005

MIA

I got to the gym twenty minutes early on purpose. Ryan had dropped me off again with another short comment about “not wasting Jake’s time,” then driven away. The parking lot was still half empty. I sat in the passenger seat of my own thoughts for a full minute before forcing myself out of the car.

Inside, the main floor already had a few regulars. Three women near the squat racks glanced over when the door closed behind me. One of them—tall, dark ponytail, perfect posture—let her eyes travel from my face down to my soft stomach and back up again. She didn’t smile. Neither did the other two. They just turned back to their weights like I wasn’t worth the effort of a second look.

My face burned. I kept my head down and walked straight toward the hallway that led to the private room. Jake had given me the code last session so I could wait inside if I arrived first. I punched it in, slipped through the door, and shut it quietly behind me.

The room smelled the same—clean mats and faint metal. I set my bag down and tried to stretch the way he had shown me. Arms over my head, side bends, slow rolls of my shoulders. My balance still felt off. I stepped onto the mat to try a simple lunge and my foot slid. The floor came up fast.

Strong arms caught me from behind before I hit the ground.

One of Jake’s hands locked around my upper arm. The other landed high across my ribs, the edge of his forearm pressing against the soft underside of my breast through the thin sports bra. We both froze.

His chest was solid against my back. I could feel the heat of his skin and the steady rise of his breathing. For a second neither of us moved. My heart slammed so hard I was sure he could feel it.

I twisted away fast, cheeks on fire.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I lost my balance.”

Jake stepped back at once. His face stayed calm, almost blank, like nothing unusual had happened.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Happens. You okay?”

I nodded too quickly, arms crossed over my chest even though the contact had already ended. “Yeah. Just clumsy.”

He didn’t comment on where his hand had landed. He simply walked over to the cable machine and started setting the weight.

“We’ll start with rows today,” he said, voice even. “Same form as last time. I’ll watch from the side.”

I followed his instructions because I didn’t know what else to do. Every time I pulled the handle I felt the ghost of his arm still pressed against me. He corrected my elbows once, fingers light on my upper arm, nothing more. The rest of the session stayed professional. Squats with the light bar. Some core work on the mat. He spoke only when he needed to, short and clear.

“Good. Again.”

I kept waiting for him to say something about the catch, but he never did. By the time we finished the last set my shirt was damp and my legs felt shaky for reasons that had nothing to do with the weights.

Jake handed me a towel. “Sit. Cool down.”

I dropped onto the bench along the wall. He sat on the other end, close enough that our knees almost touched but not quite. He pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled for a second, then set it face-down on his thigh.

A soft sound leaked out before the screen locked.

It was quiet, but clear enough—a woman’s low, breathy moan, the kind that made the air in the room feel suddenly smaller. Jake’s thumb moved fast. The sound cut off. He didn’t look embarrassed. He just locked the phone and rested his hands on his knees.

I stared at the floor, pulse loud in my ears.

After a moment he spoke, voice low enough that it stayed between us.

“You’re allowed to look,” he said. “Or ask questions. I’m not going to judge you.”

I kept my eyes on the mat. My throat felt tight. “I wasn’t—”

“I know.” He didn’t push. He simply sat there, calm, waiting to see if I would say anything else.

The silence stretched. I could still hear that soft moan in my head. My skin felt too warm. I wanted to stand up and leave, but my legs wouldn’t move.

Jake glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ryan will be here in ten minutes. You did good today. Form’s getting cleaner.”

I nodded, still not trusting my voice.

He stood first, collected the small towel he’d used, and opened the door a few inches so the hallway air could come in. The ordinary sounds of the gym returned—weights clanking, someone laughing in the distance. The private room felt less closed-off, but the tension didn’t leave with the door.