On a precipice
My fingers, like your soft tongue
Edging me closer.
As soon as I read them, I imagined her thick thighs spread wide and her hand sliding low. I imagined how her eager fingers would move, then how I’d gently push them aside to make room for my own. When she’d spoken, I had to push away the fog of the fantasy, and it felt like I’d been caught watching her. I couldn’t shake the image, and part of me didn’t want to.
My breaths came fast and my chest pounded as I neared the gym and willed the poem out of my head, slowing to cool down.
“Good morning,” she chimed from the sidewalk in front of the gym. “Looks like you got an early start.”
I wiped at my face with my shirt. “Cheaper than the train.”
That earned me a laugh, and we headed inside. After warming up on the treadmill, we started with something easy, working on form while she did curls with eight-pound dumbbells. “Are you sure this won’t make me bulk up? I mean, it looks good on you, but I don’t think I can pull it off.” She spoke into the mirror as she concentrated on counting, pacing, and breathing.
I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching to guide her arm. She didn’t need it. I just wanted an excuse to touch her. Flexing my biceps in the mirror, I said, “You could pull it off.”
She rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips. “You know what I mean.”
“Weight lifting will not make you bulk up unless you want to bulk up. The level you’re lifting now will help tone muscles and burn calories. It’s a good balance to cardio.” I admired the curve of her arms, the skin dotted with freckles.
“Will you teach me how to use all these machines?” She took a break when she finished a set, and motioned around the gym, her expression earnest and a sheen of sweat covering her forehead. “I don’t want to look stupid getting on and sitting backward or something.”
Her brown eyes were playful, and I looked away, searching for something to take my mind off the way they kind of sparkled and how it made me feel. I was glad she’d asked. It reminded me my primary role here was as her coach and not to edge her close to anything. “Sure. By the time we’re done, you’ll know everything about them.”
“If it’s easier, you can point me to a good website, or I can watch YouTube videos or something.” She turned again to the mirror to curl the dumbbell to her chest. “How, um, would that work with normal coaching?”
I scratched the back of my neck. “We have detailed videos about using different weight machines. And I’d have you watch a few before trying them out.” She met my eyes in the mirror, looking like she was memorizing what I said. “Then after, we’d talk about how it went or if anything was sore.” My hand hovered over her shoulder. I’d caught myself before, and I pulled my hand back, crouching next to her instead, following the line of her arm as she finished the last few reps. “I’d ask you how your body felt.”
My statement hung in the air, and I scanned the words, realizing how suggestive they sounded. I coughed. “Anyway, that’s what it would be online.”
“Good to know.” She paused, resting between sets. In the mirror, her expression looked relieved. She’d asked me the difference between what we were doing and the normal process a few times. I’d gone so far as to ask if she wanted to be assigned to someone else, but she always refused. “Will you get in trouble for spending so much time with me?”
“No.”
She looked at me with one eyebrow raised in the mirror, waiting for more, her facial muscles tightening as she controlled the pull and release of the weight during the next reps, focused and intent. She still thought I was one of the regular coaches. There wasn’t really a reason not to tell her, unless it made her treat me differently. I decided I would wait. I didn’t want to upset this balance we’d found.
“Keep control here.” I guided her arm, my fingers brushing above her elbow and dragging down an inch or two. Her skin was soft, and her breath stuttered when I touched her.
Shit.
I coughed into my hand again, looking away. “We’re going to jump into an ab workout. Ready?” I pointed to the mat nearby, but when I looked up, she’d drawn her lips to one side.
“I hate sit-ups and stuff. I’m so bad at it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Ugh, Wes. Can’t I just run up and down the stairs?”
“You want to run stairs?”