“Let’s go, Amalie,” Julian called.
Well. She was planning on brushing her teeth, but since he wanted to be all rushy-rushy he could just deal with her stank morning breath. She hurried into her outfit, threw her hair into a ponytail, and then made a begrudging appearance in her living room.
“You look good in athletic stuff.” Julian’s gaze raked over her in a lazy head-to-toe perusal.
She stiffened, trying to get her game face on. Those eyes though. She’d never seen anything like them, especially in the morning light, their green offset by golden stars. Damn. If she let herself, she could get lost in them.
Amalie extended a hand to stop further comments. “I’ll take that as the compliment I hope it’s intended to be, but know that I’m not a morning person. I apologize in advance for any threats of bodily harm.”
“What was your excuse before?” he joked.
She stuck out her tongue. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
An hour and a half later, Amalie had been thoroughly tortured. She’d never, not once in her life, worked out—not for fun, not because she had to or should for her general well-being, and definitely not for a man.
Julian held the door to Romina’s gym open, his lips kicked up in a taunting smile. “Wasn’t that fun?”
Amalie pushed past him. She didn’t enjoy herself on the run, didn’t care for the way her capris chafed the crap out of her thighs, or for how she now smelled like a locker room. Her hoodie was soaked in sweat, which made her cold now that she wasn’t exerting herself. On top of that, the rat’s nest of tangles at the nape of her neck made her shudder.
Still trying to catch her breath, Amalie attempted to speak. “So…I’ve done my…part. Right? Now I just…watch you train, take notes, and…video it?” She winced at how hopeful her voice sounded.
Julian followed her inside and laughed, the sound full of sarcasm. Not the least bit winded, he said, “Oh no, princess. You’re training, too.”
Before Amalie could respond, Romina appeared from her office. Her expression was all business, but Amalie didn’t miss the curious expression that flitted across her face upon seeing her anti-gym friend in enemy territory. She’d offered to train Amalie for free countless times, harassed her to do a 5K, pretty much anything in an attempt to get her butt off the couch.
Amalie eyed the torture chamber with unease, her gaze bouncing from the elliptical and treadmill (cardio, yuck) to the weights area. It was kind of funny that it was a book that finally got her into a gym.
“Good morning. I’m Romina Arroyo. You’re on time. I appreciate that.” She stuck out her hand, her voice firm and flat, a tone that let people know this was her gym and you played by her rules.
Julian shook her outstretched hand, turning on the charm. “Julian Smoke. Thank you for training me. I was thinking we could start with—”
Romina cut him off with a curt shake of her head, her high ponytail swinging. “I’ve already got your exercise plan drawn up. I’ve done my research, and Amalie has filled me in on a few particulars. Once you begin working with your new coach we’ll alter as needed.”
Amalie fought to tamp down the sheer delight of watching Romina manhandle Julian’s ego. The woman dealt with divas of all shapes and sizes, so she’d practically perfected the “don’t argue with me” persona.
“I’ve never done things that way,” Julian argued, a polite yet absolutely fake smile teetering precariously on his face.
“Smoke,” Amalie butted in, just in time to see the vein in Romina’s forehead throb. “Romina knows what she’s doing. Let her do her job and then once we speak with your coach today we’ll switch up whatever needs to be switched up.”
Julian made a face that looked like he’d sucked on a lemon, but there was still something immensely attractive about him—the way his eyebrows furrowed, the cute little number-eleven lines there. It was sickening really. All that beauty wasted on such an arrogant man.
As if sensing her thoughts, he shot her a cold stare and took a step closer. “Amalie, I know what I’m doing, too. I’m not some hotheaded athlete who needs to be coddled.”
She took a step closer, too, and glared up at him. “Actually, you’re acting like one—”
“Am not.” Julian’s body shifted into a defensive stance, bringing his chest within inches of her face.
