Page 35 of Never Date A Player
Does he know I can’t back down from a physical challenge? It’s not possible. Not in my nature. And I want to finish the race. Well, I’d like to win the money, but I’ll settle for finishing and building that self-confidence Nessa mentioned. I’ve never had brothers, or close guy friends. Maybe a bunch of adrenaline junkies will help with my confidence around men… but I can’t train with Lewis. That’s a recipe for disaster.
“Okay.” What the hell am I saying?
His eyebrows rise. “Okay?”
“When do you want to train?” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. It was the challenge he threw down, that’s all.
He lets out a deep sigh and shifts in his seat, pulling out his phone. He searches the screen for a few seconds and looks up. “Tonight. I’ll meet you at your place at six thirty. Wear running shoes.”
My car is back from the mechanic. Lewis’s friend didn’t charge much to fix the electrical problem. I don’t need a ride, but I guess I don’t know where we’re going. Is this really happening? I’m spending time with Lewis?
Even with his return to surly stoicism, the thought of being alone with him causes flutters in my belly. I have serious issues.
I’ll wear my running shoes, along with saggy-bottom running shorts, my hair in a sloppy ponytail, and no makeup, not even lip balm. Training with Lewis will be fine. I’ll be sweaty and ugly and he’s returned to his aloof self. I can handle this.
“And Gen?—”
I stop and glance before walking out the door.
“When people are cruel, no one is to blame but them.”
My back stiffens. It scares me how much he knows, and how easily he reads the rest.
He may be right about Drake, but I could have spoken up for myself or fought, and I didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
“Let’s stop and cool down,” Lewis says a block from my place.
We ran five miles. I’ve been running several times a week since Cali and I moved to Tahoe. I’ve acclimated to the altitude, so the run was easy.
Beads of sweat work their way down the smooth lines of Lewis’s brow, but he’s not breathing heavily either. He lifts the bottom of his T-shirt and wipes his forehead—and a flash of abdominal muscles assaults my vision.
I trip on the asphalt. Then hop a couple times to make it look like I’m loosening up.
We ran for forty-five minutes without incident, but Lewis pulls up his shirt, revealing his stomach, and my brain spasms. I saw him shirtless at the Beacon, but the sneak peek is entirely too sexy. Why did I think I could train with him?
“You’re a runner,” he says, apparently not catching on to the effect his naked body had on me, thank God. “We’ll only use it to warm up if you’re running on your own. I’ll show you muscle-building exercises before I leave. Your backyard open?”
I nod and we head inside my house. I grab bottles of water and lead Lewis out back. He drops the duffel he pulled from his truck and it lands with a thud and a poof of powdery soil.
Lewis takes a gulp of water and screws the cap back on, looking me over. “You have a sports bra on under that?”
Where’s he going with this? My extra-large T-shirt covers me from neck to thighs, stopping just above the bottom of my boxy running shorts. Attractive. “Yeah,” I say hesitantly.
“Can you take off your shirt?”
“What?”
He stares impatiently. “I’m showing you exercises. I need to make sure you’ve got the posture and movements correct so you don’t hurt yourself. I can’t do that if you’re covered in a sack.”
My mouth parts. Is he saying he noticed my effort to hide my upper body and he doesn’t approve?
I whip off my top and glare. “Better?”
His jaw tightens. He grumbles something I can’t decipher and reaches for his duffel. “Spread your legs shoulder-width apart.”
Something about him telling me to spread my legs in his smooth, masculine voice sends a shiver down my back, which I ignore, ’cause it’s not helping. I do as he says, and he hands me two seven-pound weights. He grabs another pair and executes a basic shoulder exercise.
