by Virna DePaul
He shook his head and moved to the chest press machine, pulling out the pin currently set to a hundred pounds and moving it somewhere near the two-hundred range. “Like I said, that’s not the problem, peach.”
She stiffened her knees and straightened her spine. What did he just call me? “I beg your pardon?” She had never in her five years as a trainer to athletes been called a peach by any of them.
“It’s just, you look like a bushel of fresh peaches.” A hint of a smile played on his lips, but at her disapproving glare, he sighed again. “That’s kind of a complication, too.”
That was the second time he’d mentioned a complication. She wanted to push further, ask him to explain again, but she held back.
“We need to start with a full functional movement screen, then some mobility and stability exercises.”
“I’d rather get right to seeing what kind of workout you can give me.” He settled into the chest press machine seat.
“Those things would be part of your workout.”
“You know what I mean. I’m all for stretching and foam rolling, but I need to know you can give me the high intensity stuff the way I need it.”
By high intensity, he meant heavy weights and He-Man moves, and as a professional athlete, he knew better than to jump right into a heavy workout without warming up. But clearly he’d made up his mind about her, her being a woman and all, and what he wanted was to get out of here as soon as possible. I need this gig, I need this gig, she kept reminding herself. She checked out where he’d set the pin. “What’s your usual starting weight?”
“I already set it.”
“I know, but if you’re skipping a warm up and mobility exercises first, you should start with a lower weight and build your way up. I’d rather you not overwork yourself on your first day.”
He bristled, casting her a brooding glance underneath his brows. “And I’d rather push like hell from day one. I have goals to reach, a new team’s respect to earn. Now, spot me.”
This guy was all push, push, push. She knew the type well. They thought the best way to bounce back from an injury was by forcing their bodies to work harder than ever before, push through the pain and rebuke reason. They were the same guys who made it in to work out even while dying from the flu or a particularly nasty cold. They never let their bodies and minds rest.
Zoe tried not to let her annoyance seep into her voice. “After reviewing tapes from your fateful season, I’d say you need to start slow, build your way to those goals.”
“Why do you say fateful like it was the end of my career?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” She was flustered. The chip on this guy’s shoulder was the size of a battleship. “I’m saying fateful like it changed your life, even if only temporarily. But my job is to make sure you get where you need to be without risking another injury before you’ve even had a chance to play one game with the Bootleggers. So you either listen to my advice, or go fly a kite.”
Go fly a kite? Where had that come from? She’d never talked this way to a client before.
“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. “I’m having a stressful day. That was wrong of me to say.”
He stared at her. “You sounded like Mary Poppins.”
Well, if she sounded like Mary Poppins, it was only because he was acting like a petulant child.
“Listen, Peachy Poppins,” he said as he started his set. “I know what I can and can’t handle. You’ve only seen last season’s tapes and the aftermath of the injury. You haven’t seen any of the progress I’ve made since then or how I’ve been kicking ass this summer. I know what I need, and it’s not to go easy on myself.”
Lord, he was frustrating. She should quit now instead of wasting her time. Only she couldn’t. She had to make this work.
Though Iron Maiden used to belong to Hall of Fame Quarterback, Kip Reynolds, the man she called Dad now suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease and spent his daily life at an expensive nursing facility, one that Zoe and her brother, Pete, could barely afford to keep him at. Over the last few months, her father’s medical bills, which were exorbitant to begin with, had gotten even higher due to unexpected respiratory complications. To make matter’s worse, her landlord’s son had taken over management of the building that housed Iron Maiden and had raised the rent several hundred dollars. Zoe and Pete had barely been getting by, and then Pete had unexpected work expenses right after her father had landed in the hospital again.
Now she didn’t have the money to pay Iron Maiden’s rent and her credit cards were maxed out. Only a few minutes ago, Zoe had to inform Kevin, one of her best trainers, that she couldn’t afford to pay him every week. They’d just been going over his new, adjusted schedule when Gabe had arrived. She’d already refused two other potential clients just so she could be available for “super athlete” Gabe Murphy for six weeks. She’d even agreed to train him in his home despite the extra driving and time away from Iron Maiden because she needed the money so bad.
