Chapter Three
Nicole
The chili had been incredible.
I'd eaten every last spoonful while standing at my kitchen counter, scrolling through emails on my phone and pretending I wasn't thinking about the man who'd made it. The man who'd somehow managed to cook something that tasted better than anything I'd eaten in months, maybe years.
The man who'd asked when I'd last eaten something just because it tasted good and left me speechless because I honestly couldn't remember.
That had been three days ago. Three days of trying to focus on the Carleton campaign launch while my mind kept drifting to green eyes and that slow smile that suggested Shawn knew secrets I'd forgotten I wanted to learn.
Three days of listening to his morning workouts through the wall and telling myself the flutter in my stomach had nothing to do with picturing him shirtless and sweating.
Three days of lying to myself.
Now I was sitting in Dr. Kapoor's office on a Friday morning, trying to explain why my blood pressure had spiked and my resting heart rate was high enough to concern a medical professional.
"When did you last take a vacation, Nicole?" Dr. Kapoor asked, her pen poised over my chart.
"I don't really do vacations. Too much work to catch up on when I get back."
She frowned at whatever she'd written. "What about exercise? Any regular physical activity?"
"I walk to work sometimes." When the weather was decent and I wasn't running late, which happened maybe twice a month.
"That's not enough." She set down her pen and gave me the look I'd been dreading.
The look that said I was about to hear things I didn't want to hear.
"Nicole, your stress levels are affecting your health.
Your body is in constant fight-or-flight mode.
If you don't make some changes, you're looking at panic attacks, insomnia, maybe worse. "
"I sleep fine."
"Four hours a night isn't sleeping fine. It's surviving." She leaned forward. "I'm prescribing exercise. Thirty minutes, four times a week minimum. Non-negotiable."
Exercise. Of course.
"I'll join a gym," I said, already dreading the thought of crowded workout rooms full of people who actually knew what they were doing.
"Or hire a trainer. Someone who can design a program for stress relief." She scribbled something on her prescription pad. "I'm also referring you to a therapist who specializes in work-related anxiety."
Therapy. As if admitting my life was spinning out of control to a doctor wasn't humiliating enough.
I took the prescriptions and left, telling myself I'd figure out the gym situation later. Maybe after the new year, when things calmed down at work. Maybe never.
But as I walked back to my building, Dr. Kapoor's words kept echoing in my head. Fight-or-flight mode. Panic attacks. Your stress levels are affecting your health.
When had my life become something I had to survive instead of live?
The question was still bouncing around my brain when I reached my floor and saw Shawn unlocking his door, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He'd clearly just come back from somewhere, and his hair was damp with sweat.
"Hey, neighbor." He flashed that grin that made my pulse skip. "Busy morning?"
"Doctor's appointment."
"Everything okay?" His gaze swept over me, taking in what was probably obvious exhaustion and the prescription papers I was still clutching.
My face burned. Was I that transparent? "Routine checkup."
"Uh-huh." He unlocked his door but didn't go inside. "You know, I've got some time this afternoon if you want to take me up on that training offer. Might help with whatever's got you looking like you're about to jump out of your skin."
The offer hung in the air between us, and I felt that flutter in my stomach again. The same one I'd been ignoring for days.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
Because you're gorgeous and cocky and the last thing I need is another distraction. Because I'm attracted to you and that scares me. Because the last man I let get close told me I was too boring and uptight to keep anyone interested.
"Because we're neighbors," I said instead. "It could get complicated."
"It's exercise, Nicole. Not a marriage proposal." His voice carried a hint of amusement that made me want to throw something at him. "One session. If you hate it, I'll never bring it up again."
I should have said no. Should have gone inside, ordered takeout, and spent the evening reviewing quarterly reports like I'd planned.
Should have done anything except stand there staring at how his t-shirt clung to his chest and thinking about how long it had been since anyone had offered to help me with anything.
"One session," I heard myself say.
His grin widened. "Give me ten minutes to change, and we can get started."
"Now?" Panic shot through me. "I'm not dressed for this."
"You're fine. We'll start easy." He was already pushing his door open. "Trust me."
Trust him. Right. Because trusting attractive men had worked out so well for me in the past.
