Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LEWIS
My back flat on the bench, I press the barbell up, my arms shaking with the effort as they straighten, my muscles screaming under the heavy load. With a sharp exhale, I lower it, feeling the burn. Just two more reps. Almost there...
I lift again, my chest tightening. And then... down. All right, last one now.
Grunting, I raise the bar for my final rep, the strain in my chest and arms almost unbearable. Then, with a satisfying clang, I drop the bar back down onto the rack. My muscles protest with a fiery ache, but it’s a good pain, the kind that tells me I’ve pushed myself hard. Still, I’m not done yet—two more sets to go.
For a few moments I just stare up at the ceiling, sweat trickling down my temples, then I sit up and roll my shoulders to ease the tension. Grabbing my gym towel, I wipe my face and neck then stand and walk a few paces, psyching myself up for the next round. I’m about to settle back down on the bench when something—no, someone—catches my eye.
The gym has been quiet this evening, just me and two other men I don’t recognise, who must be guests at the Glen Garve Resort keen to squeeze in a workout during their stay. Now, though, who do I spot but Iona, in a plain white T-shirt and black leggings—a simple outfit, much more conventional than some of her animal-themed ones, but it looks good on her. Then again, what doesn’t?
“Iona!” Standing, I raise a hand in greeting.
She glances my way, and while she doesn’t quite roll her eyes, she’s clearly not thrilled to see me. Ouch. Oh well, that’s her standard reaction to me nowadays, and I’ve learnt I can’t let it hold me back. So, undeterred and beaming widely, I go over to say hi.
“Lewis.” She offers a stiff smile. “As I was driving over, it did occur to me that I might bump into you here. I know how much you like to work out.”
“And here I am! Lucky you.” I adopt a fake stern expression. “Have you been avoiding me? I’ve barely seen you since the welcome dinner.”
“Ha!” There’s no amusement in her tone. “Well, I’m going to go make a start. On... something.” Adjusting her glasses, she glances around the gym a little uncertainly.
“If you like, I can show you—”
“I’ll be fine.” Her voice is sharp, but after a moment, her features soften slightly. “Sorry, but I came here for some time to myself—I’m sure you understand. Anyway, seeing as you’re a sweaty mess, you’re obviously mid-session, so I’ll leave you to it.”
I maintain my smile even though it stings to be so quickly dismissed, given how close we once were. “Aye, of course. Have a good workout.”
She’s absolutely right—the need for time away from others is one I fully understand. I come here to escape everything, including thoughts about Iona. God knows how I’m going to manage that when she’s just a few metres from me.
Back at the bench press, I lie down and grab the barbell, searching for the mental calm the gym usually provides me. I lift, striving to focus on the motion, but invariably my mind drifts to Iona. I don’t want to be staring up at the ceiling—I want to be glancing over at her.
By the time I finish the set, my chest feels like it’s on fire, but it’s a satisfying burn. Standing, I have a stretch and can’t resist checking to see what Iona’s up to. She’s on the lat pulldown machine, yanking the weight down with quite a jerk, arching her back while doing so. Her grip is too wide, and she’s using her momentum more than her muscles. Yikes, that’s a sure-fire way to end up with an injury. I know she wanted space, but...
I walk over. “Er, Iona? You really need to keep your back straight and—”
“God!” She drops the weight and glares at me. “Can’t a woman come to the gym without some know-it-all man bothering her? What year is this?”
The other two guys halt their workouts and look over.
“We’re friends,” I assure them, raising my hands in a gesture of peace.
“More like acquaintances,” Iona corrects. “But aye, I do know him—unfortunately—and he’s not troubling me. But thanks.”
With nods, the men leave us to it.
“Sorry,” Iona mutters, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “That was a bit dramatic of me, but I was releasing some pent-up frustration during that exercise, and I could have done without the interruption.”
“No need to apologise. I don’t want to be ‘some know-it-all man’, but if you continue like that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
She sighs. “All right, fine. What am I doing wrong?”
“First, let’s reduce the weight. Once you’ve got the motion right, we can increase that, but for now, the main thing is to concentrate on your form. Next, bring your hands a wee bit closer together on the bar.”
