Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ELENA
Late afternoon Tuesday, The gym is crowded again.
The vibe is different today. Meaning, no quiet morning intimacy, no lingering glances, no accidental kisses between reps.
Just fluorescent lights, clanking weights, and Colt pretending he didn’t spend an entire weekend turning my bones to jelly.
He’s calm today. Focused and professional seeming, which would be great…
If I were any of those things.
But I’m distracted. Extremely distracted.
There’s his voice. The feel of his hands adjusting my form.
Plus his smile that only hits one side first.
And, of course fact that I’ve seen him without a shirt now—or shorts—and will probably never recover.
We’re finishing our cool-down stretching when someone clears his throat loudly behind us.
Colt and I look up at the same time to see him.
Damien.
He’s got his hands on hips, and his jaw clenched with an expression like he just smelled gym socks from 2009.
But he’s staring at me.
“Elena,” he says, too brightly. “Do you have a second?”
Colt turns to stone.
I blink. “Uh… sure?”
Damien gestures toward a semi-private nook near the smoothie bar. Colt shoots me a panicked look like I’m walking toward a firing squad.
I shrug at him and follow Damien.
He stops, faces me, then clasps his hands.
And with all the seriousness of a man issuing a subpoena, he says:
“I need to ask you something…quite sensitive.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Are you dying?” I whisper dramatically.
“No.”
“Oh. Okay. Then I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Damien does NOT laugh.
He leans in a little.
“Elena, has there been anything…inappropriate…happening between you and Colt?”
My brain short-circuits.
My mouth opens.
Closes.
Then I grin wide. It’s involuntary but idiotic.
Damien’s eyes narrow.
“No,” I say. “No. Absolutely not. Nothing inappropriate. Everything is…very appropriate.”
He squints at me harder.
“Really?”
“Really,” I say brightly. “One hundred percent. Pure professionalism. He’s very professional. So professional. Honestly? He’s probably the most professional human I’ve ever met. I should nominate him for an award. A professionalism award.”
Damien just stares.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Smiling like what?” I lie, smiling harder.
“Your face says otherwise.”
“This is my neutral gym face.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, suffering.
“Elena…I’m going to ask you clearly. Has Colt done anything out of line? Said anything? Made you uncomfortable? Crossed a line?”
I laugh again, loudly. Too loud.
“No!” I wave a hand. “God, no. He barely even touches me during training. He’s like—like a monk. A fitness monk. A monk with a whistle.”
Damien’s eyes narrow.
“Did you say…fitness monk?”
“Exactly.”
The man looks exhausted.
“Look,” he tries again, “I need to protect our trainers but also make sure our clients feel safe. So if there’s anything—”
“There’s nothing,” I cut in. “Nothing but a completely normal trainer-client relationship. Colt walks by right then, and we make eye contact.
It is not boring.
That’s for sure.
Damien follows my gaze, sees the eye contact last half a second too long, and turns back to me slowly.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“Blink twice if you’re lying.”
I heave a sigh and finally decide I’ve had enough. I’ve been around the corporate block long enough to know exactly how these little “concerned conversations” work.
“Okay, you know what?” I say, folding my arms. “I pay four hundred dollars a month to voluntarily let your employees bully me into doing squats until my soul leaves my body. If Colt and I were doing anything inappropriate, trust me, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to conduct it three feet from the smoothie fridge. ”
Damien opens his mouth, but nothing seems to come out, so I keep going.
“And respectfully? If this gym spent half as much energy fixing the broken rowing machine as it does monitoring eye contact, we’d all be thriving.”
A couple people nearby suddenly become very interested in wiping down equipment.
“I’m a grown woman,” I add. “Colt is a grown man. He tells me to do lunges, I complain about lunges, and then I go home and consider legal action against Bulgarian split squats. That is the extent of our relationship.”
He mutters something about early retirement and wanders off, possibly emotionally destroyed.
I turn to find Colt staring at me, wide-eyed.
“Well?” he asks carefully. “How bad was that?”
“I handled it,” I say proudly.
“Handled it how?”
“I told him we were Puritans. And that you were basically a professional monk.” I wink.
Colt groans into his hands. “Oh God.”
I walk past him, bumping his shoulder lightly.
“Relax, Coach Evans,” I whisper. “We’re totally subtle.”
He looks at me like I’ve just announced I’m going to juggle chainsaws.
“Elena,” he says weakly, “we are not subtle.”
I grin. “Then we should probably work on that.”
He stares at me, and the hint of a smile runs across his face.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We probably should.”
Just then, as I see Damien head out the front door, my eyes spark with an idea.
“Hey, Colt…can you uh, show me something in the locker room.”
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“There’s something broken,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I wanted to shower and it’s not working. Can you take a look?”
