Summer Kisses (280 page)

“You ready to go for that workout, then?”

Katherine started chewing at her lip again. “Sure,” she said with no confidence whatsoever. I was strangely looking forward to working out with her and not because it had been some time since I’d trained anyone.

“You can leave your briefcase up here if you want. The ladies’ locker room is at the bottom of the stairs to the right. Come on out to the main gym floor when you’re ready.”

She moved slowly to the door then bent to pick up her duffel bag, and my mouth went dry.

Like I said. Temptation in one curvy little package.

The locker room was a maze of lockers, showers, and skinny, perfectly toned women parading about with towels wrapped around their bodies and hair, looking completely comfortable and at ease with themselves. The area smelled like my high-school locker room, and the memories that brought back had me hyperventilating even before I started my first exercise.

I scurried into my clothes, hoping I only imagined the whispers and pointing. To be honest, I probably whipped myself into a frenzy for nothing. As I walked toward the exit, it appeared as if not even a single woman had noticed my presence.

However, I still felt self-conscious as I left. I smoothed my tee shirt over the top of my shorts, wishing it came down another three feet until it scraped the floor and hid me from view. Quinn had also changed and waited for me outside the men’s locker room wearing a beat-up, faded blue tee shirt with the sleeves ripped out and a pair of cotton athletic shorts that were snug enough to show off his butt and upper thighs, leaving the rest of his glorious legs available for viewing.

How could he have looked so right in a pair of black Dockers and charcoal-gray button-down shirt and yet so completely
delish
in his workout clothes?

Wanting to do nothing more than scamper back into my other clothes and head home, I made my way toward him. “All ready?” he asked as if he could sense my hastily made plans to flee.

I nodded, not willing to trust myself to speak.

“I swear this won’t be nearly as awful as you’re imagining.”

The quiet bass tones of his voice were meant to be soothing, but I kind of felt like he was trying to horse-whisper me. Would that make him a fat-girl whisperer? I kicked myself for the negative self-talk and tuned in to what he was saying.

“First thing I’m going to have you do is warm up on an exercise bike for about ten minutes,” he said. “You always want to start with some sort of warm-up like that. It’ll make you less likely to hurt yourself.”

“Okay.” I tried not to let my trepidation show.

Quinn led me to the bike, and I climbed on. Of course, I’ve ridden a bike in my lifetime. Still have one hanging in my garage, as a matter of fact. However, it’s been years—probably since college—since I actually rode the thing.

“Start peddling.”

I did, and he pushed the button that read “Start” before pressing an alarming number of other buttons on the console in front of me. He waited until I got up to speed. “That comfortable?”

Comfortable? No. But neither was I dying, and I really wanted to get through this with a minimum of whining, so I nodded bravely.

“Good. I’ll see you in about ten minutes then.” I kept up my pace as he wandered over to an elliptical trainer. A piece of equipment I could identify from infomercials, not because I’d ever actually encountered one personally.

Seven minutes into my ten-minute warm-up, I was pretty sure I was finished with my entire workout. A stream of sweat trickled from my hairline in front of my ear and down my neck, and my thighs and calves burned distressingly in time to my accelerated breathing. Quinn must have sensed my suffering because he stepped off his exercise equipment and sauntered over to casually bump down the resistance. Almost immediately, my legs felt some relief. Unfortunately, in my head, I felt like a wimp.

But I kept going. I vowed to get through today’s exercise in humiliation. I could always give up tomorrow. Besides, I had a completely unobstructed view of Quinn doing his own warm-up. The muscles in his lightly furred calves and thighs flexed, standing up in relief with each slide of his legs on the machine. His arms kept the rhythm with the upper pulleys, his smooth, tanned shoulders rippling with his movements.

The screen in front of me beeped and the red LED lights flashed. A little mini-rush of adrenaline sped through my system. I’d done it. Granted, it was only the warm-up, but I hadn’t quit.

Quinn hopped off his machine and came over as I slid off the bike. “Doin’ okay?” he asked.

I nodded. I was still alive. That’s probably as close to “okay” as I was going to get.

