Page 13 of Giovanni
His lip catches in his teeth, and if I hadn’t seen his charismatic, playful personality the other day, I wouldn’t believe this version of him. The confident guy dancing in a packed gym looks both resigned and discouraged. I edge closer, intentionally using a gentler tone.
“Maybe to someone paying very close attention, but not really,” I admit, still curious about the history between them. Those beautiful eyes of his turn piercing, as if trying to find an answer without asking.
“And you were paying very close attention?”
There it is. The same look as Saturday and the spark I’ve thought nonstop about. However, I can’t give it much credo, as he just admitted to having feelings for someone else. Perhaps the spark I think I felt is only in my head.
“I’m trained to be observant. To see things that others don’t.”
It’s the truth. Keen observation skills are required when picking my jurors, advising my investigators, and preparing my witnesses.
“Oh, of course, right,” he says in a rush, his brown hair shaking as he nods.
My eyes search his face, watching a myriad of emotions play across it until he straightens and resumes his trainer mode. As we continue our session, I become more aware of Giovanni—the trainer and the man. There’s a story there, and while curiosity tugs at me, I respect his privacy.
The hand on the clock races toward the top of the hour, signifying the end of my exclusive time with him. With the last lift completed, I collapse on the mat near where we started, him standing over me until he swings down to join me.
Sweat leaks from my pores as I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling tiles when his handsome face appears.
“Kacie?”
My gaze moves to him as he runs a finger over his mustache to straighten the hair.
“Yeah?”
“She’s getting married.”
I can’t quite read the emotion in Giovanni’s eyes as he confesses, but the fact that he shares this with me while I’m vulnerable and sprawled on a gym mat, looking sweaty and feeling gross, somehow bridges the gap that’s sprung up between us. His admission hangs in the air, as heavy as the weights we’ve been lifting.
“She’s getting married,” he repeats, his voice carrying a tinge of something I can’t place. Is it sorrow? Resignation?
I prop myself on my elbows and turn to face him fully.
“That must be tough,” I offer, trying to provide a space for him to express whatever he’s holding back. He shrugs, a casual lift of his shoulders that doesn’t quite match the dense gravity in his eyes.
“Yeah, I never did shoot my shot.”
There’s an unspoken invitation in his words, a chance for me to ask more, to delve deeper into his personal life. But I hesitate, mindful of the boundaries that should exist between us. Sincehe likes another, I’m simply lusting after his good looks and fantastic body. I change the subject instead.
“Well, she’s missing out,” I say, mustering an encouraging tone to lighten the mood. “Any woman would be lucky to have you.”
His eyes lock with mine, and there’s a flicker of surprise, then something warmer that makes my heart skip a beat. He smiles at me, a genuine one this time, and I can’t help but return it.
“Thanks, Kacie,” he murmurs, his voice sounding deeper than before. “You did great today. Good job.”
He juts out a tight fist between us, looking at me expectantly until it dawns on me.
“A fist bump?” I laugh, amused by this innocent gesture. I bump him once, and he does it in return. “I haven’t done one of these in . . . I don’t even know how long.”
“Good. It will be our thing now.”
His words are teasing, but they unexpectedly imprint on me.
Our thing.
A ‘thing’ that’s just ours plays over in my mind. That petite blonde isn’t the only one with a connection to him now. He swiftly stands, offering both hands to help me up. When my thighs give out from fatigue and I fall toward the floor, he swiftly catches me, making me feel weightless in his strong arms. His strength is a living testament to his profession and dedication. But in this moment, as I am suspended in his grip, it’s incredibly personal.
“Gotcha.”
