Chapter 5 #2
Like many people, I could be super judgy at times, something I hated about myself. And he was making it extremely difficult not to judge. Because no matter the circumstances and unknowns, it took a special level of arrogance to assume someone was gay because they hadn’t flirted with him.
Excuse me, I was there to get healthy and achieve goals. Not flirt with my PT.
“By the way, please don’t talk about Ethan being my PT with others,” I said. “He and I haven’t addressed the fact that my nephew and his brother are together. And at this stage, I feel weird bringing it up.”
Chloe tilted her head, curious. “You mean, you haven’t even mentioned that you’re part of each other’s extended family? That’s a bit strange, doll. You will attend the same birthday party for Jayden next Saturday.”
Yeah…
I scratched the side of my head. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“In addition, are you sure he knows?” she pressed. “While I talk about my darlin’ sister all the time, I wouldn’t bet on my four boys doing so—and they see Ethan much more often than I do.”
Fair point. I actually didn’t know if Ethan realized I was related to Gray. He must’ve considered it since he knew our last name, but perhaps he was waiting for me to bring it up. Or the thought hadn’t even occurred to him! Who knew?
“I guess I’ll talk to him on Monday,” I sighed.
Morning, Natalie. How was your girls’ night? You mentioned on Friday that you might struggle to make healthy choices in social situations. Did you?
I yawned and squinted at the display.
Christ. He’d sent the text at seven in the freaking morning—over an hour ago. It was Sunday! Did he ever rest?
I rolled onto my side and locked the screen so it wouldn’t flip while I responded.
Morning, Coach. It was easier than I thought it would be to limit my wine intake.
I didn’t go overboard with the cheese and snacks either, but then my sister put out her strawberry pie.
It’s one of my favorites, and I can’t lie, I had two servings.
I don’t feel too bad, though. I was enjoying myself, and I decided to take an extra-long walk today.
I sent it off and slipped the phone under my pillow.
It was too early. My eyes felt heavy, and I wanted a lazy morning. I’d earned it.
Just as I was about to doze off, my pillow vibrated, and I groaned. I couldn’t ignore his text.
You shouldn’t feel bad. Taking a longer walk sounds great, and I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I’ll check in with you tonight. Have a good Sunday.
“You don’t make sense, you weirdo,” I whispered to myself.
How could he be so kind and still so conceited?
Even if these texts were part of the package I paid for, he was the creator of said programs. He had decided to include a texting service, both personal and automated.
Once a day, I received helpful reminders to get up and move around, drink my water, and prepare healthy snacks.
And some of those texts were so spot-on for my situation that I was certain he occasionally went into whatever software he used and altered the texts to benefit me specifically.
In the end, my curiosities got the best of me, and I replied again.
You seem to work very hard. Do you need someone to remind you to rest? ;) It’s Sunday, Coach!
I hoped the wink was enough to assure him I wasn’t complaining.
If anything, I was amazed at his level of energy.
Even if I didn’t see him personally every time I was at the gym, I knew he was around.
His schedule was public, both printed on the event wall for that day’s classes and available digitally whenever I logged in to their site to record my workouts.
Ethan taught kickboxing, hosted various classes, worked as a personal trainer, offered rehab sessions, and did online coaching in nutrition and physical health.
The latter was a service available to anyone in the country, explaining why he benefited from a large following.
Plus, he’d shown multiple times that he understood the importance of maintaining good mental health as well, so he must’ve studied a crapload to be who he was.
Last but not least, he managed his business.
As a business owner myself, I knew how much shit was running in the background, all of it requiring attention and maintenance.
He responded shortly after.
Sunday is meal prep day for me. Already went to the grocery store, and the chicken is almost done in the oven. Don’t worry, I get plenty of rest. But it requires a fair bit of work to stay at my level. ;)
Okay, his wink was just weird. Unless I was being judgy again. I wasn’t sure, to be honest. I needed more sleep—
Oh. He was texting more. The dots were moving.
There. Today’s ab workout has been posted on Insta too. #GettingShitDone
“Oh my God.” I cringed and laughed into my pillow. Who texted hashtags? And was there any other reason to let me know he’d uploaded a photo of himself than wanting me to check it out?
Christ. I was going back to sleep. I’d give him a “Good for you!” later.
