by Virna DePaul
“I know you’ve got my best interests at heart.” Gabe stepped up to her and held her by the shoulders. “I just don’t want to be treated like an invalid. Everybody’s turned this…setback…into such an issue. I might wish I was still with the Noise, that we were still in Chicago, but I’m making this year my bitch. Just watch.”
“Gabe, you don’t have anything to prove.”
“Yes. I do, Murph.” Maybe it was childish, but he wanted the Noise to know what they lost. He had a lot to prove—a lot.
“Fine, I get it. It sucks the mighty one. But we’ll get through this, Gabe. Together.”
“I know we will,” Gabe said and bent to give his sister a tight hug before pulling away. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Are you asking me out?” Feigning a fan girl, she brought her hands to her chin in a cutesy pose. “Oh, my God. Gabe Murphy just asked me out. He is soooo fucking hot.” Her laugh was bubbly, and he loved her, but man, was she annoying.
“Okay, one—that’s just weird.”
“But true. How do you think I feel hearing that from my friends every day?” she scoffed.
“And two, we’re gonna need a few cold ones after this move-in.”
“I’m always up for a pint. First though, I have some errands to run and you have someone to meet.” Murph stepped over to the cluttered dining table, fishing around for something. “Somewhere on this table is the business card of your new trainer. Your appointment is at three-thirty, which is in an hour. If all goes well, you’ll officially begin training next week.”
“Why wait?”
She shrugged. “That’s what worked. But once you start, you’ll do five sessions a week for the next six weeks, minimum. You can extend from there if you’re happy with the results.”
“Sounds good. I could use some structure. Get back into a routine.”
“You’ll meet at Iron Maiden Gym just for today, the rest of the time you’ll meet here.” Iron Maiden. Iron, ‘cause of weights. Also, muscle. Clever.
“Can’t we alternate between Iron Maiden and here?” Granted, the gym they’d had installed before they’d moved in was state of the art and he had yet to see Iron Maiden, but he liked to change up his routine.
“Iron Maiden is fifteen minutes out from the stadium going the other way, so thirty minutes away from here. Why not save yourself the time when the trainer does house calls?”
“There aren’t any trainers that are closer?”
“None as good as this one, apparently.”
“Who recommended this guy? One of your boyfriends?” Murph wasn’t just confident and assertive at work. She had a little black book the size of Texas, and didn’t have qualms about hooking up with a guy or two.
Or three.
At the same time.
Gabe shook the disturbing image from his head then had a horrible thought. “Wait, are you dating this guy?”
Murph rolled her eyes then grabbed her keys and headed for the door. “I got the trainer’s name from the Bootleggers assistant activities director. But why does it matter? You want the best, right?”
Gabe nodded. Whoever he was, Gabe hoped he’d be tough as nails, make him work his ass off like his trainer in Chicago. “Right. Thanks, Murph.”
“No problem. I’ll text you the address of a bar where we can have a drink later.”
“See you then.”
Gabe pulled up the directions to Iron Maiden on his Maps app and headed out. As he drove, his thoughts wandered to his goals for this year. Improve his shoulder’s range of motion, get stronger and faster in general, earn respect from fans, coaches, and opposing players alike, work his way back up to MVP status and hell yeah, every player’s dream—win the Super Bowl.
He arrived at Iron Maiden, got out of the car, then yanked open the door and pushed himself into the air-conditioned two-story facility. It looked a little worn down, but the sounds of weights clanking, big guys grunting through their workouts, and music blasting through the speakers immediately brought Gabe a sense of comfort.
Some people had spas. Some had yoga studios.
Today, Gabe had Iron Maiden.
Speaking of maiden, a drop-dead gorgeous woman spotted him through an office with glass walls, said something to a man standing next to her (probably his new trainer from the way they were both looking at him expectantly), and opened the door. She was about five-foot-seven with long brown glossy hair that swung so fucking cutely in her ponytail. She wore no make-up, and she didn’t need any.
She had big green eyes, cheeks like small apples, and a heart-shaped face. Even the way she moved her perfectly fit body, which included small, firm breasts pressed together inside her sports bra and tank, was effortless. She was serving smooth curves and skin, and he was hungry. Clearly, she worked out, but there was nothing hardcore, cut, or overblown about her. He instantly dubbed her “Georgia Peach” because she was so damn luscious.
