Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
bennet
The most distracting thing about Jason wasn’t his flippant attitude or his on-the-nose sense of humor or even the way he was the center of gravity for everyone’s gaze in whichever room he entered. The most distracting thing about him was his tight shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt.
He was late, as always, so I’d gone to the locker room, changed, and hopped onto a treadmill for a slow warm-up. I nearly lost my footing when he entered, dressed in pale blue with white trimming and with a big water bottle in his hand and a towel over his shoulder.
Maybe I was too used to seeing him in little more than sweatpants so that walking around in a cute top made him look risky.
“Wow,” he said, stopping short when he spotted me. “You’re already working. I feel judged.”
“You’re ten minutes late,” I said, gripping the handrails until my balance came back. “I figured I’d start without you.”
He grinned like I’d paid him a compliment. “Look at you. Gym guy.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“Mock?” He lifted his hands. “Never.”
He fell into step beside the treadmill, walking backward for a moment like he had no sense of direction. His eyes tracked the display, then my stride, then my posture. The attention made my skin prickle.
“Slow it down a notch,” he said. “Longer stride. Let your hips move. You’re stiff.”
“I went yesterday,” I said. “I’m sore.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “You’ll warm up.”
I finished my warm-up and stepped off, heart thudding for reasons that had nothing to do with cardio. Jason handed me his towel without thinking. I took it. Our fingers brushed. It shouldn’t have felt like anything, but it did.
“Okay,” he said, clapping once. “Let’s start light. Machines first.”
He led me to a row of equipment and set the weight without asking, like he already knew where my limits were. I bristled, then surprised myself by trusting him.
“Seat higher,” he said, crouching to adjust it. “You want your knees just shy of locking.”
He tapped my shin with two fingers, and my pulse jumped.
I followed his instructions. The first set burned in a good, clean way. Jason watched, arms folded, head tilted, eyes focused. When my form wobbled, he stepped in.
“Hold,” he said, and his hands were on my hips, warm and steady. He nudged me a fraction of an inch, like he was aligning something delicate. “There. Feel that?”
I did. Everywhere.
My breath went uneven. I told myself it was the exertion.
“Better,” he said quietly, close enough that I could smell his soap. “Again.”
Each exercise built on the last. Press. Pull.
Curl. My muscles responded like they’d been waiting for this exact combination of pressure and attention.
Jason didn’t hover, but he didn’t look away either.
He corrected me with a word, a touch, a look that said he was paying attention in a way that felt intimate despite the mirrors and the clank of weights around us.
At the free weights, he stood behind me, guiding my grip on the bar. His fingers wrapped over mine, adjusting my thumbs and then my wrists.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmured. “Let the weight move with you.”
I nodded, swallowing. My shoulders shook on the last rep. Jason’s palm settled between my shoulder blades, not pushing, just there for support.
“Good,” he said. “You’re stronger than you think.”
The praise hit me way harder than it should have.
We moved to the mats. Planks. Core work. Sweat slicked my skin. My shirt clung.
Jason dropped down beside me without hesitation, bracing himself like it was nothing to share the floor. Well, after having spent a night next to his shirtless figure, oblivious to his presence, this wasn’t even a little weird.
“Eyes forward,” he said. “Breathe.”
I was acutely aware of his proximity. Of the line of his arm, the flex of muscle when he shifted, and the fact that he was doing this with me, not over me.
When my form faltered, his hand came to my lower back, firm and anchoring. “Don’t sag. There.”
I held it. Shook. Held it longer.
“Time,” he said, and I collapsed onto my side, laughing breathlessly despite myself.
“You’re evil,” I said.
“Effective,” he corrected, offering me a hand. I took it. He pulled me up with an ease that made my stomach flip.
At the cable machine, he stood close again, adjusting the height, then my stance. His knuckles brushed my forearm. His breath warmed my ear when he leaned in to speak.
“Pull to here,” he said, guiding the motion with his hand hovering just shy of contact. “Control it. Don’t rush.”
I didn’t rush. I couldn’t. Every sense felt sharpened, tuned to the slide of muscle under skin, the way my body answered his cues like it wanted to impress him.
By the time we stretched, my legs trembled, and my shirt was damp through. Jason dropped to the mat across from me and mirrored my movements without comment. We breathed. The noise of the gym receded.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Tired,” I said. “In a good way.”
