Page 11 of Fit for Love

Throw away the socks?Score!That means I can also keep them, so not everything is going to shit today.I walk over to a roll of plastic bags meant for wet swimwear and take one.

When I get back to my locker, I take off the socks and store them carefully in the bag, making sure to seal it tightly in order to lock in the smell.Stashing the bag in my purse, I drop the rest of my workout clothes in the designated hamper and walk through the gym with my head held high, looking for a certain someone in my peripheral vision.

Nope.He’s not training anyone else or working out by himself.

I guess that’s it.

I exit through the fancy doors onto the street and head in the direction of the subway station instead of taking another cab.

There.I can be economical too.Maybe I should text Emma and give her an update, both on the workout and on my bout of thriftiness.She thinks I’m a frivolous spender and that my parents pay for everything, but the latter couldn’t be further from the truth.

Wait a second.Is it serendipity, or is that a Manolo Blahnik store appearing out of thin air just as I’ve saved some money?

Yep.It’s a sign.I turn to head toward it—and run smack into a wall of familiar muscles that gives my whole body a zippy tingle.

“Now that’s a pretty literal interpretation of ‘bumping into someone you know,’” Ash says with a grin as I awkwardly push away.“Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

“Subway,” I lie, not willing to get into the subject of shoes or, relatedly, socks.The latter is not something I ever talk about with people.

He looks around.“Subway the sandwich place or the train?”

“The train.”I gesture vaguely in the direction of the station.

“Great,” he says.“That’s where I’m headed as well.Mind if I tag along?”

“This is a public street in a free country.”I head in the direction of the station, and he falls into step next to me, his strides long and confident.

I try not to stumble over my feet.I’m viscerally aware of his tall, powerfully built body next to me, so much so my heart races and my palms sweat.

It’s like I’m a teen on her first-ever date with a boy.A skinny, geeky teen with braces who plays the sousaphone in the marching band.

Yeah, not going there.

“You mentioned being a dog parent,” I say, desperate for a distraction.“What kind of dog are we talking about?”

“Tricky question.I foster whenever I can, but I also have a corgi rescue who lives with me on a permanent basis.”He hands me his phone that displays a picture of an adorable short-legged pup.“His name is Sir Eats-Minced-Meat-a-Lot, or Ems for short.”

I almost drop his phone.“I have a friend named Emma, and I call her Ems too.”

As he takes his cell back, our fingers brush, and the resulting tingle makes me momentarily dizzy and breathless.“I knew we would find something in common,” he murmurs, slanting me a glance.“Though I didn’t expect it would be this.”

I try to get my breathlessness under control.“Did I mention that she’s a cat person?I think that makes it worse.”

He stops, his face twisted in mock horror.“Don’t tell me you’re a cat person as well.”

“I think I prefer canines to felines.”

“Whew,” he says and resumes walking.“I was just about to cross the street.”

“Don’t be too happy.”My lips twist in an involuntary smile.“The margin of said preference is tiny.”

“That’s because you haven’t met a dog like Ems—or Sir Ems, as I’ll call him from now on, to avoid confusion.”

I smile wider.“Sir Ems?That has a very noble ring to it.”

“Corgis are very popular with British royalty.So that part makes perfect sense.”

“Shouldn’t he be Lord Ems then?”

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