L. A. Witt - Rules 1 - Rules of Engagement (17 page)

And of course, Brandon wasn’t about to let me forget it. “I told you playing dirty with me would get you into trouble.”

 

I slid an arm around his waist. “Ah, but it’s fun, so what’s the harm?”

 

“No harm at all,” he said with a devilish wink as he walked past me.

 

I caught him with an arm around his waist. “Besides,” I said, kissing his neck. “I like playing dirty with you.”

“Likewise,” he said, reaching between us and squeezing the front of my jeans. He glanced down and grinned. “And evidently you like it just as much as I do.”

“Great minds think alike.” I pulled him into a long kiss.

He paused and licked his lips. “You know, I
never
get tired of the way your kiss tastes.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond before he kissed me again, sliding a hand around the back of my neck and exploring my mouth with his tongue.

Finally, he broke the kiss, gave me a quick, mouthwatering grin, and turned his attention back to the game. The twelve was practically falling into the side pocket. He paused. “So what was that wager again?”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Loser sucks the winner off.” He nodded, grinning. “Duly noted.”

My mouth watered. I had no qualms about losing this particular bet. Any excuse to get into bed with Brandon, especially if I could— The cue ball bounced off of the side of the table, missing the twelve completely, and knocked the eight ball into the corner pocket.

I stared at it in slack-jawed disbelief. Then I looked at Brandon, and the cocky, horny grin on his face made my knees weak.
“Oops.” His cue made a hollow click when he laid it across the table, and he started towards me. “I seem to have lost.”

A
FTER
my workout, I showered, dressed, and headed out of the locker room to clock out for lunch.

“Hey Dustin, are you going to lunch?” Kate asked, following me into the office.

“Yeah, want me to bring something back for you?”
“No, I brought mine.” She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s a new client, though, that asked specifically for you. Said you were recommended to him by a friend.”
I looked at the clock. I was dying to eat, but I couldn’t afford to

let potential clients go. My divorce lawyer had to make his car payments, after all. “Ugh, I don’t suppose I can get out of this one, can I?”

“Well, unless you want to pass up a client,” she said with a shrug as she handed me a folder. “He came in while you were doing your workout, so I did his prelim stuff.”

“Thanks.” That would save me half an hour or so; now all I had to do was go over the forms that Kate had filled out detailing the client’s goals, workout history, and health history. I glanced at the clock again. “Tell him to give me ten minutes. I’ll go over his info while I eat something.”

“Sounds good. He’s in the lobby.” She left the office, and I grabbed a protein shake out of the communal refrigerator before leaning back in the boss’s chair with the new client’s paperwork.

I was just taking a drink when I flipped the folder open, and I nearly choked.
Brandon Stewart
.

I sat up straight. “Oh, you son of a bitch.” I perused the file, wondering if it was just a coincidence, but his workout and health history were consistent with his physique.

Quickly finishing my shake, I got up and headed out into the lobby. He looked up from a bodybuilding magazine and gave me that cocky grin. In that moment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fuck him or kill him.

“Brandon Stewart?” I said, trying to sound polite and casual.

He set the magazine down and rose, extending his hand, keeping up the charade that we’d never met. “You must be Dustin. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

I gave his hand an extra firm shake, but he just smiled and ran his thumb across the back of my hand.

 

“Why don’t we head to weight room?” I said. “Since all of the prelim crap is out of the way.”

“You lead, I’ll follow,” he said with a smirk.
“I’m sure you will,” I growled.

He laughed and followed me towards the stairs. As we walked past the reception desk, Kate gave me a puzzled look but said nothing.
On the way up the stairs, I turned to Brandon and whispered, “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t have any classes today,” he said matter-of-factly. “So I decided to come fuck with you.”

“Fuck with me?” I laughed. “By giving me money?” He wetted his lips. “By getting hot, sweaty, and out of breath.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “You know I’m going to get

even with you for this, don’t you?”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

I gave him a good-natured glare and lowered my voice even more. “Just remember, you started it.”
That cocky grin again. “I don’t suppose,” he said. “You’ll show me how to do handstand pushups?”

My blood went cold. There was no way in
hell
I would be able to keep a professional façade if he even attempted a handstand pushup. I cleared my throat. “I, well, why don’t we go through your lifting routine and cardio, then we’ll try that?”

He pursed his lips. “But if I’ve already done a lifting routine, my arms will be too tired to hold me up.”

“Pity.” I gestured towards one of the mats by the corner of the track. “Do some stretching. Trust me, you’ll need it.”
He snorted. “Is this more for my benefit or yours?”

I raised an eyebrow. “If it were for my benefit, I’d have you doing wind sprints in the parking lot with hundred-pound dumbbells in either hand.”

“Slave driver.”
“Damn right. Now stretch. I’ll be right back.” I left him to warm up while I went to see if any of the benches were open in the weight room. One was, so I threw a towel on it to let the other members know it was taken.

I always had clients start out with a few minutes of stretching, but I had to admit that this was, as Brandon had suggested, for my benefit. Not because I wanted to watch him stretch, though. I needed a moment to take a breath and will myself to get through this session without making myself look completely unprofessional. It was bad enough working with someone with Brandon’s flawless physique when I wasn’t planning on having sex with them in a few hours.