He smiled, softer than I was used to seeing. “You did great.”
The word great sat between us, warm and dangerous.
When we stood, the moment lingered. Jason handed me my water. I drank, then realized my hands were shaking.
“Next time,” he said, voice light again, “we’ll add more weight.”
“There’s a next time?” I said before I could stop myself.
His eyes flicked to mine. Something passed there, quick and unreadable. “Yeah,” he said. “If you want.”
I did. I wanted to say it plainly. Instead, I nodded and wiped my hands on my towel, heart still racing.
As we walked toward the locker rooms, side by side, not touching, I was aware of the space between us and how charged it felt.
My muscles ached. My skin buzzed. And for the first time all day, the noise in my head went silent.
The locker room was quieter than the gym floor, the air warm and heavy with steam and the faint bite of disinfectant. Lockers slammed somewhere down the row, metal echoing, then faded. Jason walked ahead of me, towel slung over his shoulder, easy in his body in a way that felt almost unreal.
I stalled at my locker for half a second too long.
Jason didn’t.
He dropped his towel onto the bench and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. The fabric slid up his torso, revealing skin still flushed from the workout, muscles loose and warm and alive. He didn’t perform it. He didn’t slow down. He just existed in his body like it belonged to him.
My mouth went dry.
I told myself to look away. I just couldn’t
He took off his shoes, peeled his socks off, then pushed his shorts off his hips and stepped out of them, left in nothing but fitted underwear that did nothing to hide how solid he was.
Thighs. Hips. Ass. My God, when he turned a little, the shape of his crotch took away what little air had been left in my lungs.
I swallowed and turned to my own locker, hands suddenly clumsy.
My fingers fumbled with the zipper of my hoodie.
When I pulled it off, the air hit my damp skin and raised goose bumps along my arms. I peeled my shirt over my head more carefully than necessary, acutely aware of every inch of myself, from the narrowness of my shoulders to the flatness of my stomach.
My skin still glistened faintly with sweat.
I felt it before I saw it.
Jason was looking at me.
Not in a quick, accidental glance. Not in the polite way people pretended not to notice. His gaze was steady, curious, and open. It traced, assessed, and lingered.
My breath went shallow as I pulled the waistband of my shorts. I stepped out of them and stood there in my underwear, suddenly very aware of the vulnerability of it. Of how exposed I felt in comparison to him. Of how much I wanted him to look and how terrifying it was that he already was.
Jason’s expression shifted, something thoughtful crossing his face. “You’ve got a good constitution,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather.
I blinked. “What?”
He smiled faintly. “I mean it. You recover fast. Your form holds even when you’re tired.
” His eyes moved again, slower this time, mapping me with care and without a trace of shame.
“Your frame’s actually perfect for strength work.
You won’t ever be a heavyweight monster, but you don’t need to be.
You could build a really clean definition if you wanted. Aesthetic, you know.”
I laughed weakly. “I just want healthy habits.” The words came out breathless, betraying me. His gaze dragged over me again, unhurried.
“That’s hot, too,” he said, after a beat.
Heat rushed into my face so fast it felt like I might combust. My skin prickled everywhere at once.
He blinked, then grimaced. “I made you blush. Sorry.”
I shook my head quickly. “You just say things,” I said, trying to find solid ground. “You say things, and I don’t know what they mean.”
Jason shifted back a step, giving me space without being asked. The movement felt intentional. The silence between us thickened, heavy enough to suffocate. Steam drifted lazily from the showers nearby.
My gaze dropped despite myself. It dropped to the small space between us. To his smooth legs. To his thighs and hips before sliding up his stomach, over the planes of his chest, and finally to his eyes.
They were warm. Melted chocolate, soft and intent and far too attentive.
“I never know what people mean,” I said quietly. “But you take the cake, Jason.”
He huffed a small breath, something close to a laugh. “I never know how to say things.”
I hugged my towel a little closer without meaning to, suddenly hyperaware of my own skin, my own shape, how much smaller I felt next to him. He, meanwhile, stood there utterly at ease, shoulders round and loose, waist tapered, abs defined even though he wasn’t flexing them.
“I prefer when people are blunt and direct,” I said, forcing the words out. “If it helps.”
“Blunt and direct,” Jason repeated, thoughtful.
He closed his eyes and drew in a breath, his chest rising slowly. When he opened them again, he looked straight at me.