“Weight training is an important part of a diet-and-exercise regimen. The more muscle you have, the more calories your body will burn, even at rest.” He stepped toward the front desk and picked up a clipboard. “Come on over here.”

He stopped in front of a contraption that reminded me of medieval torture devices I’d seen in college history books. I gazed up at him skeptically.

“Trust me. It won’t be that bad,” he reassured, accurately reading my expression. He patted the seat. “Hop up here.”

I thought about making some sort of comment about not being the type that hops, but I resisted and sat down. Quinn showed me where to put my feet and how to adjust the weight.

“Extend your legs slowly then bend them again. Remember that you’ll be doing yourself a lot less good if you speed through these.”

I straightened my legs, pressing the footboard with my sneakers then bent them again, slowly.

“I want you to do three sets of ten reps.”

What? One wasn’t enough?

I continued extending and bending my legs while he marked something down on the clipboard with a pencil. I speculated about what he was writing but didn’t ask. Some things I probably didn’t want to know.

I finished my three sets, feeling the burn in the last one. Who did this for “fun”?

“Lay down on your stomach.” Quinn pointed to the padded bench on the next machine.

Generally the only time I lay down sunny-side up is when there’s a massage involved. But hey, if he wanted to give me a back rub... I bit the corner of my mouth to avoid the undignified giggle that idea almost caused.
As if.

I lay down and hooked my ankles under the padded bars like he showed me. Then he adjusted the weight, and I started my reps. It turns out my hamstrings are not so much in good shape. As my muscles throbbed, Quinn scribbled on his clipboard.

I finished and sat up. “So are you writing,
What a wimp?
” I couldn’t keep the morbid curiosity at bay.

He winked, then his eyes narrowed, perhaps seeing how freaked out I was. “No.” He shook his head. “This is a baseline. That way, as you improve, you’ll be able to see your progress.”

“Oh.” Relief flowed through me, relaxing the muscles that were tight from more than the punishment of the machines. “That makes sense.”

“How tall are you?”

“Five-nine.”

He marked it on the sheet. “Weight?” He was smart enough not to meet my eyes when he asked.

“No way. That’s a secret that I share only with my doctor.”

“Think of me as a medical professional.”

“Fat chance... Pun intended.”

He rolled his eyes. “Self-deprecating comments like that will not be tolerated.”

My face heated under his steady gaze. His smile was brilliant, lighting his whole face and the rest of the room.

“You want to write it down yourself?”

“Will you still have access to see it?”

“Technically, yes. But how about if I promise not to look?”

I bit my lip. Then before I could change my mind, I blurted out the number.

He was kind enough not to faint. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? To be honest, I would have guessed less. You carry it well.”

I shrugged. “Thanks, I think.”

“It was a compliment.” He moved us to the next machine without further comment, for which I was grateful.

“This machine works your biceps and triceps.” He touched the top and bottom of my upper arms. I’m sure I would have enjoyed it even more than I did were I not a sweaty, soggy mess.

“So what are your goals here?” he asked as I gave my upper arms the workout of their lives.

I hesitated for a moment then answered honestly. “I want to lose weight. As much as I can before August, but I also want to stick to it. I made a list.”

“Let’s hear your list.” No extraneous amusement crossed his perfect features.

“Work out every day,” I began. He nodded, and I continued. “For at least forty minutes. Keep what I eat to under a thousand calories per day and only eat three times a day. No cheating until after the reunion.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Sure,” I said, hesitance clear in my voice.

“You’ll never be able to stick to that.”

I stopped in arm thrust and looked at him. “Thanks a lot.” What did a girl have to do to get a little support?

Quinn jumped to explain. “You misunderstand. No one could stick to that kind of regimen. And it’s not even healthy. I’d recommend you eat at least fifteen-hundred calories, but probably eighteen hundred would be better. Spread them out over six meals rather than three, and give yourself one cheat day a week where you eat anything you want, within reason. It’ll keep you from wanting to give up, and it’ll let your body know you aren’t starving it.”