But fifteen minutes later, I was standing in Shawn's makeshift gym wearing yoga pants I'd bought two years ago and never worn, feeling more exposed than if I'd shown up naked.
"Relax," Shawn said, apparently reading my mind. "We're just going to do some basic movements. See how your body feels."
My body felt like it was about to revolt. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating, and I was sure I was about to make a fool of myself in front of a man who probably worked out with supermodels and Instagram influencers.
"Have you ever done any strength training?" he asked, moving to stand behind me.
"Define strength training."
"Lifting weights. Resistance work." His hands settled on my shoulders, and I tried not to notice how large they were. How gentle. "Jesus, Nicole. You're tight as a drum."
I tensed even more at his touch, which was probably the opposite of what I was supposed to do.
"Breathe," he said, his voice dropping to something softer. Less teasing. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just breathe."
I tried to follow his instructions, but having him behind me, his chest just inches from my back, was making it hard to concentrate on anything except how he smelled like soap and something distinctly male.
"Better." His hands moved down to my arms, adjusting my posture. "Now, I want you to squeeze your shoulder blades together. Like you're trying to hold a pencil between them."
I did as he said, surprised when some of the tension in my upper back actually started to release.
"Good. Now release. Again."
We went through the movement several times, and I began to relax. This wasn't so bad. Just basic stretching, really.
"How does that feel?" he asked.
"Better, actually."
"Good. Now let's try something a little more active." He moved around to face me, and I immediately missed the security of having him behind me. "We're going to do some bodyweight squats. Nothing crazy, just basic movement."
He demonstrated, and I tried not to stare at how his thighs flexed as he lowered himself down. Tried and failed.
"Your turn."
I mimicked his position, feeling awkward and uncoordinated. My legs shook on the way down, and I was sure my form was awful.
"Not bad," he said, moving to stand beside me. "But you're overthinking it. It's just sitting back in a chair. Like this."
His hand settled on my lower back, guiding me through the movement, and I felt heat spread through me at the contact. This was so not helping with my stress levels.
"Better. Again."
We went through several more squats, his hand staying on my back to guide me, and by the time we finished I was breathing hard and very aware of every place we were touching.
"How was that?" he asked.
Confusing. Frustrating. More arousing than exercise had any right to be.
"Fine," I said.
"Just fine?" There was that teasing note in his voice again. "Come on, Nicole. How did it actually feel?"
I looked up at him, at those green eyes that seemed to see right through all my defenses, and for a moment I considered telling him the truth.
That it felt good to move my body. That it felt good to have someone's hands on me, even in this innocent context.
That it felt good to do something other than work for thirty minutes.
That it felt dangerous.
"It felt like exercise," I said instead.
He laughed, a low sound that did something to my insides. "You're a tough crowd, princess."
There was that nickname again. It should have annoyed me. Instead, it made my stomach flip in a way that was becoming disturbingly familiar.
"I should go," I said, suddenly desperate to put some distance between us before I did something stupid like ask him to put his hands on me again. "I have work to finish."
"Of course you do." But he didn't sound disappointed, just amused. "Same time next week?"
"I didn't say I wanted to do this again."
"You didn't say you didn't want to either." He handed me a towel I didn't really need. "Doctor's orders, right?"
How had he known that? I hadn't told him why I was at the doctor's office.
"One session," I reminded him.
"One session," he agreed, but something in his expression suggested he wasn't worried about me backing out.
The annoying part was, he was probably right.
I escaped to my apartment and headed for the shower, telling myself the heat I was feeling had everything to do with the workout and nothing to do with the memory of Shawn's hands on my back.
But as I stood under the spray, I kept thinking about how he'd looked at me. Not like I was some uptight executive who needed to be fixed, but like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve.
Like I was interesting.
When was the last time a man had looked at me like that? When was the last time anyone had looked at me like that?
Too long. That was becoming the answer to a lot of questions lately.
I turned off the water and reached for my towel, catching a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my hair was a mess, and for once I didn't look like I was about to collapse from exhaustion.
I looked alive.
Maybe Dr. Kapoor had been right about the exercise thing.
And maybe, just maybe, one more session wouldn't hurt.