Chapter 4
Chapter four
Isaw him again on Tuesday.
Same time, same general area of the gym, this time on the treadmill, running at a steady pace with headphones in. Halfway through my shoulder workout, there he was, and I definitely didn’t adjust my position so I had a better view. That would be weird.
He ran with good form. Long strides, controlled breath, the focus of a person who actually liked cardio, which was psychotic but kind of impressive.
I finished my set of lateral raises and grabbed my water bottle, taking a longer drink than necessary. Just hydrating. Very normal.
When I glanced back, he’d slowed to a walk, cooling down. He pulled his shirt up to wipe his face, and I got a flash of lean muscle, a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
Okay. He was definitely attractive. That was an observation. In the same way I’d observe how the gym had good lighting, or that someone had finally fixed the broken water fountain.
He stepped off the treadmill and our eyes met for half a second before I looked away, suddenly fascinated by the weight stack on the cable machine.
Cool. Totally normal. Just two guys at the gym, coexisting in the same space, not thinking about each other at all.
On Thursday, he was at the squat rack.
I’d planned my entire workout around legs that day, which meant I needed the squat rack, which meant I had to wait while he finished his sets. Not a big deal. I could start with lunges, coming back when he was done.
Except I didn’t start with lunges. I stood there, pretending to scroll through my phone while watching him in the mirror.
He loaded two plates on each side, not bad, and dropped into his squat. His form was decent. Knees tracking over his toes, back straight, good depth. He grunted softly on the last rep, and something in me caught.
What the hell was that?
When he finished his set and stepped back, he caught me looking. Actually looking, not a casual glance. His eyes were hazel. I could see that now, green and brown with flecks of gold under the gym’s fluorescent lighting.
He held my gaze for a beat longer than strangers should, and the contact landed through my chest, down my spine, and into the back of my knees.
Not just attraction. Attraction happened all the time, but this was different.
Something that made me want to walk over and introduce myself instead of just taking him home.
I looked away first then down at my phone like I’d gotten an important text, walked to the other side of the gym, and started my lunges.
This was stupid. He was just some guy. I saw attractive guys all the time and didn’t lose my mind over it.
But when I finished my workout and headed to the locker room, I caught myself hoping I’d see him on the way out.
I didn’t.
And I told myself I wasn’t disappointed.
By Saturday, I’d accepted I was being ridiculous.
I’d been coming to Foundation Fitness for six years. I’d seen countless attractive men in that time. Some I’d hooked up with, most I’d ignored, all of them had blurred into a general sea of bodies that meant nothing beyond aesthetic appreciation.
This tall, dark-haired, hazel-eyed guy was no different.
Except he was, because I’d started timing my workouts to match when I usually saw him. I’d caught myself looking for him the second I walked through the door. Because when he wasn’t there on Wednesday, my whole workout had soured.
Which was insane. I didn’t do this. I didn’t pine, didn’t wait around hoping to catch sight of someone. I picked, I pursued, I left.
So when I walked into the gym on Saturday morning and saw him struggling with the bench press, alone, no spotter, trying to adjust the safety bars, I took it as a sign from the universe that I needed to stop being weird and just talk to him.
I walked over, casual, confident, as if I did this every day. “Need a hand?”
He looked up. Surprise, then relief, then interest. “Uh, yeah, actually. I can’t get this stupid bar to lock in place.”
“They’re finicky.” I leaned over, showing him the trick to getting the safety bar to click into the right position. “You gotta lift it up first, then slide it in. Otherwise, it catches.”
“Oh.” He tried it, and it worked. “Thanks. I’ve been fighting with this thing for five minutes.”
Up close, he was even more attractive, which was annoying.
Sharp jawline, a few days of stubble, the tattoo sleeve resolving into intricate black-and-gray work.
Geometric shapes that bled out into something organic the closer it got to his wrist. Hazel eyes looking at me like I was a puzzle he was halfway through.
He smelled of cedar and something I couldn’t place, subtle enough that I had to lean in to catch it, and I wasn’t subtle about leaning in.
“No problem.” I straightened up, giving him my best smile. The one that usually worked. “I’m Jett.”
“Ellis.” He held out his hand, and when I shook it, his grip was firm. Warm. “I’ve seen you here before. You’re always here on weekends.”
“Could say the same about you.” I leaned against the bench, not quite ready to walk away. “Though you’re new. I would’ve remembered.”
Too obvious? Probably. Ellis smiled anyway, a little shy, a little pleased.
