Page 11 of Giovanni
“It was . . . interesting.”
My words trail off as I realize just how true they are. The way Giovanni’s curls fell across his forehead, the warmth of his smile, and the redness that crept up his cheeks flash back with vivid clarity.
“Interesting. How?”
Ever the investigator, he leans against my desk while sipping his coffee. I shake my head, flipping a file open to hide behind the pretense of work.
“Just different from what I’m used to,” I deflect but smile at the papers in my hand.
I shouldn’t be thinking of Giovanni as much as I am. I don’t think it’s normal to crush on a guy I just met. But maybe this happens with all new gym people. I’m sure I’m not the first woman to find him attractive. Between his easygoing personality, stunning dark eyes, and fantastic physique, he probably already has a girlfriend and many others waiting in the wings should they break up.
“It’s good that you’re getting back to it. I used to be a runner back in the day.” He steps away from my desk when I walk over and sit down. “I’ve been thinking about starting again. I’m not getting any younger, and I could use a way to decompress from this place.”
When he mentions stress and needing an outlet, my mind goes straight to Giovanni and working out stress with him. Not in the gym, but the dream I had of him and me making out at my place and then having sex on my bed. It was hot and steamy, something that would never happen in real life, but it was adelicious fantasy. A sneaky smile appears on my face, and I look away.
“What’s so funny about that? I know I’m out of shape, but it’s—” Ethan takes my smile as a slight against his reinstatement of running, and I quickly dissolve that.
“I’m not laughing at you. Just something that happened this weekend,” I interrupt, easing over his bruised ego.
Something I can relate to as I’m overly sensitive about my fitness journey, so I would never criticize someone else.
“I think it’s a great idea, and it would get you out of here earlier. That will be one of my goals, not working past six so I can get to the gym at a reasonable hour.”
He relaxes, smoothing his shirt in a gesture of resettling his dignity.
“Right,” he agrees, his stance more confident now.
I turn back to my files, but my mind lingers on Giovanni—the way he moved, his cheeks flush, the promise of what’s to come. It’s a new motivation to leave the office while there’s still daylight.
“Did you want to review this week’s cases and docket, Kacie?”
“Of course.”
I shake away my lingering thoughts, motioning to the chair across from me and clearing some things off my desk. We spend the next two hours reviewing motions and countermotions to be filed, witnesses to be confirmed, and compiling emails to the various courts about the cases. It’s productive and sets the course for a smoother day, especially with both of us intending to leave early.
I offered to include Ethan on my lunch delivery order, but his wife had already packed his lunch, something she does most days for him. Once he leaves my office, I pick up my phone to order my usual cheeseburger and fries when Giovanni’s words about diet and nutrition float through my mind. He said everydecision is a vote toward or away from my goals and everything in moderation.
With only coffee for breakfast and desperately craving my delicious, high-calorie meal, I sigh and choose health over taste. I order a salad with protein and put a tally mark on my telephone pad as a vote for my goals.
Work continues to pour in, filled with back-to-back meetings, calls, and the never-ending email inbox. My salad gets scarfed down through all of it, my stomach rumbling for more food, which I fill with a few unhealthy snacks from the vending machine and more coffee. When my alarm rings at six o’clock, I’m tired, my hips and back ache, and I dread committing to the gym. The only saving grace is Giovanni.
I lock the door to my office, change into my gym clothes, and drag my hair into a bun. I didn’t work out in my makeup on Saturday, and I’m curious what Giovanni will think when he sees me with it today. Will he make another pass, or did I fabricate the whole thing? If he does it again, how should I respond?
That thought gets me out the door and over to the gym faster than it should, considering I’m cutting people off in traffic even though I have a dedicated hour with him. When I arrive at the gym, the atmosphere is high energy, with the music blasting and people all over. I place my purse in the locker and spin the dial, looking across the gym floor until I spot Giovanni. He’s in his element, dancing to the music next to a petite blonde. His curls are an unruly dark halo around his head, bouncing with each movement.
There’s an ease about him, an infectious freedom while the woman continues working out. She’s fit, muscles evident in her back and arms as she pulls on the cable. Her thighs and butt are thick like mine, yet where she is curt with definition, I am not. A wave of insecurity ripples through me as I watch them interact casually. Of course, he’d be into someone who looks like her—afitness model with her blonde ponytail and blue eyes, a perfect smile flashing at him, and him returning one of his own.
When he catches me looking at him, he straightens, the professional façade falling into place and away from the playful, carefree version saved for her. It bothers me more than it should.He strides toward me.
“Hey, Kacie.”
“Hey,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light and casual. Inside, I’m anything but. I take him in—the lean muscles of his arms, the broad set of his shoulders, the way his gym shirt stretches across his chest, clinging just right. His butt is high and tight from doing a zillion squats, and his thighs are bulky and cut, peering out from the hem of his shorts. He’s the kind of handsome man who doesn’t need to try, he just is.
“Ready for today’s torture?” he jokes, but there’s a challenge in his eyes, a silent question of whether I’ll rise to it.
“Bring it on,” I say, more bravely than I feel remembering the challenge of getting off the toilet. He touches my shoulder, the warmth burning through the fabric of my shirt as he walks me over to something called a TRX.
“I’m kidding, of course. How do you feel?” His tone is serious, all business, and now the true torture begins.
