Page 12 of Triplets for the Pucking Playboys
“The programs they sent from HQ are cookie-cutter. I’m trialing a new cooldown stretch. See if it actually helps.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“Demo it for me. I’ll rate your technique.”
She looks at me like I’ve suggested we swap blood types, but then she slides off the table and clears a patch of floor.
“You’ll have to keep up, Kingston.”
“Try me.”
She lines up, one bare foot braced behind the other, knee flexed, arms overhead. “It’s like a pigeon pose, but you torque the torso for the lateral chain. Most guys can’t hold it more than ten seconds without whining.”
I mirror her, drop to the mat, and feel the stretch yank my hip flexor like a tow cable. I fight the wince.
“Feels like any other Friday,” I say, holding her gaze.
She grins, then ups the ante, rotating until her rib cage almost touches the knee.
I match her.
The room shrinks to the space between our faces, breath shallow, every tendon in my left side screaming.
I don’t tap out.
She comes upright, cheeks flushed, and offers a palm to pull me up. “Not bad,” she says. “You could have a future in this.”
“Only if you’re my boss,” I say, not letting go of her hand.
She leaves it there, and for a second, the air sizzles with static, her pulse beating through her fingers, my thumb brushing the inside of her wrist.
She tries to slide away, but I keep her anchored, light but insistent.
“Careful,” she warns, but there’s no anger in it.
Only the warning, and the promise.
I close the distance, just enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “What’s the stretch for if not to get closer?”
She laughs, low and surprised, then tries to twist out of my grip.
I shift my angle, blocking her escape, and we end up face-to-face, barely a breath apart.
Her lips part, eyes darting to my mouth, and I almost go for it, almost.
But she tenses, not in fear—more like anticipation—and the sharp pop of her knuckles on my shoulder jolts me back to the present.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, but she doesn’t move.
“Occupational hazard,” I say, voice gone ragged.
Her hand is still in mine.
I can feel the tremor in her arm, the way she’s fighting herself as much as me.
I lean in, this time slower, letting her see it coming.
The kiss hovers in the space between us, less a collision than a question. Yes or no?