“I just moved to the area a few months ago. Still figuring out the neighborhood.”
“Brooklyn?”
“Fort Greene.”
“From where originally?”
“Long Island. About an hour commute.”
“What do you do for a living, Ellis?”
A laugh surprised out of him. “I work at a tech company out of Manhattan. I commuted in for a year, then figured I should live in the city I kept calling mine.”
Twenty-nine, I’d guess. The careful polite of somewhere everyone already had a version of you. Five years of small-town against my twenty-four years of Brooklyn.
“Nice area. I’m in Bushwick.” I gestured to the bench. “You need a spotter? Benching alone is a good way to get crushed.”
He hesitated, and I saw it again, that thing I couldn’t quite read. Interest, definitely, but also caution? Nervousness? Like he wanted to say yes, but was scared to.
“Sure,” he said after a beat. “If you don’t mind.”
“I offered, didn’t I?”
He lay back on the bench. I stepped behind him, hands ready.
He gripped the bar, lifted it off the rack, brought it to his chest. From above I could watch the small furrow between his eyebrows as he focused, which was the part nobody warned you about.
Spotting somebody you were attracted to put you in the close-up nobody had asked for.
“Good,” I said. “Keep your elbows tucked. That’s it.”
He completed his set, eight reps, solid form, and racked the bar. When he sat up, his face was flushed, and he was breathing a little harder.
“Thanks,” he said. “That was… I definitely would’ve dropped that on my face without you.”
“Anytime.” I meant it, which was weird. Usually, when I helped someone at the gym, it was basic courtesy. This was different. Like I actually wanted to help him, wanted an excuse to keep talking to him.
He grabbed his water bottle, took a drink, and I should’ve walked away. Moved on to my own workout. But I didn’t.
I grabbed my water. “You lift regularly, or just getting into it?”
“Regularly enough. I’ve been trying to be more consistent.” He glanced at me, self-conscious in a way I hadn’t expected, like he was aware of being looked at and didn’t quite know what to do with it. “You clearly know what you’re doing. How long have you been at it?”
“Six years. Started when I was eighteen.” I didn’t mention why. Didn’t mention the scrawny kid who’d gotten shoved into lockers. “It’s kind of my thing now.”
“It shows.”
The way he said it, direct and appreciative without tipping into sleazy, sat in my chest a beat too long. Most guys either didn’t compliment at all or went overboard with it. Ellis had landed somewhere honest.
“Thanks.” I tilted my head, studying him. “You doing anything after this?”
His eyes widened slightly. “After… the gym?”
“Yeah. There’s a good coffee place around the corner. They make these protein shakes that don’t taste like chalk.” I kept my tone light, casual, even though my heart was doing something weird. “Could grab one. Talk about… I don’t know, proper squat form or whatever.”
Smooth, Jett. Real smooth.
Ellis looked at me for a long moment, and something fought behind his eyes. Want versus fear versus something else I couldn’t name.
“I’d like that,” he said after a long pause. “But I can’t today. I have a thing.”
A thing. The universal excuse. I knew it well. I’d used it myself a hundred times.
“Right. No worries.” I kept my smile easy, unbothered, like it didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t weirdly disappointed. “Maybe another time.”
“Actually…” Ellis pulled out his phone. “Could I get your number? For, you know, gym advice. Or if you wanted to try that coffee place another time.”
Oh.
Oh.
I rattled off my number, watching him type it in, and when he looked back up at me, his expression had gone vulnerable. Like he’d just done something brave and terrifying.
“Cool,” he said. “I’ll text you.”
“You better.” I winked, falling back into familiar territory. Flirting, I could do. Flirting was safe. “Don’t leave me hanging, Ellis.”
He smiled, really smiled this time, and it transformed his whole face. “I won’t.”
I walked away before I could do something stupid like keep talking, and I didn’t let myself look back. The rest of the workout, I kept replaying it.
The way he’d looked at me. The hesitation before he said yes to the number exchange. The way he said my name, like he was trying it out for size.
My phone buzzed halfway through my cooldown.
Unknown Number: It’s Ellis Ashford. From the gym. Just so you have my number, too.
I saved his contact. Ellis Ashford. Someone I’d been thinking about for two weeks finally attached to a real surname. I stared at the screen for way too long and typed back:
Jett: That’s gotta be a record. I'm Jett Reyes-Villanueva by the way. Glad you didn’t ghost me already.
Ellis: The day’s not over yet.
I laughed out loud, earning a weird look from the guy on the treadmill next to me.