Chapter 2: Sweat and Secrets
The resort gym smelled of chlorine sanitizer and stale effort. Joanne gripped the dumbbell, knuckles white, pushing through the burn in her triceps. Mirrors reflected her flushed face, the fluorescent lights unforgiving. She’d come early, hoping for solitude, craving the mindless exertion to quell the restless hum that hadn’t left her since the bar. Since Jake. The memory of his smirk, the dangerous spark as she walked away with Mark, sent a fresh wave of heat through her that had nothing to do with exercise.
Thump. She lowered the weight. Thump. Lifted again. Routine. Safe. Predictable. Everything her life felt like lately. Everything except that electric moment by the water.
"Careful there," a low voice murmured near her ear. "You'll strain your rotator cuff pulling it back like that."
Jake. He stood close, impossibly tall and lean beside the weight bench. Dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt, muscles shifting beneath the fabric as he moved. His salt-and-pepper hair was damp, his gaze sharp and assessing.
Joanne startled, almost dropping the dumbbell. "Oh! Jake. Didn't see you." Her voice sounded breathless. Stupid.
He gave that easy, practiced grin. "Early bird. Good habit." He didn't step back. His eyes traveled over her form, not leering, but clinically. Professionally. "Mind if I adjust your elbow? You're letting it flare out."
Before she could answer, his hand was on her bare upper arm. Calloused fingers – rough, unlike Mark’s smooth office hands – pressed firmly just below her shoulder joint. The contact was electric. Startlingly intimate in the sterile space. She could feel the heat radiating from his palm through her thin tank top.
"Tuck it in," he instructed, his voice a low rumble near her temple. His other hand lightly touched her forearm, guiding the weight path down. "Smooth arc. Control the descent. Yeah, just like that."
She followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact. His touch was confident, impersonal on the surface, yet charged with an undercurrent that made her pulse thrum in her throat. The scent of his clean sweat and a hint of that same earthy cologne mixed with the gym’s chemical smell.
"Better?" he asked, his fingers lingering a fraction too long as he released her.
"Much," she breathed, unable to meet his eyes. She focused on the dumbbell, taking another shaky rep. The movement felt different now. His hands had imprinted themselves. She could almost feel him guiding her still.
He leaned a hip against the bench, watching her next few reps. "You’re strong. Good form… mostly." That knowing smirk played on his lips again. "Need a spotter?"
"I… I think I’m okay with this weight," she managed, lowering the dumbbell with trembling arms. "Just finishing up."
"Don't stop on my account. Watching good form is part of my job. Football trainer, remember?" He gestured vaguely towards the other, mostly empty, machines. "Obsessive. Comes with the territory." He picked up a towel, wiped his neck. "Enjoying the resort? Aside from the early morning exertion?"
"It’s beautiful," she said, sitting up straighter, trying to regain composure. "Peaceful."
"Peaceful," he echoed, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Yeah. Can be. Sometimes needs a little… stirring up." He held her gaze. "You looked like you could use some stirring up last night." The directness was disarming.
She felt her cheeks flush anew. "Mark wasn’t exactly stirring things up," she said before she could stop herself. The admission hung in the air between them, raw and dangerous.
Jake didn’t flinch. "Not everyone appreciates the finer things," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. He reached out again, not touching her skin this time, but brushing a stray strand of damp hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her forehead. The gesture was shockingly tender. "Or knows how to pay attention."
Her breath hitched. The gym seemed suddenly smaller, hotter. The rhythmic thudding from a distant treadmill faded into a dull throb. She stared at his hand, hovering near her face, then back at his eyes. The clear invitation was there. The risk. The sheer, terrifying exhilaration of it.
"Maybe," she whispered, the word barely audible over the whirring fan.
He didn't smile. His expression turned serious, intent. "Show me your bench press," he said, his voice dropping lower.
Joanne swallowed, the metal bench cool through her thin tank top. She lay back, gripping the bar too tightly. "It's not heavy," she insisted, her voice thin.
"Doesn't matter," Jake murmured, his shadow falling over her. "Form’s everything." He placed one hand lightly on the bar, the other settling firmly on her hip bone. His thumb pressed just above the waistband of her leggings. "Arch your back slightly. Engage your core." His breath stirred the hair near her temple.
She pushed the bar up, muscles straining. His hand on her hip felt like a brand. He leaned closer, ostensibly to monitor her grip. "Elbows in. Don’t flare." His calloused fingers skimmed her ribcage, adjusting her position. A tremor ran through her. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, unrelated to the exertion.
"Lower it slow," he commanded, his voice a low thrum in her ear. "Control it." His thumb traced a small, deliberate circle on her hip bone. She gasped, the bar wobbling slightly. He steadied it easily. "Focus, Joanne." The way he said her name sent heat pooling low in her belly. His scent – clean sweat, that same warm cologne, and chlorine – filled her senses.
The gym door hissed open. Joanne flinched, losing concentration. The bar jerked. Jake’s hand clamped instantly on the metal, guiding it safely back to the rack with a soft clang. His other hand lingered on her hip for a heartbeat too long before lifting.
"Jo? Thought I’d find you here." Mark’s voice sounded hesitant, scraping across the tense air like gravel. He stood awkwardly near the treadmills, dressed in khakis and a polo, shifting his weight. "Look, about last night…" He trailed off, his gaze flicking between her flushed face on the bench and Jake, who stood tall and relaxed beside her, wiping his hands on a towel.
Mark cleared his throat, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Didn’t mean to bark like that. Sorry. Just… startled." He took a step closer, eyeing the bench press setup. "Need a spot? I can help instead." He offered his smooth, uncalloused hand towards the bar.
Jake remained silent, a faint, unreadable curve on his lips as he watched Joanne.
She sat up quickly, swinging her legs off the bench, putting space between herself and Jake. "It's okay, Mark." Her voice sounded too bright, too quick. "Really. Jake’s got it. He’s doing a really good job."
Mark’s hand hung in the air for a moment before dropping. He studied Jake, then Joanne’s overly bright expression. "Right. Okay. Just… wanted to say sorry." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Good job, then." The words felt stiff. "I’ll… grab some water." He turned, walking stiffly towards the cooler, throwing a final, troubled glance over his shoulder.
Jake watched Mark go, then turned his full attention back to Joanne. The easy charm was gone, replaced by an intense focus. He moved without hesitation, closing the distance she’d created. His hand returned to her hip, possessive and grounding as he guided her gently back down onto the bench.
"Elbows in," he murmured, his breath warm on her ear as he leaned over her, his body a shield blocking Mark’s view. His free hand traced a deliberate line from her collarbone down to her sternum, a feather-light touch that ignited every nerve ending. "Breathe." His fingers slid lower, skimming the damp fabric over her ribs, settling just below her breast. "Now lift."