Chapter 23
Max
I woke up cursing myself for not getting to my flat’s gym yesterday. However, after finishing up with the simulator, Samuel and I talked a little more about the car before he went into a few other stories he had about my father.
The next thing I knew two more engineers had shown up and began sharing their stories about the short time they’d worked with my father or what it was like to work at Amato at the height of its glory.
“We’re on track to replicate that,” one of them, James, had said.
I made sure to memorize all of their names.
Before I knew it an hour had passed, and when my stomach started rumbling, I threw out an impromptu lunch invite.
That turned into a couple of hours of bonding with a part of the team I’d only greeted in passing over the past few months.
Right as I’m lamenting my missed workout from yesterday while walking into the gym, I recognize that luck is on my side.
Across the vast gym, beyond the row of treadmills, stairmasters, and lycra workout sets, is the woman who filled the spaces of my conscious mind once I reached home last evening.
I would’ve pegged her for a cardio queen. One of the women who devotes hours to running on the treadmill or the elliptical.
My assumption would be incorrect.
A fact that thrills me as I strut in the direction of the weight and strength training section of the gym.
My eyes never leave Annalise’s form, as I take in the burgundy leggings outlining her toned legs and white sleeveless T-shirt she’s paired it with.
Not a particularly revealing outfit for the gym, by any means.
Yet, the way the pants encase her legs reminds me of the way she felt in my arms that night in Miami.
It leads me to remember how that wasn’t nearly enough time. That night didn’t come close to the amount of time and all of the things I want to do with Annalise.
“That’s it,” a deep, male voice pierces the bubble of my memory.
A scowl covers my expression when a guy with triceps nearly busting through the sleeves of his grey T-shirt moves in behind Annalise as she begins to squat.
“Deeper, let’s go, you can do it,” he encourages.
Logically, my brain understands this guy is some sort of trainer, encouraging her to squat deeper, push harder, and get more out of her workout.
Logic has nothing to do with jealousy rushing through my veins at the moment. The thought occurs to me that he could be her trainer and … something more.
Annalise and I never discussed whether or not she was dating someone. I’m again reminded of Miami. I don’t believe that she would’ve kissed me the way she did that night if she had a boyfriend.
Would she?
I shake my head because as soon as the thought arises in my mind, I dismiss it since it doesn’t matter.
“Come on. Push, up, up, up!”
Her trainer’s words send that prickle of jealousy down my spine, but it’s quickly extinguished by something else. When I hear Annalise push out a harsh grunt as she thrusts the bar resting on her upper back to her full height, my body heats with warmth.
She’s a fucking beast.
In the best way.
“Excellent.” Her trainer holds up a hand for her to high five after she’s re-racked the barbell.
“Impressive,” I say, approaching Annalise before she’s gotten a chance to see me.
I admire the heaving of her chest as she fights to catch her breath, the reddening of her cheeks flushed with exertion, and the stray hairs that’ve escaped the french braid.
My fingers itch to tuck the strands behind her ear to touch her. When I take a step forward to do just that, movement out of the corner of my eye stops me.
It’s her trainer.
“Max Ferreira,” he says, mouth slightly ajar, eyes widened. “I heard you moved into this building, but I wasn’t certain.”
I look him over, positive I’ve never come across him before. “Have we met?”
His smile widens. “No, but I’m a big fan.” He sticks out his hand, and I want to dismiss it and him.
Instead, I allow my media training to take over as I extend my hand, shaking his. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan.” I pause.
“Charles,” he supplies his name.
“Charles, a pleasure to meet you.”
“I was so happy when I heard you signed with Amato.”
“Long-term fan, I assume.”
He nods. “Since I was a little boy.” His eyes move to Annalise, who’s remained silent throughout this exchange. “Annalise said she didn’t know if you lived in this building when I asked.”
I turn my attention back to her. “You didn’t know?”
We both know she knew damn well.
Annalise answers with a shrug of her shoulders. “I hadn’t seen you,” her mouth says, but her tone sounds as if it’s begging to know why I’m here now.
“Here I am, in the flesh.” I hold out my arms, making myself available for assessment. It doesn’t escape me when she tucks her bottom lip in between her teeth before averting her gaze.
A small pearl of sweat clings to a strand of her hair at her temple. It reminds me that she’s in the middle of a workout. I should be gentleman enough to get out of her way, to allow her to complete her session with her trainer.
But that would require me putting space between us and allowing Charles to step in again. My body refuses to budge.
“Did you need to use the squat rack?” Charles asks. “We’re almost finished.”
Annalise darts a gaze over his way as if she preferred he hadn’t shared that information.
“I can wait,” I say, reluctantly stepping back. “The last thing I want to do is interrupt.” The lie comes out smoothly.
Annalise eyes me suspiciously but then turns to the barbell.
In order not to look like a creep, I move across the weight section and begin with my warmup. All the while, I keep an eye on Annalise and Charles.
