Challenging the Center (Santa Fe Bobcats) (5 page)

* * *

“
T
ell me about your facility
.” Kat couldn’t keep the bounce out of her step as she walked beside Michael into the practice building. The well-lit interior of the building had surprised her, as most of the places she trained at were darker, saving on ambiance to add maximum value.

Then again, the Bobcats organization could afford to throw around a few pennies.

He tossed her a quick glance that asked,
Why did I ever agree to this?
“It’s a practice facility. I don’t know… weight room, workout areas, practice field, places for massage and physical therapy and medical… just, you know. The usual.”

He acted like she should know this. He must be laboring under the same misconceptions the rest of the world was when it came to professional athletes. Most of them struggled to make a living and weren’t privy to high-priced facilities and state-of-the-art techie stuff. Those who had access were household names. Of which she most certainly was not.

Not yet anyway.

Or rather, not for the right reasons.

She heard the clang of weights before they turned a corner and saw the door to the weight room. Something in her vibrated, and she clenched her fists in anticipation.

A hard workout. A long, sweaty, intense, body-crushing round with weights and machines and her playlist in her ears. Something to take the edge off.

Something to help her forget what her
manny
had looked like, all rough and scruffy, half-dressed and irresistibly grumpy, only an hour before.

Her body tightened in anticipation again, but it wasn’t because she was thinking about the weights.

“Wait here,” Michael said as they approached the door. “I still have to clear it with the trainer in the room before it’s okay.” Without waiting for her agreement, he walked in.

So she took a moment to observe without his knowledge. He’d shaven, and from the fact that he never seemed to have anything more than a day’s growth on his chin in any photos she’d found, she assumed clean-shaven was his preference. Pity, since the scruff and bedhead did something a little animalistic to her. She preferred the scruff.

And since she wasn’t supposed to “prefer” anything dealing with her manny, it was best he kept a clean-shaven look.

He wore just a simple T-shirt and tear-away workout pants—which likely covered shorts—and running shoes. Beat up ones, at that. It was as if the only flash the man carried was his car.

That made her snort. That car… so typical.

Just then, he turned his head to look at her, and her breath caught. Something about the way he watched her, like a mixture of
pain in my ass
and something darker, deeper…

That was probably insane, that being considered a pain in his ass would make her happy.

When he motioned her in, she followed, unsure what she would find inside the weight room. But was relieved there weren’t many people there. The trainer talking to Michael—a younger, bald black man wearing a Bobcats warm-up jacket and cargo shorts—stood with his hands on his hips, looking skeptical at best. A few players—she assumed they were, based on their size—lifted weights. Another jogged on a treadmill. A few more stood on mats by a mirror, presumably stretching, but mostly talking.

But as she surveyed the room, the lifting, jogging, and talking seemed to come to a stop until all she could hear in the room was the hum of the air conditioner and the beep of a protesting treadmill.

“She’s your responsibility,” the trainer muttered to Michael. “You can’t leave her in here. If you’re not with her, she’s gone.”

“No,” Michael started to argue, “she’ll be fine. Seriously, she’s an athlete. She won’t get into any trouble.” He added the last with a piercing glare toward her, almost as a warning.

Trying her best for innocent, Kat batted her lashes and grasped her hands to her heart.

After studying her for a moment, Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll stay with her. I’ve got a meeting in an hour,” he warned. “You’re not staying past that.”

“An hour’s good,” she agreed hastily, not wanting to push her luck. “I’ll go stretch.”

* * *

M
ichael watched
as Kat walked toward the mats at the back. Interestingly, she kept her hoodie on and fully zipped up now, as opposed to earlier when it had been open. This, despite the heat and humidity the room constantly carried. Women he knew would have taken the chance to show off their toned bodies in a room full of professional athletes.

She
is
a professional athlete, you nitwit.

Since he had practice after his morning meeting, Michael had no intention of working his own muscles to fatigue. He wandered over to where two linemen—one of whom lived in his building—were bench-pressing. As they switched between sets, he chatted with them, keeping an eye on Kat.

But she was in her own little world now. Earbuds in place, jacket still on, eyes closed, she ran through a series of stretches that looked sort of fluid, like yoga, but a bit too aggressive to be yoga. Every time she bent over, he noticed several heads swiveling her way.

“So, who’s the chick?” Donny, the lineman sitting on the bench, asked.

“Yeah, I wasn’t aware we were bringing dates to workouts now,” added Zayne, chuckling a little to himself.

“There’s a yoga studio three blocks that way.” Donny settled back down under the bar, gripping and regripping to find the best placement for his hands. “Probably where she belongs.”

