Chapter Twenty-Two
Chelsea did a double take, in absolute agreement. She could have sworn Liam’s green eyes darkened. But she played it safe, as though she hadn’t heard what he said.
Because he was right. Nothing made sense any more, and if they weren’t careful, they’d misstep.
Faux naivete was pointless. His jaw flexed, and time passed slowly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
What a question… She gulped. “Nothing. I just thought a workout would help with my frustration.”
“Did it?”
She didn’t want to answer because she didn’t know.
“Chelsea.” His tone gave no indication what would come after the lingering, lazy way he said her name. “There are more constructive ways to let go of frustration.”
Heaven help her. A thousand unacceptable ways came to mind. Sparks and shivers exploded across her skin. But, she couldn’t look away.
“Now are you done?” The woman from before broke their trance.
Relieved and annoyed, Chelsea shook free from the daze. “One more set.”
Because, if she didn’t burn off her frustration, she’d combust.
Chelsea jumped for the bar, finding the right position for her hands. It wasn’t easy, and, shifting weight from one hand to the other, her sore fingers lamented that her grip was as good as it would get. Then she pulled herself up.
“One.” She could feel his stare as surely as she felt the skin burning on her palms.
“Well, hell.” Liam jumped for the bar next to her. “If this is how it’s going to go…”
He pulled up, and she eased down, repositioning her hands again. Her arms ached. Her shoulders hurt, too, and tomorrow she’d feel it, but right now, she refused to drop and continue their conversation, which teetered on the edge of admitting interest.
Liam lowered. “I could think of better ways than this.”
What the double marshmallows does he mean by that? She growled and pulled herself up, gritting her teeth over the bar. “Then go hit the heavy bag.”
He pulled up, and she trembled, holding the position. Then with ease, he lowered again. She did so without the fluid dynamic.
Again, Chelsea had to readjust her grip. Her arms and hands were tiring exponentially faster than her last sets. She wouldn’t be able to continue at this pace.
He moved up and down again, and his casualness suddenly struck a competitive nerve in her. She hated to lose—not that they were in a competition. But maybe they were. She pulled up again.
Their pull-up seesaw moved in tandem until she stopped, unable to lift herself one more time. Sweat tickled her upper lip and slid between her breasts. Then she dropped, pins and needles pricking her fingers. Too tired to shake out her arms, she muttered, “I hate to lose.”
His shoes slapped on the mat when he came down. “I didn’t realize this was a competition.”
The pins in her palms transitioned into a burning sensation, but she was finally able to feel blood coursing in her arms. Chelsea shook them out then stretched.
“Are you ready to talk?” He stretched as she did.
Oh, heck no! About this? Us? Last night? Or does he have some magical way of reading my mind, where he saw his naked butt all but dancing on display? “Nope.”
“Should’ve guessed.”
Without a strong rebuttal, Chelsea spun away, retrieved the sanitizing spray bottle, and wiped down the bar.
He didn’t say a word when she decided a second cleaning might be in order, and Liam took the bottle and towel from her hands and cleaned his bar with far less diligence, then returned the bottle and tossed the towel.
Running away was the only possible answer for their situation, but she had nowhere to go.
He returned and asked, “Where to next?”
A light triangle of sweat dampened the front of his tight shirt. The shirt sleeves squeezed his biceps, and the workout had made the definition of his muscles and veins stand out.
He scanned the gym since she opted to mentally stutter and stay silent, then based on where his gaze hovered, she knew he would pick the treadmills.
She turned to eye the wall. The row of treadmills, mostly unused, lined the far corner. Running without the possibility of escape didn’t seem like the best idea.
“Or we can go grab my card from Smokey’s,” he offered.
No way would Chelsea walk into last night’s ground zero. But running? She tried not to groan and gave herself a pep talk. Her arms and hands were dead-dog tired. Not her legs. She could handle a treadmill. “Let’s run.”
He snorted but led the way to the last machines in the corner.
How quiet and intimate… the perfect place for Liam to tell her how flattered he might be, but that he wasn’t interested.
Or maybe, he could explain why this sudden crush was ten kinds of wrong.
Whatever she sensed from him, it was unequivocally not attraction.
It couldn’t be. He’d said as much! Nothing made sense.
She’d created problems where there were none before.
Liam punched buttons on the treadmill’s screen and jogged. She eyed his machine and punched buttons until their inclines were at the same angle. The treadmills quietly purred as they ran side by side.
The lack of conversation was good. Things couldn’t be awkward if they weren’t discussed… right?
He checked her screen, and her eyebrow arched. Liam punched the green arrow, striding faster.
Chelsea tried to ignore his adjustment, but he’d run then look her way, run again, look again.
Maybe, perhaps, she was competitive. Chelsea jabbed the green arrow to match his speed.
He laughed, and she ignored him. Finally, she hit that place where endorphins pumped, and each stride made her feel as if she could fly—
Liam punched his stop button, and not waiting for the machine to slow, he stepped on the edges. “What the hell are you doing?”
She punched the stop button also and scowled. “What does it look like?”
“I’m not your mother, your boss, or your partner.”
She had no idea what he meant by that. “No kidding.”
“What are you trying to prove?”
“What?” She wasn’t trying to prove anything. She was hiding! That was all and far easier to understand than unwanted chemistry.
“If you need to prove yourself to some jackass boss…” He bunched his shoulders. “Then you have to do that. I can’t say shit about the expectations you deal with—”
Her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”
Liam gestured at the pull-up bars. “Sending you home because you were hungover? I can’t imagine the shit you put up with as a woman.”
Her jaw fell. They were very much not thinking about the same problems.
“We’re all frustrated,” he continued. “I’m frustrated. You’re frustrated. Everyone in this goddamn gym is probably frustrated.”
She closed her mouth. Her heart was racing faster than when she was running, and she didn’t know where he was going with their conversation.
He stepped down. “I need to talk to you. Even if I’m not supposed to.”
Or maybe they were thinking about the same thing. She didn’t know.
He dropped his head back and ran his hands into his hair. Sweat made it stay where he pushed it. “I don’t know how much I should say.”
Say nothing. Please, don’t say a word!
“I should say nothing,” he snapped. “There are rules. Spoken and unspoken. I get that. But shit…”
If she could erase last night, how she’d held on to him, how she’d reacted when he positioned her legs and arms… Chelsea bit the inside of her mouth.
“What I’m trying to say is…” He pulled her off the edge of her treadmill.
She didn’t have the mental or physical strength to cover his mouth.
“I need your help.”
Wait—what? Chelsea had amped herself up to a dangerous level of panic. He wants help? She hadn’t only read the change in their conversation wrong. She’d misread the entire time in the gym. “What are you talking about?”
He glanced toward the ceiling then eyed the light crowd in the cardio section. “I can’t talk about it here.”
“Talk about what?”
His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t describe the topic. “Sort of a work problem.”
That was his frustration? He’d been commiserating about work, while she’d ogled and fantasized. Her cheeks flamed.
“Actually.” Liam shifted. “That wasn’t the only reason I came in here.”
Holy mixed signals, her panic screeched back into place.
“But the pull-ups helped me work something out.”
She was glad it had helped one of them. “That’s good.”
Too bad her workout had the opposite effect and left her with more questions than when she showed up.
“So.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to grab my card from Smokey’s, then, if you had a few minutes to listen, I could meet you at your place?”
Chelsea bit her lip. Saying no could draw his attention to her concerns. Saying yes would put her in a small space with a man that seemed either totally aware or completely oblivious to their chemistry. “Yeah, sure.”
He pulled in a deep breath then said, “I hope you’ll still talk to me when I’ve said everything that needs saying.”