He continued. “I’d never recommend that you work out seven days a week. You need a chance to let your body heal in between sessions. Try five days. Three that are cardio and weight-training days, and two that are only cardio.”

“Cardio?”

“The next step. The one where I get to make you really sweat.”

If I were a different type of woman, I wasn’t working for him, and he hadn’t given me the major blow off on Saturday after getting me completely worked up, I’d have replied to that. I could have suggested he was welcome to make me really sweat anytime he liked, but that my place would be more comfortable and private than any place we might find at the gym.

For the record, just because I wouldn’t say it, didn’t mean I didn’t
think
it.

Quinn led me over to the treadmills. “Hey, I have one of these. They’re great for hanging clothes on,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Very cute.”

I had the feeling I may have sent him over the edge with that comment.

He pushed a few buttons and gestured that I should stand on the belt. “We’re going to try a half an hour at three miles an hour. If it feels too fast, press this button.” He pointed to a down arrow.

I nodded my understanding.

“Tomorrow you can bring a pair of standard headphones if you want. Plug them into here.” He fingered a small jack in the display in front of me. “We’ve got commercial-free music of every type ported in as well as being able to plug into the TVs.” He pointed at an overhead monitor. The news show faded to commercial, and Quinn was on screen.

“Hey, it’s your commercial.”

No sound, but he looked extra-sensational jogging along a country road in a long-sleeved tee shirt and nylon athletic pants, his breath fogging in the cold air around him. Cut to him in the gym in a tank top and athletic shorts pumping iron. The words, “Healthy Lifestyle” flashed across the screen.

The camera panned across the gym, filled with perfectly proportioned people working out. The Mitchell Fitness logo along with the addresses of their various locations ended the commercial.

I turned to Quinn. “You look pretty good up there.” That was faint praise at best. And hardly true. He was a Greek god. Worthy of one of the thirty-one-day months of a pin-up calendar. However, I wasn’t going to say it. I’m sure he didn’t need ego stroking from me. He couldn’t be completely unaware of his appeal to the opposite sex.

“You think?” he asked skeptically.

“
You
look great. The commercial itself needs some work.” I told him what I’d do differently, and he nodded appreciatively.

I was stalling.

Quinn knew it, too. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He pushed the start button, and the belt began moving slowly under my feet. I stepped up my pace until I was walking at a pretty fast but comfortable clip.

Quinn grabbed two hand towels from a basket at the edge of the room and draped one over the handlebar of my treadmill and the other around his neck. He hopped up on the treadmill next to mine and started it up.

At the five-minute mark, I was soaked and starting to wonder if my legs would ever be the same. My pride wouldn’t allow me to lower the speed, not when I could see from his display that Quinn walked at a ground-eating four miles an hour.

A moment later, he cranked the speed up to seven and started a seemingly effortless run, the movement of his arms and upper body efficient. Grace and athleticism personified.

Whereas I felt like a spastic hippo too long out of the water.

Soon, his sleeveless tee shirt was soaked and glued to his skin. I couldn’t breathe, though I wasn’t sure whether or not it was the exercise or the god beside me.

I looked in the mirror and noticed two slender women, each dressed in lycra shorts, conferring with each other behind me. One of them pointed, and I started feeling horribly self-conscious. Were they laughing at me?

Trying not to be obvious, I struggled to read their lips.

I probably should have been paying more attention to keeping one foot in front of the other instead of to what they may or may not have been saying about me. That was my last thought as I tripped and went down, scraping the hell out of my knee, leg, and somehow my ribs on the rubber belt.

“Are you okay?” Quinn leaped from his treadmill.

I nodded, fighting tears of humiliation. The pain was bearable, though certainly noticeable.

He looked over at my leg. “Well, you got yourself good.” He held out a hand to help me up. Once I was back on my feet, he mopped his face and hair with the towel around his neck. “I have first-aid supplies in the back. Let’s get you patched up.”

I followed, but only because I was too shaken up not to. At that moment, I couldn’t have said which was worse, the pain or the embarrassment.