“You see that, Natalie? Twelve minutes. Last week, you couldn’t do half of that.”
Yeah, fucking awesome. I panted like a madwoman, hands planted on my thighs, zero composure. My God, kill me. Mondays were horrible. I hated Mondays.
I hated the treadmill too.
“Take a short break, and then we’ll hit the pool,” he said, handing me my water bottle.
Ugh.
I accepted the bottle and straightened up with a groan. My back hated me.
I kinda hated Ethan today too. He’d woken up in the mood to push; that was for sure.
He wasn’t bothering with a T-shirt today either. I’d gotten here just in time for him to finish his workout, and he’d just stayed shirtless.
It wasn’t like I minded the view, but it didn’t feel particularly professional.
“I’ll wipe down the machine—you can go change into your swimsuit,” he said.
“Okay.” I let out a labored breath and stepped down from the treadmill. “I already changed, though.”
He eyed the shoulder strap visible under my baggy T-shirt. “Of course you have. Then chug some water and stretch. I’ll see you down there.”
Hmm. I did as told and headed downstairs, but something about his response bugged me. Why had he said it like that? Of course you have.
Maybe I was overthinking.
The pool area was completely abandoned after the morning classes had wrapped up, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Not even the humidity bothered me, because I’d soon get to sink into that water and shield myself for the next part of my workout.
Water was great that way. I was automatically more limber, lighter, and nobody could see me sweat buckets.
I dropped my bag on a chair in the corner, and I made quick work of shedding my tee and leggings. I wanted to be in the water before he showed up.
I’d grown to like the small size of the pool. It was intimate, certainly no bleachers around, and I was allowed to dim the lights. I didn’t this time, since he was joining me.
I’d become a regular here. I usually came down here around one every day, and I stayed for an hour or two, alternating between swimming and jogging and stretching.
I took a quick shower in the far corner, where I also refilled my water bottle, and then I got into the water.
“Finally,” I exhaled.
The pool could’ve been deeper, maybe. The water ended right below my chest when I stood up straight. Then again, for baby swim classes and water aerobics for seniors, anything deeper would be less than optimal.
Ethan came down the stairs soon enough, and I watched him through the glass walls.
He had a white towel rolled under his arm, and he was untying the drawstrings of his shorts.
Perhaps he’d changed earlier too. I already knew he was a Speedo guy.
He had the body of a ripped swimmer, with wide shoulders and…
I guessed that was where the similarities ended.
Ethan Quinn never missed leg day, and he carried more bulk than a swimmer.
That was the one thing he’d shared about himself during our initial interview, when he’d bombarded me with questions.
His first venture into the world of athletics had been to join the high school swim team.
He’d also played football. And countless sports after that, which he mentioned in passing. Field hockey, lacrosse, martial arts…
He opened the door and plastered his PT smile on his face, and he walked toward the three showers. “I forgot to ask earlier. When was the last time you had a nice bowl of pasta?”
Hnngh.
“I can’t even remember,” I chuckled.
“I figured.” He reached the corner and unceremoniously dropped his shorts to reveal a pair of black Speedos that he, um, filled out very well.
Jesus. “I have a recipe you’re welcome to try this week.
I take one part lentil pasta and one part regular pasta, and I serve it with a semi-healthy pesto that I make myself.
Throw some sundried tomatoes and shredded mozzarella in there, and you’ve got yourself a feast.”
That…sounded fucking incredible. “My mouth is watering,” I joked. “Is that allowed, though? I know you mentioned metabolic confusion and variety and all that, but it sounds heavy.”
He turned on the shower and stepped under the spray. “It’s a heavier meal, no doubt,” he conceded. “I call it a once-a-week kind of dish. But it’s great in between two bigger workouts.”
I averted my gaze, feeling a bit too much like the women he accused of always gawking at him. “I’d love to try it.” I cleared my throat. “Do you like to cook?”
“I love it, actually.” He let out a chuckle. “Unfortunately, nobody in my family is interested in the food I make.”
So, like…Darius and those people…?
This was the perfect time to bring up the fact that we were sort of family, but I simply didn’t want to. I feared it would shatter the professional relationship we had, and he’d go from strictly my PT and coach to…something else.