Working out with a professional hockey player—not something I would set out to do on my own, but now that I’m here, ready to get sweaty with Pacey, well, I’m not regretting it. Especially since just seeing him run gives me all kinds of feels . . . as in, I’m feeling his body moving like that.
His strong, commanding body.
The same body that pinned me to the ground last night.
Sleep eluded me last night for a reason, because all I could think about was Pacey and how honest he is. How open he is about everything. There’s no shame in what he does, in his actions. It’s sexy.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
“Want to go through one of my workouts?”
“You mean do what you do?”
He nods.
“As long as I don’t have to do the same weights, I’m in.”
“Never expected you to.” He turns up his speed and then adds some incline.
I do the same, but I keep my pace at a walk because, let’s be honest, I don’t tend to work out on the daily. I consider a jaunt through the woods a workout.
“Can’t tell you the last time I was on a treadmill. Will you judge me?”
He glances over at me. “Never. I told you, I don’t judge. Everyone has their own pace, their own level. I’m just glad you’re hanging with me this morning.”
See what I’m saying? He’s adorable. Too good.
“Aren’t you the charmer?”
“Nah, not really.” He picks up the incline a few more notches. “You’re just catching me on a good day.”
“Seems like a good couple of days.”
He doesn’t say anything, but instead continues to jog. His thick, muscular arms pumping by his sides are almost hypnotic, so I tear my gaze away and turn my attention back to my treadmill. I attempt a jogging pace, something I know I could power-walk my way through, but adding that extra little bounce to my step makes me feel good about myself.
“Good pace,” he says, while looking over at me. “Looking good, Winnie.” And that genuine compliment makes me hold my head a little higher.
I don’t do this. I don’t work out, and I’ve always had an aversion to going to the gym. Probably because it’s intimidating if you’re not toned and muscled and know exactly what you’re doing. And yet, I don’t feel out of place next to Pacey as he’s allowing me—encouraging me—to just go with the flow.
After another minute, Pacey slows his treadmill and then stops it completely. I do the same, and just as mine comes to a halt, he asks, “Are you ready?”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Nah, I got you.” He reaches out and takes my hand, taking me to one of the benches. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do, but I really enjoy how small my hand feels in his large hand. “Let’s work that impeccable chest of yours. Then we can get in some squats. Don’t worry, we’ll take it super easy.”
“I’m ready for whatever you throw my way.” And when he says work my impeccable chest, I’m hoping he means with my shirt off . . .
And . . . how about we keep those thoughts to myself? Best spare myself the embarrassment.
Pacey walks over to a triangular rack of fixed-weight barbells and selects a thirty-pound bar. “You said you can do the bar, right?” I nod. “Good, so we want to start lighter than that. Thirty pounds should be okay. Lie on the bench and I’ll hand you the weight.”
I lie on the bench and he goes to hand me the weight. I swear he could hand it to me with his pinkies and not strain a muscle. “You must think this is a joke weight.”
“What did I say?” he asks sternly, holding the weight above me. “Comparison takes the fun out of it. Let me see those arms work.”
He’s right. Enjoy the moment and stop putting yourself down. That’s something Mom used to say to me all the time.
Taking a deep breath, I grab the weight and test it a bit before lowering it to my chest and pressing it upward again. Pacey keeps his hand near the bar just in case it’s too heavy, but I’ve got it with ease. I do ten reps and then he takes the weight from me.
“Atta girl,” he says as I sit up. He offers me a high five, and I take it. The pride on his face is so damn sweet, and that smile, oof, I bet thousands of women would line up just to receive that smile from him.
He moves over to the next bench and starts putting some weight on the bar in the barbell catch.
“That’s your warm-up weight?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’ve been at this for a long time.”
I stand behind the rack like he did for me and watch as his large hands wrap around the bar and lift it up with ease. He lowers the weight to his chest, then pushes it up. His breathing is in sync with his arm movements, and it’s like a well-oiled machine working right in front of me. Before I know it, he’s done with his ten and putting the weight back on the rack.
“I know I should be cool about it, but that was really impressive, Pacey.”
