Page 32 of Delicate Storm

I continue my workout, keeping my eyes locked on the wall in front of me as I pretend I haven’t noticed that someone has joined me.

My heart races as my breathing intensifies, and it has nothing to do with physical exertion.

It might not even be him, but anticipation is rife in the air. My chest is tight. My insides are twisted, and I’m working hard not to clench my legs because my mind is going exactly where it shouldn’t.

The door clicks shut but no one speaks or moves. The only sounds filling the air are my ragged breaths.

Is he here? Watching me. Or am I deluded because of how badly I want him?

What I wouldn’t give for him to wrap his arms around my waist and make me feel what I do to him. If I do anything at all.

What am I saying?Of course I do. I’ve seen it in his expression. He may not understand it, but he wants me just as much as I want him.

I know it.

The silence continues and I almost turn around, but don’t.

God, this is some messed-up kind of foreplay. But I think I might like it.

He’s done nothing, and yet I am well and truly ready for him to take what he wants because I want it too.

My arms are dead when I finish my set, and I can’t keep up the ruse any longer. After standing tall, I turn slowly to find Window-Seat Guy a few feet behind me, his eyes ablaze with fire, his gaze locked on my heaving chest.

I want to tell him it’s all for him, but I can’t bring myself to speak.

For all I know, everything I’m feeling could be one-sided. He might be married—but no ring—engaged, or in a seriousrelationship. He might not be experiencing the same pull I do for him—it wouldn’t be the first time I’d deluded myself.

Testing the waters, I bite my bottom lip, tugging the flesh into my mouth, and watch as his throat bobs and he stifles a groan.

My lips switch into a triumphant smile, but I turn away before he can see it, only looking back when I’ve schooled my features. I’d usually launch into a cooldown after a workout, but I’m no longer convinced it’s the workout that has my heart racing but rather the man standing in front of me, staring at me like I’m his next meal.

And God, do I want to be.

He takes a step forward, and my heart stops beating until his expression changes and I catch the moment his internal war begins, resistance in his gaze, fighting for control.

And I can’t have that.

Not now.

Shaking his head, he drops his bag to the floor and walks toward the treadmill. His movements slow. Hesitant. Refusing to look at me.

Telling me everything I need to know.

He feels it too. But he needs a little push to do something about it.

Knowing he has a clear view of the changing rooms, I engage my “try something new” attitude and pray that it works.

My chest heaves and I step through the threshold and wedge my foot against the door, holding it open. Turning around, I wait until Window-Seat Guy glances up before slowly removing my sports bra, letting the top fall to the floor as I curl my fingers into the waistband of my shorts.

If he doesn’t want me, now is the time for him to bow out. All he has to do is turn away or tell me to stop, and I’ll give up on this crazy idea.

Because it is crazy.

He hasn’t said a word since he walked in. We’ve only had a handful of interactions. He’s never indicated that he wants anything from me. And yet, I’m practically throwing myself at him.

In a public gym.

So desperate, I can’t hold back anymore. Not that rational decisions and holding back have ever been my strong suits.

---