When Gabe was done with the first set of chest presses, he stood up to stretch, like a sequoia towering over her, and his hand brushed against her bare shoulder. Immediately, he whipped his hand away as if he’d touched a cactus.
Seriously? His response shouldn’t have bothered her. She was a professional and all clients had the right to feel comfortable with their trainer. So why did she feel like the last kid picked during a game of dodge ball?
Enough was enough. “Mr. Murphy, if you think you need a man for the job, that’s fine. Your sister and I agreed we’d work together for a minimum of six weeks and I’ve arranged my schedule accordingly. However, I’ll let you get out of our agreement if that’s what you think is best, but only if you do something for me today.”
She half-expected him to soften up, apologize even, but he did nothing of the sort. “What’s that?”
“We start with the mobility exam and exercises I recommend—which are beyond stretching and foam-rolling, by the way—then move on to stability, strength, and endurance training. I want to focus on exercises to create more mobility of the shoulder girdle and strength within the serratus anterior. If you can get through a two-hour session with me, look me straight in the face and tell me it wasn’t the best you’ve ever had…” The words hadn’t seemed nearly so loaded when she’d thought them, but now that she’d heard them aloud, they hung in the air between them like some strangely sexual gauntlet.
His nostrils flared and his gaze pierced through her.
Her heartbeat pounded against her ribcage. My God, that wasn’t what she meant… “What I mean is, um, if I don’t give you the best workout of your life, then you win. You can find someone else. Deal?”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, then his gaze roved over her body, as if her curves or his reaction to them would determine his answer. Whatever his intention, her body heated in every nook and cranny, and she held her breath so she wouldn’t give herself away.
Finally, his mouth curled up in a crooked grin, and Zoe sucked in her breath at the transformation that overtook him. Raw lust rolled through her system.
“You’ve got a deal, peach,” he murmured. “Give it to me good.”
Gabe tolerated the functional movement exam and the ensuing exercises she gave him, but just barely. When she instructed him to bend over and swing his injured arm in a circle like a pendulum, creating passive rotation through the use of his body weight rather than through actual movement of his arm, he actually closed his eyes as if calling upon some inner fountain of patience before proceeding. When she asked him to lie on his side and use what he probably considered a ridiculously low weight to do internal/external abduction and adduction exercises, he gritted his teeth as if he wanted to make a snarky comment but was just barely holding back. When she suggested that he look into an acupuncturist in the area as well as some forms of meditation, he grunted but showed little interest.
Zoe didn’t let it bother her. She kept him focused on what she considered importan
t, including slowing down by utilizing eccentric contractions during his bicep curls and shoulder lifts. Then and only then did she give him the high-octane testosterone workout he craved.
The entire time, when she wasn’t distracted by watching his muscles bulge and flex, and hearing him grunt the way he might during sex, she was hyper aware of her facilities, how the paint was peeling on some of the machines, how one area of carpet really needed ripping out and replacing.
She’d never felt ashamed of her father’s former gym before, but Iron Maiden was really looking old. She wouldn’t let her troubles get her down, though. She was great at training athletes even though her gender was a sticking point for a lot of them.
She just hoped Gabe kept her on for the six weeks she’d been counting on. With the money she’d earn, she’d be able to pay her father’s care home bill, the gym’s late rent, and possibly even the gym’s rent for the month after that. After that, she and Pete would have to seriously reevaluate things. She might have to sell her house and rent a small place, maybe even get a roommate.
Bottom line, she was in deep trouble financially. Things had to change, and soon, and that change wouldn’t come nearly as fast if Gabe decided not to work with her.
Zoe ushered Gabe to the corner where she had him jump rope and hit the heavy bag. His physical prowess was impressive as hell. His determination to succeed was admirable and he seemed to be a man she could respect, aside from the fact he had an obvious problem working with a trainer that was a woman.