The urge to pull him away from her when they move from the squat rack over to the mats, and he puts his hands on her to aid in stretching her out, overwhelms me.
Before I can gather my restraint, I’m walking over in their direction.
“I’ll see you next week,” Charles is saying to Annalise. He looks behind her and waves at me. “So good to meet you, Max. Good luck in Canada and the rest of the season.”
He’s a fan, I tell myself in order to calm the images of his hands touching Annalise in my mind.
At this, Annalise turns to me, eyes wide, surprised.
“What are you …” She doesn’t finish the question because she’s too taken by surprise as I lightly grip her arm and lead her out of the main weight room into a smaller room of the gym used for private classes. The room is empty.
“Max, why did you bring me in here?” she hisses.
“For this,” I say. Throwing my hands against the wall behind her, I press my body into hers before crashing my lips down onto hers.
The moment our mouths connect, all of the air leaves my body. Her lips are as soft as I remember and the tiny sigh she emits is as enthralling as the sigh she let out in Miami. I allow my body to relax into hers as I savor her.
Her naturally sweet taste has mixed with the saltiness of the sweat from her workout, creating a unique flavor that I want more of. But when I press her back farther into the wall, Annalise breaks the kiss.
“What are you doing?” Her gaze darts to the still open door, even though we’re alone in this room. She moves her hands to my shoulders but doesn’t push me away.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She turns her head when I move in for another kiss, but her hands tighten on my shoulders. The contrast of her actions is an obvious outpouring of the war raging inside of her.
“You definitely shouldn’t be kissing me,” she finally says, turning her gaze up to meet mine.
Every time her eyes meet mine, it’s as if someone punched me in the chest. I wonder if she’s aware how expressive her eyes are. My gaze becomes drawn to the freckle over her eyelash before roaming down to the other freckles dotting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
“One … two … three—”
“What are you doing?”
I come back to myself to realize, “I’m counting your freckles. This one is my favorite.” I lightly run my thumb across her left eyelid.
This is what makes her finally push me away.
“Weirdo.”
I chuckle mainly because I agree. What type of maniac begins counting the number of freckles on somebody’s face? Me.
I’m only beginning to come to terms with my obsession with this woman.
“You look bothered,” she corrects.
I lift an eyebrow. “Am I that obvious?”
Her lips tug into a small frown. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t like seeing his hands on you,” I answer without pausing to consider how my truth would sound said out loud.
From the expression change on her face, I’m alerted to the reality that it did sound as possessive as I suspected.
“His hands weren’t on me,” she says. “He’s my trainer.”
“He was touching you.”
“You make it sound like he was groping me in the middle of the gym.”
“That would never happen.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Annalise cocks her head to the side. “Why not?”
I hear the challenge in her voice and everything inside of me rises to meet it.
“Because …” I crowd her personal space again, “he would’ve been carried out of here on two broken legs if he had the gall to put his hands on you.”
It’s not my intention but my voice comes out with a hint of growl in it. The thought of Charles, fan of mine or not, touching Annalise makes my mind go to irrational places.
She peers at me for a moment before apparently choosing not to raise to my bait. Annalise rolls her eyes.
“It’s never a good idea to needlessly threaten your fans,” she throws at me with a wave of her hand. “But it’s your career. I should go.”
“I’m hungry."
That surprises her enough for her to pause in her attempt to leave.
“For food?”
The confusion in her tone mirrors my own at all of the strange emotions tumbling through me. My gaze trails down the length of her body, pausing at the few beads of sweat that’ve pooled at the little indentation where her neck meets her chest.
“Among other things,” I reply as a scene of me running my tongue along that spot to her clavicle plays out in my mind.
“Max, this isn’t a good idea. You and me,” she says in a whisper. Her tone lacks conviction.
“That ship has sailed, princess.” I back her up until her back is against the wall again. “What time should we have dinner?”
“I’m working today.”
“Does six o’clock work?”
She visibly swallows.
“I know your employer, and I seriously doubt he has you working until much later in the evening.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Six o’clock tonight.”
“I have plans.”
“With me,” I say because I know she’s lying.
“Miami should’ve never happened,” she says almost to herself.
“But it did,” I remind her, not bothering to suppress the bite in my voice. The idea that she wants to erase that night in Miami, the memory of which I’ve been living off of since it happened, sends a shockwave of anger through me.
“And I’m not going to let you or I forget about it,” I tell her.
“I have to go.” This time she starts for the door.
“Six o’clock,” I remind her, uncaring that she hasn’t committed to dinner with me tonight. It will happen because I’m done pretending as if this thing between us isn’t building intensity.
I’m done ignoring the ways in which she and I have played this dance for years; sneaking glances across the room at one another while barely exchanging words when up close, save for her snarky remarks before quickly excusing herself from my vicinity.
Annalise Townsend is on a new timeline now. Just as determined as I am to reinvigorate my career this season, I’m as doggedly committed to having Annalise by my side as I do it.