He chuckles. “Thanks, Winnie. I’m glad I can impress you.”
“Are we going to go all the way up to three hundred?”
“Nah, this is just to keep my muscles from getting stiff during the off-season. I’m not working on building or anything. Not yet, at least. Also, not that I don’t like what we’ve got going on here, but if I’m going to push the weight, I would probably do that with one of the guys so they can actually spot me.”
“Oh yeah, that’s probably smart. Not sure I would be much help in the spotting department.”
“You’re good in other ways.”
“Oh yeah, how’s that?”
He smacks my bench with his hand, and I lie down while he grabs another straight bar. He comes over to me, hands it off, and then squats so he’s more level with my body. “Well, one thing’s for sure—you provide me an amazing view.”
I glance down and notice my cleavage is on fire. Yup, that’s a view, all right.
I chuckle and bring the weight down to my chest and back up. “Are you telling me Eli and Silas don’t provide you the same kind of cleavage shot?”
“They refuse to take their shirts off for me. Prudes.”
“Shame,” I say as I count out ten reps. When I’m done, he takes the weight from me and puts it back on the rack with the others.
“You’re killing it. Think we can get to the bar on the next one?”
I wiggle my arms. “Totally. I think there’s more juice in these girls.”
“That’s the kind of attitude I like.”
We do two more rounds and I max out at fifty pounds. Pacey gets super excited for me and offers a hug, which I gladly take, but I also know in the back of my head that Pacey benches my measly fifty with two hundred on top of that. I can’t even imagine. He stopped at two hundred and said it felt good to have some easy reps.
Easy . . . sheesh.
“Have you done squats with a bar before?” he asks me.
“Yes. A while back, my friend Max decided to take me to the gym and forced me to do squats with the bar. I know I can handle that weight.”
“You should be able to. We can always squat more than we can bench. But to be safe, let’s start with the bar and move up from there.” He reaches for a foam cylinder, which he slots over the bar. He explains, “For your shoulders.”
I squat under the bar and get in position. I grab the bar with one hand on either side and then lift the weight off the rack.
“You good?” Pacey asks as he stands closely behind me, his hands close to the bar in case I need help.
“Yeah, it feels good.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t back off, though, he stays close, and as I squat, he squats closely behind me. The attention he’s giving me, the protection, actually makes me feel incredibly safe.
He makes me feel taken care of, and that’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m the one who’s the caregiver; I look out for my loved ones and for myself. No one looks out for me. Well, except for one exceptionally wonderful, psychotic friend. And Max.
But Pacey just stepped right in and took that role, without even blinking, without knowing much about me. It seems to be just who he is, his personality—honorable.
I finish up my squats and then set the weight back on the rack. When I duck out from under it,
Pacey grips the bar and leans forward. “How did that feel?”
Like I’m a Ninja.
“It felt good,” I say. I’m so not a Ninja. But the smile I get from that answer is worth being up this early, especially after I spent all night thinking about him and how I felt so . . . connected to him. He’s so freaking adorable.
“Think we can add some weights next round?”
“For sure.”
He goes to the other squat rack, adds some large, round weights, and then with ease—and without the foam padding—he lifts the bar and counts out his squats.
Ooh, look at those legs and that ass. No wonder it’s so nice and round, popping out those athletic shorts of his. It’s from hours in the gym doing exactly this.
When he sets the weight on the rack, I say, “You get down pretty far.”
“Years of stretching and making sure I’m as flexible as can be.”
“Wait, you’re a goalie, which means . . . can you do the splits?”
He moves over to my rack and puts fives on each side. “What do you think?”
“Uhh, I’m thinking you can.”
“Maybe if you tell me a little something about yourself, I’ll show you.”
“Seriously?” I feel as though my eyes nearly pop out of my sockets. “What do you want to know?”
He taps the bar and I get into position.
“Right now? The basics—why you’re here, the real reason. What you do. Maybe a last name.”
“That’s quite a list.” I start squatting, and even though the weight is heavier, I can still handle it.
