Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Let’s stop and cool down,” Lewis says a block from my place.
We ran five miles. I’ve been running several times a week since Cali and I moved to Tahoe. I’ve acclimated to the altitude, so the run was easy.
Beads of sweat work their way down the smooth lines of Lewis’s brow, but he’s not breathing heavily either. He lifts the bottom of his T-shirt and wipes his forehead—and a flash of abdominal muscles assaults my vision.
I trip on the asphalt. Then hop a couple times to make it look like I’m loosening up.
We ran for forty-five minutes without incident, but Lewis pulls up his shirt, revealing his stomach, and my brain spasms. I saw him shirtless at the Beacon, but the sneak peek is entirely too sexy. Why did I think I could train with him?
“You’re a runner,” he says, apparently not catching on to the effect his naked body had on me, thank God. “We’ll only use it to warm up if you’re running on your own. I’ll show you muscle-building exercises before I leave. Your backyard open?”
I nod and we head inside my house. I grab bottles of water and lead Lewis out back. He drops the duffel he pulled from his truck and it lands with a thud and a poof of powdery soil.
Lewis takes a gulp of water and screws the cap back on, looking me over. “You have a sports bra on under that?”
Where’s he going with this? My extra-large T-shirt covers me from neck to thighs, stopping just above the bottom of my boxy running shorts. Attractive. “Yeah,” I say hesitantly.
“Can you take off your shirt?”
“What?”
He stares impatiently. “I’m showing you exercises. I need to make sure you’ve got the posture and movements correct so you don’t hurt yourself. I can’t do that if you’re covered in a sack.”
My mouth parts. Is he saying he noticed my effort to hide my upper body and he doesn’t approve?
I whip off my top and glare. “Better?”
His jaw tightens. He grumbles something I can’t decipher and reaches for his duffel. “Spread your legs shoulder-width apart.”
Something about him telling me to spread my legs in his smooth, masculine voice sends a shiver down my back, which I ignore, ’cause it’s not helping. I do as he says, and he hands me two seven-pound weights. He grabs another pair and executes a basic shoulder exercise.
He nods. “Your turn. Keep your biceps level.”
Lewis moves in front of me, feet spread until his eyes are nearly even with mine. Wide palms lightly cradle my elbows as I repeat his example, his fingers warming my skin. Wafts of aftershave and Lewis hit me, and my movements falter.
I breathe deeply, but that makes it worse. I stare at his chin because I can’t look higher; his fathomless eyes are a dangerous place.
He slides his hands off me and steps back, as if easing away from a feral animal. He crouches on his toes, watching me. “One set of twenty,” he says, his voice a touch unsteady.
I need to get my mind off this tension between us. Lifting my arms the way he showed me, I try to clear my head. “I met your dad and he seems nice. Tell me about your mom.”
Lewis’s gaze follows my movements as I perform the exercise. “Feisty. Smart. Runs the household.”
I exhale and complete another rep. “Your dad isn’t in charge?” I don’t have a dad, so the inner workings of a real family are a bit of a mystery.
Lewis chuckles sardonically. “No. My dad can be scattered, organization-wise. But my parents are good partners. My mom does the bookkeeping for the business. She’s just—you know—a strong woman.”
I swallow, my next rep less steady. I don’t exude the strength he describes, but I feel it. I’ve just kept it locked away. “I think I’ve got this. What’s next?”
He shows me four more exercises to build upper body strength, his steady gaze as I practice driving me nuts.
Does he have to do that? Stare? I’m in a sports bra, which pretty much reveals everything, but he’s not even looking at my boobs.
He’s gazing at my face, my eyes—like he’s seeing something not obvious from the outside.
I don’t know why that stirs something in me. A stupid, wild fantasy of tipping him off balance and pouncing on him runs through my head.
God, I’m more like my mom than I thought.
Lewis stands and collects the heavier weights. “That’s good. Do the exercises I showed you every other day. Tomorrow we’ll train on obstacles.”
“Mudder obstacles? The race lets us do that?”
He zips the duffel closed. “No, we’re making our own.”
“The whole team?”
He shakes his head and looks over. “Just us. You need more work than they do.”
Sad, but true. “Are the other participants creating mudder obstacles to practice on?”
He shrugs as if to say, who cares. “You want to finish, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Crap. That’s all I need—to get annihilated on the field by a bunch of alpha dudes.
“How about winning?” he asks.
“That’s not something remotely realistic, but of course I want to win. Who wouldn’t want prize money?”
He pulls the duffel on his shoulder and straightens. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want the prize money?” he says.
I grab my T-shirt and yank it over my head. “I just do.” Why is he so negative about me doing the race? “I could use it for school, okay?”
He nods as if I’ve given him an acceptable explanation.
What the hell? Who cares if I want to buy a new nose with the winnings?
His mouth spreads into a sexy grin, and my heart skitters in my chest. “Good luck,” he says and walks toward the gate. “You’ll be up against me. I finaled last year.”
Friggin’ hell. Women don’t compete against men, but still. He just threw down another challenge.