Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
ELENA
The streets are empty except for delivery trucks and the occasional jogger with questionable life choices.
Cold air nips at my cheeks as I pull open the gym door.
Inside, the lights are still half-off, and the reception desk lamp glows like a lonely lighthouse.
The air is warm, quiet and still, like the whole building is breathing softly.
I check the time.
6:28.
Why am I here?
Because Colt texted:
COLT: If you want, I have a 6:30 a.m. session this Saturday that just opened up. Empty gym. Good time to push heavier without the usual stares from you-know-who.
An empty gym with myself and Colt Evans.
Right.
That isn’t dangerous at all.
I set my bag down just as he walks out from the back, hoodie on, hair messy, eyes sleepy but sharp when they land on me.
Oh no.
He looks good in the mornings.
Too good.
“Morning,” he says softly, his voice a little growlier than usual.
“Hi,” I whisper back, because my voice refuses to work at full volume when he looks like that.
He gestures to the weight area.
“Let’s get started.”
We warm up quietly—just the sound of breath, metal, and my inner monologue screaming.
He’s close today.
Closer than usual. Maybe because it’s early, or maybe because the gym is empty.
Or, maybe because pretending we’re “professional” feels stupid when we’re the only two hearts beating in a room full of silent machines.
“Let’s do deadlifts,” he says.
Of course he picks deadlifts.
I step up to the bar, and he steps behind me. He’s not touching me, he’s just there. I can feel the warmth of his presence.
“Feet hip-width,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough with morning. “Good. Engage here.”
His hand hovers near my hip—not tightly on it, but close enough that my skin reacts anyway.
I inhale sharply, and he notices.
“Relax your shoulders,” he whispers.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re absolutely not.”
I glare at him over my shoulder. He gives a small, crooked grin.
“Lift,” he says.
I lift, and the bar comes up slowly, until my breath catches at the top.
“Good,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Now, again.”
I lower, then lift. Each rep, he gets nearer. Or I do. Or maybe gravity pulls us together.
By the fifth rep, I can hear his breathing behind me, along with feeling the heat of him. I can almost sense his heartbeat syncing with mine.
“Last one,” he says, his voice low and throaty.
I lift and, this time, something happens. I don’t know if it’s the strain, the closeness, the quiet gym, the sleep deprivation, the ten weeks of tension. But when I reach the top of the rep…
I lean back just a little. It’s barely an inch, but it’s enough to change our vibe completely.
Because he steps forward instinctively to steady me, and his hands land on my waist, gripping me.
My breath stops, and his does too. We both freeze, and the bar hits the ground with a soft thud that echoes through the empty space.
“Elena,” he says, voice ragged. “That was good.”
I turn to face him. He’s too close. Like, impossibly close.
“Yeah? No notes?” I let my hand swipe the side of his leg, testing the waters.
His hands slide off my waist slowly, like letting go burns.
“We shouldn’t…” he starts, but he doesn’t move away.
“Right,” I whisper. “We shouldn’t. Because we’re…friends now.” I giggle. “Even though I’m kind of starting to hate you.”
“Oh? That so?”
“You always push me so hard…” I grin. “I hate it. Plus you just want to be friends. I…kind of hate you, Coach.”
“That right? You hate me now?”
“Maybe a little.”
We stay right there anyway for a beat that feels way too long. The emptiness of the gym is palpable.
I breathe in. He breathes out. Our eyes are locked on one another.
And then, I don’t know who moves first. Maybe we both do.
I just know that one second my eyes flicker toward his mouth, and the next?
His lips are on mine.
They’re soft, warm, and yet shockingly gentle for someone built like a Greek tragedy.
My hands grab his hoodie. Meanwhile his fingers flex at my waist, resisting, then giving in entirely, gripping into me.
He kisses me once, slow and searching. Then again, deeper, like he’s been holding back for weeks.
I gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound with another kiss.
Heat pulses through me, everything low in my stomach tightening.
He pulls back just a fraction, breath ghosting my lips.
“Elena,” he whispers, forehead touching mine. “This is… not professional. At all.”
“Then stop,” I whisper back. “But I think we both know it’s a little too late.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t.
He kisses me again.
And again.
And again.
It’s slow, sloppy at the edges, full of want and restraint fighting a losing battle.
When he finally forces himself to pull back, he looks ruined.