“Just like that?” Pacey says, coming up behind me again, but this time his hands connect with my sides as I squat. When I put the weight back, he says, “I’m not sure which I like better.” He scratches the side of his jaw.
“What do you mean?”
“Do I like watching you bench or squat more? The view on the bench is hard to beat, but having you stick your ass out so close is nice too.”
I push my hand against his chest. “Don’t be a perv in the gym. Let a girl work out in peace.”
He captures my hand in his and pulls me close so the bar is the only thing between us. “I wasn’t prepared to be working out with you this morning, so give me a break. It’s new. It’s exciting. It’s better than watching Taters strut around the gym, chest puffed out like a moron.”
I chuckle. “I can totally picture that.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand, but instead pulls me a little closer. “Are you enjoying this?”
“I am, actually, but I also have a good weightlifting partner. Not sure it would be the same with anyone else.”
“Better not be.” He releases my hand and then goes over to his rack. He adds more weight and balances the bar on his shoulders.
“So where are we at with the splits?”
“It’s all on you. I get three questions and I’m going to need three solid answers in order for me to perform some acrobatics for you.”
“How do I know it’s worth it?”
He glances over at me. “Trust me, it’s worth it.”
I smirk and nibble on the corner of my mouth. “Hmm, I’m going to have to think on it.”
“Think all you want. I’ve got time. I’ll just keep getting to know you in a roundabout way.” He sets the bar on the rack and turns toward me. He rubs his hands together and asks, “What’s on your list of things to do today? Hide away in your bedroom some more?”
“No. I was thinking about asking one of you guys to take me into town.”
“You plan on asking one of the guys?” He walks toward me and reaches around me for a weight, his chest brushing against my shoulder. “Not me?”
“Well, I’ve taken up a lot of your time already. Wasn’t sure if Eli would be willing. I know Silas is out of the question. Levi was my second option. I just need transportation into town.”
He places the weight on the bar and then faces me, his body so close I can feel the heat coming off him. “I’ll take you.”
“You don’t have to, Pacey.”
His finger falls under my chin and pushes my gaze up to his. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
My stomach twists with a flurry of butterflies, not just from his declaration but from the way he insists on intimately touching me. His handholding, his grip on my waist as I squat, the way he tilts up my chin . . . or pins me against my bedroom wall. With no hesitation.
He taps the bar. “Let’s go, Winnie.”
“That’s that?” I ask. “No conversation about it? You’re just going to take me?”
“Yup.”
Holding back my smile, I go under the bar and lift it up, feeling the weight difference he added.
“This weight okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He gets in right behind me, and right before I squat, I look in the mirror, catching the sight of both of us, him almost a foot taller than me. I have no idea why this man feels as though he needs to be here for me, help me out, get to know me, but I’ve a feeling I’m not going to be able to shake him, not that I really want to. I enjoy his company—hell, I more than enjoy it, I woke up this morning craving it.
His hands slide to my waist carefully, his palms connecting with my exposed skin. “Ready?”
I nod. And I begin squatting, him right there with me. In rhythm we sink down together and then back up.
“Give me eight,” he says into my ear, sending a bout of chills down my spine. “That’s it, Winnie, great job.”
I finish up the last rep and he helps me rack the weight. I turn toward him and lean against the bar with both arms crossed over it. “I think if I do more, I’m going to rupture a muscle from overuse.”
He places one hand on the bar, and then with the other pushes some stray hair behind my ear. “You did good.”
“Thank you,” I say shyly.
“I’m going to finish up here. You can stay if you want, keep me company.” He leans in closer. “I’m playing your favorite music, after all; not sure it would make sense if it was just me in here.”
“I planned on staying.”
“Good.”
As I slip under the bar and pass by him, his hand snags my waist and he stops me. I look over my shoulder at him and he doesn’t say anything; instead, he just smiles and, yup . . . my entire body heats up from that one look. Max will love this story.
I have no idea what’s happening between us, but whatever it is, I really like it. I also think it’s probably time I start opening up a little more. Today might be a good time for that. Even though Katherine won’t approve one bit. Luckily she’s not here.
