the strain more in my glutes this time.
“Again,” he said, his husky voice sending a shiver down my spine. I obeyed his command, and this time, when I stood, I felt something long and hard press into my lower back. Before I could process what I was feeling, Easton dropped his hand and retreated, and I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“Now try a few on your own,” he instructed, seemingly unfazed by the contact. My heart was racing, and my panties were growing damp. This was the closest we’d been since the night we met, and I hated that he still had this affect on me. Attempting to ignore the desire coursing through my veins, I did as he instructed, completing my set while he observed.
“Much better,” he remarked as I returned the barbell to the rack. Hesitantly, I turned to face him, nervous to see his expression after watching me exercise. It was unnerving to have any eyes on me during a workout, let alone Easton’s.
He stood with his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. His hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it. Or like someone else had been. He studied me for a moment before speaking again.
“How long have you been doing squats like that?” He nodded toward the rack behind me.
“For a couple years,” I admitted.
“And nobody has tried to help you before? No trainers have corrected your form?”
“No,” I answered honestly. I didn’t start lifting until Calvin and I broke up, but he probably wouldn’t have helped me anyway. And I could never afford to pay extra for the trainers they had on staff. The fee wasn’t included in my membership. “I’ve never had a personal trainer before,” I added with a shrug.
He uncrossed his arms and casually stepped forward, bracing his hands on the rack. He was so close, I could’ve reached out and touched him. Instead, I kept my arms firmly at my sides, my hands curling to avoid doing something stupid, like running them through his hair. His scrutinizing gaze raked over my body as though cataloging every detail, but his expression gave nothing away. I held my breath, waiting to see what he would say next.
He opened his mouth to speak, but a sound from the hallway drew our attention to the doorway. Loud voices could be heard just outside the weight room. When I turned back to Easton, he had already moved back to the leg press and was adjusting the weight. He clearly didn’t want his teammates to see him chatting it up with me. God forbid, they think he was interested. We both knew he wasn’t.
A second later, the rookies poured in through the door. Quinn was the first to spot me. A huge grin split his face.
“Hey, Shayla! What are you doing here?” I forced a smile and grabbed my water bottle from the bench.
“Just getting my workout in before y’all got here. I’ll get out of your way.”
“You don’t have to leave on account of us,” Maxwell drawled, his eyes drinking me in with obvious desire. There was no doubt he liked what he saw. Unlike Easton, he was an open book. But I’d had my fair share of failed relationships with guys just like Maxwell. They wanted friends with benefits and casual hookups. That just wasn’t my thing, and the one time I tried it … well, we all knew how that turned out.
I glanced over at Easton who was studiously ignoring me as he got into position on the machine. That was fine. If he wanted to act like he hadn’t been pressed up against me with his hands on my body only minutes ago, I could pretend that his touch hadn’t affected me.
“No worries. I was finished here anyway,” I replied without a second glance in Easton’s direction and headed for the door. “I’ll see you guys later.” I walked out of the weight room and immediately slumped against the wall, pinching my eyes shut as I tried to gather my wits. What the hell had that been? Easton was so hot and cold. All the flirting and teasing mixed with his supposed disinterest was making my head spin.
Someone let out a low whistle, and my ears perked up and my eyes sprang open. “Hot damn, did you get a look at that cake?” That sounded like Maxwell. I rolled my eyes as a chorus of groans went up. Men . “I’m about to poke a damn hole through my gym shorts,” he continued, followed by a few murmurs of agreement. That was my cue to leave. I didn’t need to hear this. I worked with these guys, and I really didn’t want to feel awkward around them. “I just want to bury my face between those cheeks and…” His voice fell away as something that sounded suspiciously like motorboating took over. Shaking my head, I pushed off the wall, prepared to leave when a distinctly sharp voice stopped me in my tracks.
“You’re disgusting.”
My spine went rigid at the revulsion in Easton’s tone. Pressure built in my chest, and my breaths came in and out in a pant. So that was what he truly thought about me? All the flirting and teasing had been a game, just a way to screw with my head.
“Ah, come on, Walker. Don’t act like you wouldn’t hit it and quit it,” Maxwell mused.
“I wouldn’t,” he replied, his tone brokering no argument.
I should’ve been happy. It wasn’t like I’d ever allow that arrogant playboy anywhere near me now that I knew him. But for some reason, the rejection still stung, just like it had the moment he kicked me out of his hotel room.
Indignation burning in my chest, I took off down the hall, ensuring my footsteps were silent. I didn’t want them to know I’d overheard everything they’d said.
When I reached the bank of elevators that would take me up to my office, I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t run into any of the other players or staff on my way out, so there was no one there to see the tears welling in my eyes or to report they’d seen me loitering outside the weight room.
The reprieve was short lived. Because when I got off the elevator, there was someone waiting for me just outside my office. At the sound of my approach, the familiar figure turned to face me. My father’s salt and pepper hair was perfectly coiffed, his expertly tailored suit molded to his slim frame, and his Italian loafers were polished to an unblemished shine.
“I got your message. What did you want to speak with me about?”