Hair messed from my hands.
Breathing hard.
Eyes blown wide.
“We can’t…” he says, voice hoarse. “We’re supposed to keep this simple.”
“Then we’re doing a terrible job,” I murmur. “Because nothing about this is simple.”
He huffs out a laugh, like he’s broken, amazed, and maybe a little lost.
His eyes search mine, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air between us. "What do we even do now?" he asks, his fingers still lingering at my waist, as if afraid to let go.
"I don’t know," I admit, breathless. "But I don’t want to stop."
He hesitates, his gaze flickering to my lips before locking back onto my eyes. There’s a hunger there, a desperate need that mirrors my own. “Elena, if we keep going…”
“Then let’s keep going,” I cut in, emboldened by the thrill of the moment. My heart races as I lean in again, pressing my mouth to his, tasting the warmth of his breath.
This kiss is different. More urgent, more demanding. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as his hands explore the curve of my back, mapping out every inch.
“God, you feel…” he murmurs against my mouth, trailing off as if the word escapes him.
“Feels right,” I whisper, my mind racing. “I’ve wanted this for too long.”
His hands tighten on me, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. “But what about the gym? The training?” He asks, breathless, but the fire in his eyes betrays his own wavering resolve.
“Right now, I don’t care about any of that,” I reply, feeling alive, daring him to respond.
His lips crash against mine again, rougher this time, igniting something wild inside me. We stumble back, caught in a whirlwind of heat and urgency, until my back hits the wall next to a weight bench. His body presses against mine, a delicious weight that sends shivers down my spine.
“Do you understand what you’re doing to me?” he asks, pulling back briefly, his breath a mix of disbelief and desire.
“I think I do,” I tease, my voice low and sultry. “And I think you like it.”
He groans, his forehead resting against mine as he fights against the heat building between us. “You have no idea.”
“Then let me show you,” I breathe, wrapping a leg around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the weight of his body meld against mine.
“Jesus, Elena,” he murmurs, eyes darkening with lust. “This is reckless.”
“Maybe it is,” I say, letting my hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his hoodie. “But it’s what I want. It’s what we both want.”
With a fierce need, he crashes his lips against mine again, the kiss deepening, fueled by the urgency of everything we’ve kept bottled up.
The world outside fades away, leaving just him and me, tangled in this moment of reckless abandon.
Each kiss ignites a fire in me, every touch pulling us deeper into the storm of our desires.
He groans as my fingers slip beneath the hem of his hoodie, tracing the skin of his abdomen.
I shiver at the sound of my name on his lips, his voice laced with both desperation and longing. “This is so wrong…”
“Maybe,” I breathe against his mouth, “but it feels so damn good.”
With every breath, every kiss, we forget the boundaries we’ve set, melting into something that feels almost inevitable.
The gym, the rules, the training—all of it fades into nothingness as we lose ourselves in each other, suspended in this heated moment, daring to explore what’s been building between us all along.
His hands grip my hips, fingers digging into my skin as he lifts me slightly, positioning me on the edge of the workout bench.
The cool metal sends a jolt through me, but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating between us.
I can barely think, every rational thought drowned out by the overwhelming desire surging through me.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and commanding, laced with raw urgency.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I reply, pulling him closer, my fingers trailing up his arms, feeling the tension in his muscles.
With a predatory smirk, he captures my mouth again, deepening the kiss as his hands slide down to my waist, lifting my shirt over my head in one swift motion. The fabric falls away, and I gasp at the rush of cool air against my skin, amplifying the heat of his body pressed against mine.
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over me like a feast laid out before him. “Good. Because I’m not stopping,” he growls, the sincerity in his voice sending a thrill through me.
“Your turn,” I challenge, biting my lip and tugging on the hem of his hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside, revealing the chiseled lines of his chest and the definition of his abs. I can’t help but stare, my fingers itching to explore every inch.
“Damn,” I whisper, feeling emboldened as I trace my fingertips across his skin.
His eyes darken with need as he leans in, kissing down my neck, his mouth trailing lower, teasing along my collarbone. The sensation sends shivers through me, igniting a fire low in my stomach.
“Colt,” I gasp, my voice shaky as I arch my back, craving more of his touch.
He pulls back slightly, a commanding look in his eyes. “I want to hear you say it again.”
“Colt,” I reply, this time with a breathless urgency.