Chapter Four
Xavier
The gym is the same as it always is. Warm. Loud. Predictable. Weights clanking. Music low. The steady rhythm of people moving through routines they don’t have to think about anymore.
Usually, it relaxes me. Today, it doesn’t.
I drop my bag near the bench and start stretching, rolling my shoulders back, loosening up. Same routine. Same order. Nothing complicated.
Nothing that should leave me thinking about the way Ruby looked at me five minutes ago.
Polite. Easy. Like the other day didn’t happen. Which is exactly how I played it. So why does it feel like I got it wrong?
“Can you show me how this works?” Lindsey’s voice cuts in, breathy in a way that has nothing to do with the machine she’s standing next to.
“Yeah.” I step over to the leg press. “It’s simple.” Because it is. I adjust the seat, setting the pin without thinking. “Line your knees up with the pivot point.”
My hands move, quick and efficient. Get in, fix it, get out. I step in long enough to nudge her foot into place. “Heels flat. Don’t lock your knees.”
Then I step back. Space. Always better to keep space.
She presses through the movement, slower than necessary, glancing up at me like she’s waiting for something more. There isn’t anything more.
“You make it look easy.” She bats her eyelashes, all wide-eyed admiration and practiced innocence. There’s nothing innocent about Lindsey.
“It is.”
If you’re paying attention. If you’re not turning it into something else. Her hand brushes my arm when she adjusts her grip. I shift back to prevent any lingering contact. I’ve done this enough to know where that goes if you don’t cut it off early.
“You come here a lot?”
“Most mornings.” I shrug and take another step back.
By this point, I should return to the office and start answering the damned phone. I wasn’t lying to Ruby when I said we don’t have an office manager. We’ve been without one for the last several weeks, and between Dad and me, we’re failing miserably at keeping things on point.
“You could show me a routine sometime,” Lindsey says.
“Talk to the trainers.” I grab my water bottle and twist the cap.
However, she smiles, as if she heard something different. “I trust you to know what’s best for me. Not them.”
“Thanks, but I’m not the expert. They are.”
Laughter pulls my attention back to the front desk. Ruby is on the phone. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t pause from her conversation. Doesn’t do anything that suggests I’m anything more than another person walking in and out of her day.
I move to my machine. That’s good. That’s what I want.
“Is that your usual?” Lindsey nods toward the weights I’m setting up.
“Yeah.”
“Mind if I stick with you?”
I do. I absolutely do. “Up to you.”
Because saying no turns into a conversation. And I’m not interested in having one.
I move through my sets, counting reps, focusing on the burn in my shoulders, the pull in my back. Except she’s there. Hovering close enough to be in my space. Talking between sets. Laughing a little too easily. Trying too hard.
I keep my responses short. Neutral. Not rude. Not encouraging. Just enough to not make it a thing.
“You’re quiet.” She leans against the machine beside me.
“Working out.” I rack the bar and sit up, grabbing my towel.
Across the room, Ruby is still at the desk. Different member now. Different conversation. Same steady focus.
Like she knew I wouldn’t show up. My chest squeezes before I can stop it. I push it down just as fast. Doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. I stand, grabbing my bottle again.
“Hey.” Lindsey steps closer as I move past her. Too close.
I angle around her without breaking stride. “I’ve got to finish this.”
She hesitates, then falls back a step. I move to the next station, resetting the weight, settling back into something I can control. Reps. Breath. Movement. In. Out. Done.
By the time I finish, Lindsey has drifted off toward the mirrors, talking to someone else. Finally. I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder as I stride for the exit.
Ruby remains at the front desk, head down, pen moving across the schedule like she’s got something better to do than worry about what I’m doing.
Which is exactly what I should be.
I slow for half a second anyway. Long enough to consider…. What? Saying something? Explaining something that doesn’t need explaining? I don’t. I keep moving.
The cooler air hits my face, clearing some of the noise out of my head. I walk toward my truck, keys already in my hand. This is what works. Clear lines. Defined edges. No room for confusion.
That goes for both Lindsey and Ruby.