She adjusts them.
“That’s better. Now, keep your back straight, and when you pull the bar down, do it in a nice, controlled way, keeping your elbows close to your body. Let your muscles do the work. Like this.” I put my hands on either side of hers, taking extra care not to accidentally brush her fingers, especially after her earlier comment. In fact, I’m so focused on this that I’m completely unprepared for the whiff of strawberry shampoo I inhale as I lean close to her.
Damn, that smell is a time machine, and suddenly I’m drowning in memories of...
No, pull yourself together, Lewis. This isn’t the place for such thoughts.
Gathering myself, I demonstrate the motion for Iona, showing off the smooth, controlled rhythm. “All right?” I say, fighting to maintain an even tone, despite the rush of intimate recollections. “You try it now.”
She does, and this time her movement is fluid, her back straight.
“Perfect!” I flash a grin, hoping my composed exterior is masking the emotions I’m wrestling with inside. “Now finish the set. Normally, I’d say ten to fifteen reps, but as it’s a low weight, I’m confident you’ll make fifteen no bother. Go for it! You can do it.”
As she works through the set, I try not to be too mesmerised by the way her muscles flex and relax under her T-shirt, or by how the movement accentuates the curve of her hips. I swallow hard, willing my traitorous eyes to behave and focus on her form and nothing else.
“That’s it,” I say, figuring that speaking might distract my brain. “Feel it in your back, not your arms. There you go, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—done!”
“Phew!” She catches her breath. “All right, what next? Another set of this or should I move on to another machine?”
I half thought she might have dismissed me now I’ve shown her what to do, but it seems she’s okay with me hanging around a little longer. Obviously, that’s great, but... a part of me wonders whether I’d be better off hurrying to the men’s changing room for a cold shower.
Nah, screw that. If she’s happy for me to stick around, I’m sticking around.
I get her to do another set of lat pulldowns, this time with a bit more weight, to see if she can maintain her form when it’s more of a challenge. She smashes it, so I suggest we move on to the chest press machine. Normally, once I start a workout, nothing can distract me from it, but today I couldn’t care less that there’s one last set of reps waiting for me over at the bench press.
After adjusting the seat and weights for Iona, I go first, doing a couple of presses to demonstrate the movement, even though this one is harder to get wrong than the lat pulldown. We switch over, and I stand in front of her to observe and guide.
“Keep your elbows in line. Good.”
If anything, this machine is more distracting than the last one. As she pushes through each rep, the white cotton of her T-shirt stretches across her chest, revealing the dark shape of her sports bra beneath. I can’t stop my gaze from flicking down, but I mentally slap myself and refocus on her technique.
Once more, I try to keep my mind busy by chatting. “You mentioned something about pent-up frustration. A bad day at work?”
Exhaling forcefully, she presses the weights away from her. “What is this, a therapy session?”
“Aye, I suppose it is.” I grin. “I’m kind of a unique personal trainer—I offer the full holistic experience, training your body and mind at the same time. So, talk to me about what’s bothering you. Is being a farm vet in Bannock harder than in Glasgow?”
“It’s nothing to do with my job,” she says, completing the set. “And you’re not my personal trainer, Lewis.” Unprompted, she increases the weight then goes at it again.
“All right, well... I know!” I click my fingers together. “You’ve been missing me. You regret not having spent enough time with me since you moved back, and that’s been getting you down.”
She scoffs. “It’s definitely not that, and I never asked for a therapy session, so—”
“Problems with Richard?”
Her jaw clenches, and I realise I’ve hit the nail on the head. Pausing for a moment between reps, she says, “No.”
“Hmm, really? I’m not sure you’re being honest with me. Bottling up your feelings isn’t healthy. I’m a modern man—I get that. It’s good to get things off your chest.”
Oi, Lewis, what are you doing? Just because you said “chest” doesn’t mean you should check hers out again. Eyes back up. I said EYES BACK UP!
I rub my forehead, attempting to disguise the fact I’ve just sneaked another glance at her breasts. Not the smoothest move—I doubt she’s fooled.
Clearing my throat, I say, “If something isn’t right between you and Richard, you can tell me. When we were younger, we didn’t keep secrets from each other. No topic was off the table. Remember?”