Then came her smile.
It lit up the whole room. Gabe found himself feeling like he was the only person in the entryway, like time had slowed down just so he could watch her move like an instant replay.
He cleared his throat and gave the big guy, who’d stepped out of the glass room to join them, a hearty nod. The guy smiled but then walked away.
“Hi,” the woman said, all breezy and bouncy. She extended her hand. “You must be Gabe.”
For a split second, Gabe’s polite brain went AWOL. He imagined taking her hand, whipping her around, and pressing his hard cock up against her bouncy ass in those tight leggings. He imagined her naked and spread out for him. Hell, he imagined a lot of things, but he pasted a polite smile on his face even as his balls tightened painfully. She was gorgeous and he was seriously attracted to her, but he was here to focus. Sweat. Get his A-game back. Nothing could distract him.
“I am.” He slipped his hand into hers, felt the warm, small delicateness of her hand in his. “I have an appointment here at 3:30?”
“Yes. I’m Zoe Reynolds…” she said, shaking more sturdily than he’d expected. Her ponytail bounced with every ounce of energy she had. “…your trainer. Also, the owner of Iron Maiden. I know we’ll be meeting at your home gym, but since you’re here, I’ll show you around.” She tossed him another luminous smile before turning and giving him a royal view of her perfect round ass.
Aww, so cute. It almost sounded like she said she was his…
Wait…
His trainer?
The gym’s owner?
Gabe pulled his tongue back into his mouth and swallowed all his preconceived notions about gyms and women and business owners and athletic trainers. Okay, so he was being an asshole, but he hadn’t had sex in months, and she was beyond gorgeous.
How in the ever-loving world was he going to be able to concentrate on training and football now?
Chapter 2
Zoe had seen footage of Gabe Murphy playing ball—who hadn’t? The man was an animal on the field, and the fans gobbled up his intensity. Hell, Zoe gobbled up his onscreen intensity. She’d also seen him in a soap commercial where the camera focused on lather dripping down his chest onto his rippled abs right before it moved up to his face where his cheeks blended into a mischievous smile.
No question he was a hottie.
Still, something intangible hadn’t translated through the lens of the television cameras. Yes, that soap commercial had caught that handsome face, square jawline, and those firm, sculpted lips. But with him standing a foot away from her now, there was so much more to soak in. Longish, wavy hair that could’ve been called “brown” but was really more like deep caramel. Stormy blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. A few days stubble along his jawline. The full tribal tattoo that covered his left shoulder—his injured left shoulder—partially visible under his sleeveless tank.
Feeling almost dizzy, her body responding to Gabe in a way she couldn’t remember responding to a man so quickly before, Zoe took in a slow, silent breath before speaking again
.
“Over here we have the free weights. That corner over there, the machines…” As she gave him the tour of the facility, the machines, weight racks, and such, she couldn’t help but feel dwarfed by his sheer size. He towered over her by at least nine inches. When they’d shaken hands a moment ago, his had engulfed hers in a strong, gentle grip that had sent a tingle straight up her arm.
They stopped in front of the chest press where she tried to focus on the pure steel of machines instead of her client. “So, there you have it. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s home. Any questions?”
Gabe crossed his arms, which only accentuated the size of his biceps. She forced her eyes to his face. “Actually, yeah. I’m a little surprised,” he said.
“By?”
Raising his arm, he rubbed the back of neck, looking appropriately sheepish as he said, “Well, you’re a woman…”
“I see…” Now it was her turn to cross her arms. “So you think, because I’m a woman, that I won’t be able to train you as well as a guy.”
“No, that’s not it. I only meant that it’s a complication…you know what? Never mind.” He let out a massive sigh like he was the most misunderstood Neanderthal on the planet. “Let’s get this over with.”
Zoe took a deep breath. She was certainly disappointed by his attitude, but it was nothing she hadn’t run across before. “Actually, I’d hate to start on an awkward foot. Why don’t you tell me what you meant because you do know I don’t have to be a man to know how to train one, right? Much like an OB-GYN doesn’t need to have a baby in order to deliver one.”
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 sex
ual 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 important, 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.