Without thinking, Amalie placed a finger against his lips, surprising them both. It was too late to turn back, so she continued onward while desperately trying to keep her expression blank. God, it was hard to think straight. His lips were as soft and full as they looked. “Just shut up and let the woman train you,” she said. She caught Romina’s proud expression before meeting Julian’s death stare. Apparently, the shock of her touch had worn off for him.
He grumbled in protest as Romina led them deeper into the bowels of the torture chamber surrounded with mirrors to better highlight all their inadequacies.
“Amalie, want to grab a seat on the yoga mat?” Romina asked as she handed Julian a tiny notebook that detailed not only their training plan but nutrition details as well.
Without lifting his eyes from the book, Julian said, “Amalie’s training, too.”
Romina slid a worried glance toward Amalie. It very closely resembled an expression that screamed, “Blink twice if you’re being held against your will.” And while Amalie wanted to blink, wanted to say forget this entire impulsive idea, she said nothing.
This book idea had brought a spark to life inside her, the spark that had nearly flamed out, reminding her that she’d been a success before—family name or not. If she was going to get the most accurate information for her Julian-esque character, then she had to do this thing. Really do it. She couldn’t phone it in like everything else in her life. “Just know I haven’t worked out in twenty-eight years, Ro,” Amalie said, voice dropping to a murmur followed by a brittle laugh.
Romina looked entirely too pleased. “Now this will be interesting.”
Thankfully, she took it easy on Amalie despite Julian’s protests. He whined as he gasped, pointing an angry finger, asking why Amalie didn’t have to work out as hard as he did. Each time he did it, Romina made him run suicides, which made Amalie shake with sadistic laughter. By the fourth time he complained, Romina had had enough.
“Amalie isn’t the one trying to get into the US Open,” she said. “You are. Besides, I need her to still be able to walk so I can help her pick out a dress for her sister’s party in March. Everyone knows all the best dresses go early.”
The mention of Simone’s party put Amalie on high alert. Her sister wasn’t the issue, nor was her precious two-year-old niece, Tallulah. Her brother-in-law, Damien, was a different story, but that was a tale for another time. What she really hated was hobnobbing with a bunch of people she didn’t like, especially knowing her ex-fiancé would be among them. She’d heard the things said behind her back at those soul-sucking events: “Poor Amalie couldn’t handle the pressure, but look at Maxwell, top lawyer at his firm, with such a gorgeous fiancée. You could say he definitely dodged a bullet.” It made Amalie want to vomit, and on top of that, her dad would be there, his face proud as he watched Simone easily navigate their social stratosphere. Amalie would always be the screwup, the one who ran back home from NYC with her tail between her legs, everything ruined.
Thankfully, Romina’s phone rang, pulling Amalie out of her spiral and cutting off the major pissing contest going on between Ro and Julian.
“Amalie!” Ro called out, pressing a hand against the speaker of the cell phone. “Fill in for me while I take this call.”
“Fill in?” she said at the same time Julian growled, “No way.”
Ro held out her hand to silence her athlete, focusing on Amalie. “Yes. He’s going to do sit-ups on the ball, and I need you to watch his form because it’s been a minute since he worked on his core and—”
“Hey, I’m right here you know.” Julian crossed his arms and cocked a brow.
/> Ro was undeterred. “You’ll need to kneel beside him and make sure he keeps steady on the ball, his neck straight, and chin up. If you see him struggling, make those minor adjustments for him.” She didn’t even wait for Amalie to nod or salute or say anything—she just turned and headed to her office, phone to her ear.
Amalie turned back to Julian, who mirrored her glare. “Welp. I guess that’s it, then.”
She hopped up from the weight bench and headed over to the exercise ball she’d spotted earlier. Julian followed, reluctantly, and sat his rather shapely backside on the ball. With his hands behind his head and feet planted wide, he began the first set.
Amalie knelt beside him, catching another whiff of his cologne, mixed with sweat. It was almost too much, along with the fact that his body was laid out before her like a smorgasbord, muscles flexing and tightening. And those grunts. Jeez. They didn’t help matters, because they sounded like they belonged somewhere other than a gym. Ahem.