“Aye, but that was back when I could trust you.”
I wince. “Ouch! Low blow, Iona. Careful, you should be nice to your PT. Otherwise, I might make you do extra reps.”
She starts completing each chest press with new force, her annoyance fuelling her movements. “As I’ve already said, Lewis, you’re not my personal trainer, and I’m not talking to you about my problems with Richard.”
“Ah, so your problems are to do with Richard. Interesting.” I rub my chin thoughtfully, mimicking the therapists I’ve seen in films, although I doubt actual therapists do this.
“If you don’t... shut up... maybe I’ll give you... a literal low blow.” She’s struggling now, and her words come out in strained bursts.
I glance down, taking in our relative positions and the ease with which she could, if she wished, hit me in a rather sensitive spot. Laughing nervously, I take a step back and playfully wag my finger at her. “No threatening your PT. It’s against the rules.”
Finishing the set, she rests, her breath coming in quick gasps. “You’re really beginning to get on my nerves.”
“Hmm, well, as you’re going through the next set, let’s talk through why that is.” It turns out I can do a pretty good calm-and-collected therapist voice. “Of what sort of nature is your problem with Richard? One relating to the bedroom, perhaps?”
“Lewis!” she warns.
But I’m having fun. I like seeing the spark back in her eyes, even if she is glaring at me. The last few years, whenever she’s come to Bannock for a visit, things have been so awkward between us. I’ve been terrified of doing or saying anything to hurt her even more, and because of that, I’ve been way too polite and careful around her. That’s only widened the rift. If ever I’m going to win her back as a friend, we need to reignite some of our old banter.
“When was the last time you and Richard expressed your love physically?” I probe.
“ Lewis! ” She’s just begun her next set, and this catches her off-guard. She pauses between reps. “Have you forgotten my threat about the low blow? Your crotch is right there.” She nods at it.
I doubt she’d act on her threat, but I can’t be sure so I clasp my hands in front of me, just in case.
“Anyway,” she goes on, continuing the chest presses, her voice strained from effort or irritation or both, “not that it concerns you, but it hasn’t been long at all.”
“Oh. In that case, is the sex unsatisfying?”
Her eyes narrow into dangerous slits. “You’re insufferable.”
“Aye, but you know what? Whenever you get annoyed with me, you start to really go for it with the exercises. It’s clearly an effective motivational technique. I’ll have to make teasing an integral part of all our sessions.”
“Tonight is definitely a one-off.”
“You say that now, but we both know you’re having fun, really. Before you leave here, we’ll be comparing calendars on our phones to see when we can do this again. Tomorrow, maybe?”
“Nope, I’m catching up with Maisie tomorrow.” She catches herself then clarifies, “Not that it matters—like I’ve said, there won’t be a next time.”
“We’ll see,” I say cockily.
Her lips press into a thin, hard line. I notice her cheeks are getting rosier with every push and release, and her skin glistens with a sheen of sweat. In the past, when I saw her getting hot and bothered like this, it was because...
Glancing down, I observe how she straddles the seat, and a memory comes to me of her straddling me like that, riding me with wild abandon.
My cock twitches. Damn it, I cannot get a hard-on right now. These gym shorts wouldn’t hide anything, and anyway, she’s sitting in front of me, her line of vision not a whole lot higher than crotch level. I shift my stance and casually adjust my waistband.
To clear my thoughts, I look away for a moment, but when I turn back, an idea hits me—a cheeky one—and I can’t resist leaning a little closer. “So, going back to your sex life... do you still read smutty historical romances?”
She lets the weights drop with a resounding clang. Red-faced and panting, she hisses, “You can’t ask me that!”
I nod, the therapist persona returning, one hand on my hip, the other rubbing my chin. “If the answer had been no, you’d have said no. So that’s a yes. Interesting.”
Her foot shoots up, and I instinctively flinch, but she doesn’t make contact. “That was your last warning, Lewis. Maybe you should be a little less worried about me suffering an injury and a little more worried about yourself—specifically, your balls. No more sex talk. Understood?”
Grinning, I give her a mischievous wink.