2. Ashton
Chapter 2
Ashton
A few minutes earlier
“One more,” I order. “Good. Again.”
Megan does three more crunches, and then, despite my strongest urging, she falls back on her mat.
“Get up,” I say. “You have more in you.”
“No, I don’t.” She pants until she catches her breath. “You know, I think you’re more of a drill sergeant over video than in person. I thought that maybe?—”
“Don’t you want that six pack for your superheroine role?”
She nods sheepishly.
“Then do as I tell you. I’m here to help you accomplish what you want.” I leave the obvious unsaid: If you don’t like my training style, get a trainer who will pussyfoot around… and then suffer the consequences, of which the lack of a six pack would just be the start.
“No. I like your style.” Her eyes gleam with mischief. “I guess I’m still not used to instructions like that… outside the bedroom.”
I pretend I didn’t hear the last bit. I don’t date clients, not even if they’re Hollywood sex symbols like Megan.
“Have you been following the meal plan?” I ask, mostly to change the topic.
She shakes her head. “My stomach has been cramping, and before you ask, it’s not that time of the month.”
I frown. “I might’ve given you too much fiber. Let me update the plan and shoot it over to you after you finish abs.”
“Actually, I’m afraid we have to wrap up now,” she says. “I have to get back to set.”
I narrow my eyes at my phone screen. “Are you trying to get out of doing your reps?”
“No,” she says with a slight eyeroll. “Do you want me to get a note from the producer?”
“No. But if this keeps up, I might just make you.”
“Yes, sir.” She gives me a mock military salute.
Strangely, I get that a lot from my clients. Maybe I should’ve joined the army. I toyed with the idea in high school, but my parents were strongly against it and I still listened to them at that point, so I went to college and then to business school—much to my regret.
I must be frowning because Megan says worriedly, “Hey, Ashton, I was just kidding. Please don’t drop me as a client. I need that six pack, and you’re the best person to get me there.”
“Then follow the meal plan,” I say gruffly. “And make sure we have an uninterrupted hour tomorrow.”
“I will do that, I swear.”
With that, she ends our video call.
I check my calendar. Today is a very light day. All I have left is a sparring session with my friend Marcus.
Good. This gives me a chance to browse the app store for a better way to help my clients when I’m not training them in person. What I’m looking for is an app that would let me track their progress while they’re working out alone, and that would also have video capability—both for playing pre-recorded videos and for interactive sessions. Ideally, it should incorporate my meal plans, my sleep and hydration recommendations, as well as?—
Someone places a hand on my shoulder. In an eyeblink, I’m on my feet, about to break the arm of the person who startled me.
“Jesus, chill,” Gerald says.
Shit. I almost assaulted the owner of Essence and the person who’s helped me greatly with my career.
“Sorry about that.” I let go of his wrist and step back. “I tend to get jumpy when someone sneaks up on me.”
No idea why that is, either. I think I was maybe born in the wrong place and time. With my violent reflexes, I would’ve made a great gladiator in Ancient Rome. Or a barbarian.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says with a smirk. “I’ll wear a bell next time.”
“How can I help?” I smile broadly—a trick I use to put people at ease, especially after almost assaulting them.
Gerald smiles back. “I need a big favor.”
“Sure. With what?”
Whatever it is, I doubt I can refuse. This gym has some unique equipment that I’d like to continue to have access to.
“Ash called in sick,” Gerald says.
Wait a second. “Ash?”
“Asher,” he says. “Don’t worry. There’s no other Ashton here.”
“Which one is he? The short one?”
He sighs. “He’s about your height. His distinguishing feature is that he’s the least competent trainer here, so you covering for him will be a big upgrade for his clients.”
“Hey, I was going to help you even without smoke up my ass,” I say. “But with it, I’ll even allow his clients to call me Ash—and you know how much I hate shortening my name.”
“So far it’s a client,” he says. “Singular.”
“Ah. Okay. Where is he?”
He gestures toward the cardio machines by the entrance. “ She is on the third treadmill on the right. Brown hair. Pretty. Her name is Kendall.”
Pretty? Another one? I’ve recently decided that I prefer to work with less attractive female clients because that makes it easier to follow my self-imposed “no sleeping with clients” rule.
Oh, well.
“All right,” I say. “I’ve got it from here.”
“Thanks.”
He leaves, and I head toward Kendall.
And… fuck me. Thanks to the mirrors all over the place, the closer I get, the better I can see her from the front and back—and I realize that Gerald calling this woman “pretty” was an understatement of sperm whale proportions.
She is not merely pretty.
She is beautiful.
No. Gorgeous. With her long, sleek dark hair sweeping from side to side, she looks like she’s running toward a shampoo commercial. The borrowed leggings and tank top worn by every other woman at this gym look both stylish and effortless on her. They hug her tight, perfect body in all the right places, and with the small beads of sweat glistening on her smooth skin, nothing can stop the X-rated images circling through my mind.
Are her nipples showing through her top? If it were up to me, I would take her back to my place right now and?—
A spike of adrenaline cuts down on my musings as I notice Kendall fumbling for the safety tether. And then… Shit!
She takes flight.
I leap forward as my martial arts training kicks in.
Landing next to her treadmill, I spread my arms.
She smashes vertically into my embrace.
Reflexively, I cradle her against me, all her soft parts a perfect fit with my hard ones. Which, to my shock, get much, much harder as blood surges through my veins and primal awareness of her envelops my senses. I’m sharply cognizant of everything about her—her slender curves… her feminine scent, a mixture of apple and hibiscus, with a hint of something ineffable that’s purely her… the way she’s panting and trembling, as if I’ve just made her come…
Which I very much want to do, over and over again, with my tongue, and my hands, and my cock.
My inner barbarian is already scouting nearby surfaces, like the bench to my left and the yoga mats in the corner and?—
“Thank you,” she says breathlessly, her hazel eyes glued to mine.
“You’re welcome.” I keep holding her against me, as though if I let go, she’ll continue her terrifying trajectory to the floor.
“Seriously.” She moistens her pink, soft-looking lips. “You can let go of me now.”
Ah.
Right.
With great reluctance, I set her on her feet and step back. The fog of lust is slowly clearing from my brain, leaving room for other emotions—like anger.
What the fuck was she thinking, being so careless?
She could’ve gotten badly hurt.
I could’ve not caught her in time.
She could’ve been?—
“Aren’t you going to say something?” She blinks her long, sooty eyelashes at me.
“Yes,” I grit out. “Don’t you ever, ever, do something like that again. Is that understood?”