Page 11 of Gym Bros
“You’re right,” I say, frowning. “Thisisvery random.”
“He said he’s interested in trying out yoga. To improve his flexibility and balance out his regimen or something.”
“Oh.” I stretch my arms over my head. “Did you offer my services?”
“I did. And I gave him your number.”
“And here I thought you only saw me as a pretty face and a hot piece of ass.”
He grins, and it’s a nice, warm grin. “I listen to you occasionally, too.”
I can practically feel my eyes light up. “Are you giving me a job? A project? Marcus, you shouldn’t have.”
He arches a brow. “You’re gonna make this easy? Give me no shit whatsoever?”
“That depends. Are we talking—he’s gonna come to my classes, or I get a private client?”
“He requires a lot of attention. He’s never really thrived in a classroom environment.”
“You’re actually encouraging your baby boy to be an MMA fighter?” I ask, letting go of my stretch and melting back into the mattress.
“There’s a point where every parent has to admit defeat. His mother and I crossed that point when he was sixteen.”
“How old is he now?” I ask.
“He’ll be twenty-one in a couple of weeks. We’re hoping he’ll grow out of this, or he won’t be quite good enough to make it and gives up, but we’re not there yet. And this injury only seems to be fueling his fire.”
“You’re afraid he’ll hurt himself again?”
“Somebody has to be since he doesn’t care.”
“If he’s skipping flexibility training, he’s setting himself up for another injury for sure.”
“You’ll probably hate him,” Marcus says.
“Do you hate him?” I ask.
“No, not at all. He’s just…a little all over the place. He’s a nice guy, but he can be stubborn. Kind of a hothead.”
“What’s he gonna think of me?” I ask with a grin.
Marcus chuckles softly. “I told him you were rare.”
I nuzzle my face into the pillow, hiding my smile. “Is he like—super jacked?”
“He’s pretty jacked.”
“Love it. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Absolutely. I love a challenge. And yoga.” I’m not sure how I feel about hot-headed MMA fighters, but I’ve never met one, so… “Tell him to call me. We’ll set something up.”
“I will. Thank you,” he says, but keeps staring down at me.
“What?” I ask.
“One more favor?”