It was during his last set of abs, when she gently touched his midsection with soft fingertips, and he practically flinched, that she started to wonder—was the problem that she was a woman, or that she was a woman he was attracted to?
The thought caused a hot flush to shoot through her. It couldn't matter, though. Gabe was off limits. First, he was her client, or at least hopefully would be at the end of their session. And second, he was a football player, a man meant for the spotlight. Zoe didn’t date (or sleep with) professional athletes on principal. She’d already spent a lifetime trying to be a priority to a man who cared more about football than anything else before Alzheimer’s Disease took her father. She didn’t need to come in second best to a sport yet again.
When the workout ended with a complex set of lateral drills and then some cool down stretches, Gabe wasn’t even breathing heavy but sweat drenched him from head to toe. Reaching for a shelf against the wall, she grabbed him a clean towel, handing it to him while keeping her gaze averted. But she could see it in her mind—the way he rubbed off his arms and shoulders. He might’ve even been lifting his shirt to run the towel across his midsection. She could feel his burning gaze on her, and when she checked to see if he was, found she was right. Those steel blue eyes and that shoulder tattoo would haunt her tonight.
Good Lord, she needed water. Reaching for her bottle, she chugged down what was left of it in one gulp before straightening to face him again, trying her hardest to look nonchalant and more than likely failing.
“Well?”
He shrugged. “I’ve had better.” She gaped at him, speechless, as he sauntered toward the door. Once he’d opened it, however, he turned back and a naughty grin quirked one corner of his mouth. “But you’ll do,” he called. “I’ll see you next week, peach.”
Chapter 3
Two hours later, Gabe was still kicking himself.
Not because he’d told Zoe he’d had better—although that had been a lie—but because of what he’d said after that—you’ll do. He should’ve taken the out she’d given him and gotten another trainer. Unfortunately, he couldn’t deny two things. First, that during those two hours at Iron Maiden, he’d been trained by the best. And second, he was beyond attracted to Zoe, and he wanted to see her again despite the distraction she represented.
Sitting alone at the counter of Pete’s Bar & Grill—a bar near the Bootleggers’ stadium that Murph had texted to meet her at—Gabe muttered a curse and took a long swig from his pint glass. Letting Zoe stay on as his trainer would come back to bite him, he just knew it. Hell, she was already haunting him now. That tell-all face with those wide, green eyes that didn’t miss a trick. Those full lips and those pretty white teeth. He hadn’t given her much reason to smile, but for some reason, he was sure a dimple was hiding there somewhere. And he was a sucker for a dimple.
Right now, though, it was her body taking up the majority of his brain space. Lean and tight, she’d packed into a pair of serviceable black leggings and a purple exercise top that should’ve looked like nothing special but on her—
“So how did it go? Isn’t she great!”
He cocked his head to see his sister settling into the stool next to him, stringing her bag over the backrest. She had a breezy big grin like nothing was wrong in the world. “How did it go?” he demanded irritably. “Did you forget to mention this new trainer was a female?”
Murph snorted a laugh. “No, I didn’t forget. Seemed like a fifty-fifty chance it would be a woman, right?”
“I clearly remember asking you where you found the ‘guy’. You didn’t correct me.”
She just shrugged. “Serves you right for making assumptions.”
“Damn it, Murph. You should’ve mentioned it.”
“Gabe, honestly, why do you care?”
Gabe grunted and chugged the rest of his beer. Why did he care? Maybe because after his work out, he’d gone home to change, but first he’d taken a shower and jacked off to thoughts of Zoe. Instead of getting her out of his head, flashes of the pleasure he’d felt while imagining her naked still rattled through him.
He signaled to the bartender for another beer.