It was hard not to look at him, not to drool at the way his hair was plastered to his forehead, bits sticking up here and there, and then a girl’s best friend…gray cut off sweat shorts. Whew, mercy.
“You gonna check my form or what?” Julian’s voice bit through her haze.
“I am checking it.” She totally wasn’t, so she tried to actually focus on the areas Romina pointed out. Every once in a while his neck would come up, straining. She pressed light fingertips to the spot where his hair curled at his nape. In an attempt not to meet his eyes, she turned her attention to his legs, watching the powerhouse beneath his skin, those thigh muscles popping and shifting. She cleared her throat in an attempt not to show how impressed she was.
The ding of a text jerked Amalie to attention, so she reached into her hoodie to check her cell. It was Simone. Just as Amalie was about to reply, Julian released a loud sigh of exhaustion, and in a dramatic gesture, flailed his arms, smacking Amalie in the face. Her knee jerked, slamming into the ball, knocking it right out from under Julian’s ass.
With a quick bark, his hands flung out, desperate to find purchase. That purchase happened to be Amalie’s sweatshirt. His fingers grazed her boob before pulling her on top of him in his collapse.
Her face hovered inches above his, those bewitching eyes studying her with a quiet intensity. His hand tightened at her hip, this thumb creeping beneath her hoodie and searing her skin. Without her permission, a tiny gasp squeaked out, her lips working for some kind of reply, but she was transfixed by the beautiful man that she was currently straddling.
Oh, God. She was straddling him, and what she’d been eyeing in those shorts, well, it was definitely awake and pressed against her.
Her body came alive, but her mind was screaming at her to get the hell off him. So she did the most graceful thing she could think of and fell over sideways like a drunken crab.
Julian, having woken from the very same stupor, coughed into his fist, his voice still husky when he spoke. “Really, princess? What are we doing? If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask.”
Her face burned, but she refused to let him see how much his sheer physicality had affected her. She made a psssh sound and waved him off, even though he was standing now, and she was still akimbo on the floor. “You wish.”
A wicked smile tilted Julian’s lips, that damn dimple in his cheek nearly disarming her as he reached toward her. “Here, let me help you up.”
“I may not know how to spot, but I know how to get up, thank you very much.” That may not have been totally true as she moved onto her knees, keeping her gaze trained away from the bulge that happened to be staring her in the face. She had a shred of dignity left and was hellbent on keeping it.
“Doesn’t look like it to me.” He laughed, keeping his hand extended.
Finally, she got up just as Ro appeared from her office. “I see this went well.” Julian and Amalie said nothing as they bowed their heads like kids being scolded. “I think that’s enough for today,” Romina added as she moved the exercise ball back to the mat.
“Come on, rich girl,” Julian provoked, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “We’ve got to meet this coach you’ve dug up.” He even winked at her as she dusted off her butt, his gaze totally checking out her assets.
She gave him a syrupy smile and shot him a bird.
Romina looked between them and shook her head. “Julian, I’ve got to speak with Amalie.” Romina made sure to emphasize Amalie’s actual name and not Julian’s nickname. “If you need to go ahead, I can always take her to the tennis center.”
Julian didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll wait.” He grabbed his water bottle, refilled it, and then met Amalie’s stare. “I’ll be outside.” He hitched a thumb toward the doorway of the gym, then turned to Romina. “Nice meeting you. I’ll be sure to bring the coach’s notes tomorrow.”
Romina gave Julian a sharp, wordless nod as he swaggered out the door into the morning light. Without hesitation, Ro grabbed Amalie’s hand and dragged her into a tiny but extremely well-organized office. Once the door was shut, Ro turned the lock and then leaned against it, her eyes looking a little wild.
Amalie raised a brow. “What?”
Romina held up a hand to silence her. “You did not tell me he was hot. Asshole? Yes. Hot as hell? No.”
Amalie laughed, a nervous tittering thing she’d only read about in books, and yet here she was tittering all over the place.