Colt hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Sure, let’s go check it out.”
We make our way to the locker room, the sound of clanking weights and distant chatter fading as we step inside. The room is empty, the air filled with the faint scent of soap and steam.
“So, what’s the problem?” Colt asks, turning to me as the door swings shut behind us.
I bite my lip, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. “Well, I think it’s the showerhead. It’s just not…performing like it should.”
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, stepping closer to him. “I think it needs a thorough inspection.”
Before he can respond, I reach out and tug at the waistband of his shorts, pulling him toward one of the private shower stalls. He follows, a mix of surprise and desire in his eyes.
“Elena, what are you—”
“Shh,” I whisper, pushing him gently into the stall and closing the curtain behind us. The small space is filled with steam, the sound of the running water echoing off the tiles.
I don’t waste any time, my hands sliding down to his waist, tugging at his shorts. He watches me, his breath hitching as I slowly pull them down, revealing his already hard length. I can’t help but gasp at the sight of him, the size of him making my heart race.
“God, yes,” I murmur, my fingers wrapping around him, feeling the weight of him in my hand.
He groans, his head falling back against the tiles as I begin to stroke him, my touch firm and sure. “Elena…”
“Shh,” I whisper again, dropping to my knees in front of him. The water cascades over us, dampening our skin, but I barely notice, my focus entirely on him.
I take his tip into my mouth, and he lets out a ragged breath. His fingers tangling in my wet hair as I begin to move, taking him deeper with each stroke.
“Jesus, Elena,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. “You feel… incredible.”
I hum in response, the vibration making him groan again. I can feel him throbbing in my mouth, the taste of him intoxicating. I pick up the pace, my hands and mouth working in unison, driving him closer to the edge.
Suddenly, we hear a noise outside the stall—the faint sound of footsteps and the creak of a door. Then, an unmistakably male throat clearing.
We both freeze, our breath catching in our throats.
“Damien,” Colt whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. “Why is he in the female locker room, though?”
I look up at him, a wicked grin spreading across my face. “I don’t know, but we better be quiet,” I murmur.
I take him back into my mouth, my movements slower.
He bites his lip, his eyes locked onto mine as I continue to pleasure him, the sound of Damien’s footsteps growing closer. The thrill of the moment, the danger of being caught, only heightens the intensity, sending waves of excitement coursing through me.
Colt’s breath hitches, his fingers tightening in my hair as I feel him tense, his body coiling tighter and tighter. I know he’s close, and I redouble my efforts, determined to push him over the edge.
“Elena,” he whispers, his voice a desperate plea. “I’m—”
And with that, he comes undone, his body trembling as he finds his release, the sound of his ragged breaths filling the stall. I swallow every last drop, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him.
As he steadies his breathing, I push up from the tile floor and rise, drenched, the shower still thundering like a storm we're pretending we didn’t just stand inside of.
He grabs my wrist and reels me gently back toward him—not desperate now, but sure. A man who finally woke up and realized he's been starving. His forehead drops close to mine, rain-warm and intimate, breath brushing my cheek instead of my ear.
“You’re incredible,” he says.
I smirk, and this time I don’t overthink the danger.
“Yeah, well,” I say, twisting out of his hold to shut off the water, “you seemed tense. I figured the house budget isn’t the only thing that could use a little stress relief.”
His laugh punches out, surprised. “Christ, Elena.”
The bathroom door jiggles.
“Hello?” Damien calls from the hall, voice sharpening. “Is someone in here? Someone said they saw a…man come in here. It’s against policy.”
Oh hell no.
I point at the tiny window above the shower—frosted glass, barely a foot high.
“Well?” I whisper.
Colt follows my eyes and clocks it instantly.
“You think I could fit?” He asks.
“May as well try,” I say.
Without hesitation, Colt swings up, strong-armed and stupid-fast. The overhang creaks but holds him. He slides out, shoes hitting on the window. Meanwhile, my eyes are bright with disbelief.
I grab a towel and wrap it around me, then open the door to see Damien.
“Hello, why are you in here?” I bite out. “Is that entirely appropriate.”
Damien scoffs. “Well, ah, someone said…a man went in here.”
“Do I look like a man to you?”
“No, Miss…You don’t. But…” he peaks inside, clearly on the lookout for something. Or someone. Colt.
“Excuse me,” I ask, eyes wide and offended-innocent. “Do I need to file a complaint with your superior? This is highly inappropriate.”
Damien eyes me, and I think he swallows it. Not smoothly—but he swallows it.
I shoot Colt a text as soon as I get back to my locker.
Elena: Escaped.
We definitely took a risk tonight.
But we didn’t get caught.
And honestly?
That’s half the thrill.