The man in his mid-twenties came over, a good-looking dude with dark hair and green eyes who was just his sister’s type. “Another pint for you, sir? And you, miss?” He gave Murph a dashing smile, and she immediately batted her eyelashes and ordered a pint of Sam Adams for herself. He presented Murph with a cold one in two seconds flat. He took considerably longer to get Gabe’s.
Murph offered him a playful smile. “Gee, Pete, I thought only women could be beer wenches. Maybe I shouldn’t be ordering from you. What do you think, big brother?” She swiveled toward Gabe. “We okay with this stunning turn of events, or should we go someplace less progressive?”
First of all, leave it to his sister to already know the bartender’s name—was he the Pete who owned Pete’s Bar and Grill? And second, leave it to her to so easily convince the bartender to play along.
“Miss, I promise I can do this job as well as any wench can,” Pete said.
Murph ran her fingertip along the glass’s edge. “But you don’t have the boobs, so…”
“True, but my pouring speed is second to none. And boobs aren’t everything.”
“I don’t know,” his sister flirted. “Boobs are pretty important.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Gabe interrupted. “You’ve made your point.”
Pete laughed and sauntered off to take care of another customer.
“Listen, I’m not a sexist asshole,” Gabe said. “Remember who used to play tea party with you only to turn around and drive you to football practice a few years later.”
She made a face and held up her beer. “Yep, you done good, big brother. Down with the patriarchy.” Murph took a long swig. “So what’s the big deal that the trainer is a woman?”
Gabe clenched his jaw, not wanting to come straight out and tell Murph how attracted he was to Zoe, but her widening eyes told him she’d figured it out before she said anything else.
“Wait a minute! I think I know…”
“You don’t know.”
“It’s not that Zoe Reynolds is a woman—it’s that Zoe Reynolds is hot. You like her!”
“I didn’t say that,” he grunted.
“You didn’t have to say it, Gabe. I see it all over your face. But look, so what? Did she do a good job?”
“Yes, she did a fucking fantastic job. That’s why I didn�
��t fire her.”
“Good. Continue to think with your head, not your dick, and you’ll be fine.”
“Says the girl flirting with the bartender on a first-name basis.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault I already know him. He was there when I stopped by Iron Maiden to hire your female trainer. We chatted and he told me about this place.”
“Yeah? What else did he tell you?”
“Zoe and Pete Reynolds are brother and sister, and the kids of Kip Reynolds.”
Gabe’s brows shot up. “Hall of Fame quarterback? Perfect season in 1989?”
“Yep. It’s no wonder she knows what a big, bad football player like you needs. She learned from the best. So, suck it up, buttercup.”
Wow, his sister really had found the best for him. Kip Reynolds had been a hero of Gabe’s when he was a kid. Pop had loved watching him play back in the day.
“Are you excited for your first practice with the team?” Murph asked. “I’m sure they’re looking forward to meeting their new brother.”
A bitter laugh rumbled up from his chest. “I had brothers at the Noise and look how that turned out.”
“These guys will become your brothers, too. Just watch. Remember, the Bootleggers wanted you or they wouldn’t have brokered such a great deal to get you.”
“I guess,” he muttered. He still couldn’t help but feel like the Noise had left him out to pasture like a lame horse, so while he was going to go into practice with a good attitude, he also wasn’t going to get attached. To anyone, anything, or anyplace. He wouldn’t make the same mistake as last time by thinking of his team as family. He’d do the job he came to do, but wouldn’t create any emotional ties. His new coach wouldn’t be his father. His teammates wouldn’t be his brothers. They were teammates, not friends.
There were no friends in football—just a job.
He was ordering his third beer when the door opened and a beautiful woman stepped into the bar. He stiffened and felt a tug low in his belly when he recognized Zoe. Her long dark hair was loose, she wore jeans with an off-the-shoulder top, and she carried a purse. She looked more relaxed than she had in the gym, softer, more casual, but she also looked tired, and Gabe winced, knowing that he’d contributed to that by being so difficult. As she headed toward the bar, however, his guilt didn’t stop him from staring at her spectacular ass.