“He’s so not hot,” she argued with a hollow laugh, her gaze roaming all over the office unable to meet Romina’s eyes. That girl was a human lie detector.
Her friend gave her a knowing look as she tightened her ponytail. “Whatever. If that’s the story, then why were you struggling to drag your eyeballs away from his ass during those squats I made him do? Which were for your benefit, by the way. You’re welcome.”
Amalie shot her friend an incredulous look. “Just because I like his ass doesn’t mean I like his face, thank you very much. He made those shorts look like a million bucks. I’ve never seen anything so…grabbable.” She made grabby hands in the air. “So yeah, that’s why I was struggling. Natural instincts and all that. And thank you for giving me the ass show.”
Romina’s voice dropped. “Y’all have this super-hot tension going on. It’s almost like…foreplay.”
“What are you talking about?” Amalie’s words tangled as they came out of her mouth. She was totally thinking about his sweat shorts, his muscles, his dimple, his…
Ugh, she had to get a grip.
Ro tapped a glittery purple nail against her tan skin. “The tension between you two is strung so tight it feels like it might snap any second. I bet you’ll sleep together before it’s all said and done. I mean with the love/hate thing—”
Amalie piped up, her nose scrunched and mouth twisted at Romina’s words. “Hate. Most definitely one hundred percent hate,”
Romina waved away her interruption. “The sex would be fantastic.”
Amalie’s jaw dropped, and she quickly screwed it shut. Those words, the thoughts they provoked—nope, nope, nope.
“I see I’ve left you speechless,” Romina teased as she pushed off the desk. “You should invite him to Simone’s party. He’d be great eye candy, and imagine that bootay in a suit.” She fanned herself, fluttering her long lashes. “Maxwell the third would lose it.”
Amalie toyed with a rogue paperclip on the desk. “Maxwell wouldn’t care. He’s engaged to that model or whatever, and besides, I despise Julian in a totally non-sexual way.” Though she didn’t mind the idea of that ass and those quads in a suit.
Ro pulled back, the force of her stare nearly knocking Amalie over. “Take Julian. Please.”
“No way.” Amalie shook her head. “As you saw today, he can be kind of a jerk.”
“Yeah, but I think, maybe deep down, under all those walls of his, he’s got a soft spot for you—and don’t even think of arguing with me about that.” Romina’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she walked
toward the door and opened it. “You’ve got a meeting to get to, so you’d better scram, but hey…” She paused, making sure she held Amalie’s attention. “Seriously, ask him.”
Amalie groaned as she left the office. “Yes, mother.”
Plot twist: Amalie had no intention of asking Julian for anything more than she already had.
Chapter Seven
Julian
As Julian sat in his car, his mind wandered back to the feel of Amalie pressed against him, the sight of her ass in those tight black capris. If she were any other woman, he would’ve already asked her out because he couldn’t deny the fact that he wanted her—hell, his body had blatantly alerted him—and her—at the gym to that fact. As it were, he despised her perfect upturned nose, her sarcastic remarks, her know-it-all attitude, and her rich-girl upbringing.
Something clenched in his chest, arguing the opposite, but he shoved it down. She was just a pretty face, and he had a penchant for those. That’s all it was.
Amalie opened the door and slid into the seat, startling him from his daydream. “You ready to answer some of my questions?”
His shoulders slowly crept to his ears, the tension in his neck appearing immediately. There were some things he didn’t want to discuss, and he was pretty sure those were the things Amalie was most interested in.
Not even caring that he hadn’t answered, Amalie dug a notebook out of her purse. Noticing the car hadn’t moved yet, she cut her eyes over to him. “Well? Are you going to drive, or do you know how to teleport?”
“Always so feisty,” he fired back. “I’m going. Did you want me to start rolling before you put your seatbelt on?” Amalie snapped her seat belt into place and then made a show of batting her lashes. “Aww, you’re worried for my safety.”
Painting the Lines: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Ace of Hearts Book 1) Page 5