This was going to be—in every sense of the word—the hardest training session in recent memory. I paused to glance at myself in the mirror, cursing at the slight flush in my cheeks. Then I shook my head and laughed.
I am so getting you back for this, Dr. Stewart
.

Running him through various exercises in the weight room proved to be as torturous for me as it was for him. I pushed his limits— which was my job—but he pushed mine right back.

Towards the end of a particularly difficult set of hammer curls, his grimace reminded me of the way he looked when he was right on the edge. As he sat up after putting the weights down, a single drop of sweat slid out of his hair and disappeared under his shirt, and my mind’s eye watched it run down the groove in the middle of his back, watched it pause on the edges of his tattoo.

I shook my head, forcing myself to do my damned job and focus on what he was doing, but that didn’t help, not with the way his biceps moved with each rep.
Fucking hell, Brandon, I am going to get you back for this.

He set the dumbbells down and ran a hand through his sweaty hair—
Which looks nothing like it does right after he gets out of the shower. Damn it, Dustin, pay attention
.

“You’re quite the slave driver,” he said with a wink, opening his water bottle.

“Just making sure you get your money’s worth.” I went about putting the weights back on the rack. Under normal circumstances, I’d make him do it, simply because I wanted to make him work, but in this case, it gave me something to do other than watch his Adam’s apple bob each time he swallowed.

“So how about those handstand push-ups?” he asked, capping the bottle.

“We’ll see how you feel after you do your cardio.”
He blinked. “Cardio? After all of that?”

I grinned.
It seems I’ve regained the upper hand, haven’t I?
“There are conflicting schools of thought as far as whether it’s better to do cardio before or after lifting. In this case, I’m going to say it’s better to do it after.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

I gestured for him to follow me out of the weight room. “Because it’ll make you suffer.”
We found a treadmill that wasn’t occupied, and I glanced at the information Brandon had filled out. “So, six miles is your usual?”

“Before I’ve lifted, yes.”
Is that apprehension in his voice?

“We’ll make it four, then,” I said. “But next time, you’d better be back up to six.” Setting the machine for the appropriate program and speed, I nodded for him to get on. I hit the start button. “Enjoy.”

“Sadist,” he said with a laugh as the treadmill started. I paused, eyeing him and smirking. “I’m the sadist?” He batted his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh.” I gave him a playful glare. Starting back towards the treadmill, I added, “Oh, that reminds me.”

 

“What?”

Craning my neck to see the controls, I changed the incline to three percent, then grinned at him. “That should be enough to remind you not to fuck with me.”

“No, it probably won’t.”
“Want me to make it six percent?”

Laughing, he batted my hand away from the control. “No, leave it alone!”

“I’ll be back in a few. Enjoy your run.” I went into the office to get something cold to drink and figure out just what I had to do to get him back.

I
COULDN
’
T
help the look of smug satisfaction when Brandon limped
into my apartment that evening. Trying not to laugh, I said, “Sore, are we?”

He glared at me, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a grin. “Yeah. Funny how that happens after I spend an hour getting my ass kicked.”
I shut the door. “Well, it’s not like I dragged you into the gym.”

He snickered. “Looked more like you were going to try to drag me
out
.”

 

“I’m not one to turn away a paying client,” I said. “So I figured I’d just make you regret walking through the door to begin with.” “You’ll have to try a lot harder than that, Dustin.” He winked.

Kissing him lightly, I put my arms around him. “I just wanted to make you regret coming in,” I said, pulling him a little closer. “I didn’t want to cripple you.”

He winced, shifting his weight. “I think you almost did cripple me.”

 

“I didn’t really hurt you, did I?”

 

Shaking his head, he said, “No, but I’m going to feel like hell tomorrow. Already do feel like hell, thank you very much.”

“That’ll teach you.”
“No, it probably won’t.” He winked. “When’s my next session?” “I’ll pencil you in sometime, oh,
never
.”

He laughed and kissed me. Then he cocked his head and looked at me, obviously thinking something.

 

“What?”

“You knew I’d be too tired to try handstand push-ups, didn’t you?”
I tried not to smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.”

Knowing full well my cheeks were burning, I dropped my gaze. “Yes, I knew you’d be too tired. I would never have a client try something like that at the end of a session. If I’d had any intention whatsoever of doing them with you, we would have done them at the beginning.”

His eyebrow lifted. I could tell he was both amused and curious. “So, why…?”

Chewing my lip, I said, “Because I can barely keep myself professional when I’m watching my other clients do them. If I saw you do it….” I swallowed. “Let’s just say everyone in the gym would have known exactly how I felt about you.”

“Ah, so the professional Dustin has an Achilles’ heel, after all.”

I snorted. “Trust me, I have several. But that is definitely my Kryptonite.”
“Why is that?”

“It’s—” I cut myself off, pursing my lips as I tried to find the words to describe it. “I mean… fuck it, let me show you. Come on.”

We went into the living room where there was a bit more space in case I lost my balance. I almost never did, but with Brandon there, anything could happen. Even now, he made my hands shake, which didn’t bode well for maintaining a handstand.

I started to tuck my shirt in, but instead, I took it off.

“I like the looks of this already,” Brandon said with a smirk. He folded his arms across his chest and rested his hip against the couch as he watched me.