Page 4 of My Trainer Neighbor
The type of woman I usually avoided like the plague.
But I kept thinking about how she'd looked when I'd asked about the last time she'd done something for fun.Like the question had genuinely stumped her.Like fun was a foreign concept she'd forgotten how to access.
When was the last time I'd met a woman who worked so hard she'd forgotten how to play?
Most of the women in my world were either clients with too much time and money on their hands, or other fitness professionals who treated their bodies like temples and their careers like hobbies.Nicole was something different.Driven.Focused.The type who probably had a ten-year plan and a backup plan for the backup plan.
The type who would see a guy like me as a fun distraction at best, a waste of time at worst.
I stood up and moved to the pull-up bar I'd installed in the doorway between the living room and bedroom.As I grabbed the bar and lifted myself up, I caught a glimpse of movement through the window.Nicole, walking briskly down the sidewalk toward what I assumed was the Metro station, phone pressed to her ear and a leather briefcase in her free hand.
Even from four floors up, I could see the tension in her shoulders.How she held herself like she was bracing for impact.Like the world was something to be endured rather than enjoyed.
Yeah, she needed to get laid.Preferably by someone who knew how to make her forget about spreadsheets and presentations long enough to remember she was a woman.
The thought made my grip tighten on the bar as I continued my reps.This was exactly the kind of thinking that got men in trouble.Nicole had made it clear she wasn't interested in whatever I was offering, and I should respect that and move on.
Except I had this feeling that her rejection had more to do with assumptions than actual disinterest.She'd looked at me and seen exactly what she expected to see: a muscle-bound trainer who probably hit on every woman he met and thought flexing could solve all of life's problems.
She wasn't entirely wrong.I did work out religiously, I did make my living helping people transform their bodies, and I had been known to use my looks to get what I wanted from women.But I wasn't the mindless meathead she'd obviously categorized me as.
Not that I'd given her any reason to think otherwise.
I dropped from the bar and headed for the kitchen to make my post-workout protein shake.The apartment was still mostly boxes and basic furniture, since I wasn't planning to stay long enough to make it feel like home.Justin would be back from deployment in four months, and then I'd be moving on to whatever came next.
That was how I liked it.No roots, no complications, no messy emotional entanglements with women who wanted more than I was willing to give.
So why was I standing at the window hoping to catch another glimpse of Nicole when she came home tonight?
My phone buzzed with a text from my first client of the day, asking to reschedule due to some crisis at work.Then another from my afternoon session with the same excuse.Apparently Wednesday before Thanksgiving was turning into a professional disaster for half of Manhattan.
Which gave me an idea.
I glanced at the clock on the microwave.Nicole had been gone for half an hour, but based on the corporate type she seemed to be, she probably wouldn't be home before dark.Maybe not even then, if she was one of those workaholics who treated holidays like suggestions rather than actual days off.
But when she did get home, she'd be exhausted.Stressed.Probably surviving on caffeine and whatever overpriced salad she'd grabbed between meetings.
The smart thing would be to leave her alone.Mind my own business and let her burn herself out in whatever way she saw fit.
But I'd never been smart when it came to women who intrigued me.
By mid-afternoon, I'd convinced myself that making dinner for my neighbor was just being friendly.A peace offering after our rocky start.The fact that I'd spent forty minutes at the grocery store picking out ingredients for the kind of meal that would make a workaholic remember she had a body that needed fuel had nothing to do with wanting to see her again.
Nothing at all.
The turkey and sweet potato chili I'd decided on was simple enough that I wouldn't embarrass myself, but impressive enough that she'd have to acknowledge I was more than just a decent face with better abs.And if she turned out to be vegetarian or had some other dietary restriction, well, at least I'd tried.
By early evening, the chili was simmering and my apartment smelled like the kind of home-cooked meal I hadn't bothered making since I'd moved in.I'd even picked up a decent bottle of wine, though I wasn't sure if Nicole was the wine type or if she'd see alcohol as another sign that I was trying to get her drunk and take advantage.
Probably the latter, knowing my luck.
I heard her door open, followed by the sound of heels hitting hardwood and what might have been a very creative string of profanity.Rough day, apparently.
I turned off the heat under the chili and grabbed the bottle of wine, then thought better of it and left it on the counter.Food was friendly.Wine was a date.And this wasn't a date.
I knocked on her door before I could second-guess myself.
"Coming," she called, and I heard the click of heels approaching.The door opened, and Nicole appeared, still in full professional armor.Black suit that probably cost more than my rent, hair pulled back in a sleek bun, makeup that looked like it had been applied by someone who charged by the hour.