Damn it, she was going to distract someone and get them hurt. Michael walked over toward her, trying hard not to look like he was hurrying. “So, Kat—”

“Can you spot me while you’re here?” she asked, pulling one earbud from her ear by the cord. “Or should I ask someone else? I can always work on the machines if you don’t have the time to spot,” she added, shooting a longing look toward the free weights.

“I’ve got time.” Why did he say that? He could have gotten off free and clear by just saying he had another meeting to get to. Or he wasn’t allowed to spot for fear of getting injured.

Or he could nut up and just spot the lady. She couldn’t possibly want to work out for that long.

He watched as she surveyed the equipment, then chose the inclined bench. He waited for her cue on how much weight to add onto the bar, which already weighed forty-five pounds itself.

She looked at the bench, the bar, then the weights on the ground. “Twenty-fives,” she decided, reaching to the bottom for the largest circular weight.

“Uh, no.” She was going to get herself killed. He reached out to halt her arm from tugging, finding himself perversely disappointed he was grabbing the slick wicking fabric of her hoodie rather than the soft skin of her arm. “Let’s see how you do with fives.”

“Fives.”
She stared at him like he’d asked her to bench-press a bug. “Fives. You’re kidding, right? You want me to sit here and waste my time with fifty-five pounds.”

So she knew how much the bar weighed. Points for her. But not enough points to make him watch her rip a tendon or bust the equipment. Firmly he said, “Start with fives.”

She watched him, and he could almost see her mentally calculating how much giving in would hurt. Finally she shrugged. “Fives.”

Settling down at the seat, she looked up, then laughed and stood back up to adjust the height. Bonus points for knowing how high or low the seat should be for optimum safety. Then she settled down below him, waiting for him to help her unrack the bar.

When he did—his arms doing a double take at the light weight when he was used to spotting linemen benching five times as much—she huffed out a breath, adjusting her grip just a little. But he knew it wasn’t a huff of effort… more like annoyance as she slowly and fluidly pushed out a set of ten.

And that was the final kicker for him. She could have shown off, busting out a set in jerky, top-speed fashion just to show she could. It would have been stupid, and unsafe, but she could have. He knew guys whose pride would have demanded it. But despite the obviously too-light weight, she still went through the motions smoothly, leaving no margin for error or injury. His respect for her in the weight room tripled.

After she reracked the bar herself, with minimal guidance from him, she twisted to look up at him. “Can we go up now, please?”

“Yeah, fine.” He helped her put on the twenty-fives, noticing that more than a few guys were elbowing each other to point.

Donny called out, “Watch it, Lambert. That’s too much for a little thing like her.”

“Little,” he heard Kat growl under her breath as she laid back against the bench. “Little, my ass.”

Despite her height, to Donny, who was six four and over three hundred pounds, she
was
a tiny thing.

“Just be careful,” he said in a low voice, giving her a look. He expected exasperation back, but she simply nodded in understanding, waited for him to unrack the bar, then began her set.

It wasn’t a cakewalk, but she also didn’t struggle except on number ten. But he waited until she’d extended fully before grabbing the bar to rack it.

“Nice,” he said, truly impressed.

“Thanks.” She rolled her neck, then looked around quickly. “It’s hot in here.”

“Male bodies plus energy will do that.”

After a final set of incline presses, she unzipped her hoodie a little, barely showing off the top edge of her sports bra before walking over to the squat machine.

Frankly, he’d been waiting for her to whip the top shirt off entirely, showing off her toned body for the guys, flaunt around acting helpless, brushing up against players and causing trouble. Trouble was, after all, her middle name. Instead, she seemed content to work out alone, minus the spotting, staying out of the way and using the equipment properly.

And that showed him what assumptions could do for ya. She was honestly concerned with getting a workout in.

It was fucking sexy. The more he spotted her or stayed nearby in case she had questions, the more he watched her skin start to glisten, her face start to flush with heat, her limbs tremble at the end of each set.

And his mind wandered to his bedroom. How she might look the same after an hour of intense lovemaking under the covers. Flushed with heat, slick with sweat, trembling from the energy they were exerting, from the nerves, from the exhaustion after so many orgasms…

“You good, Lambert?”

He blinked and turned to see Caleb, the trainer who had given him the okay to bring Kat in, standing beside him. As they watched Kat slay a set of ten squats at three eighty-five, he nodded. “Just let my mind wander a minute.”

“She’s a machine,” Caleb said, nodding at Kat. Though that was obvious since there were no other women in the room. “I’m impressed.”

He was too, but he merely grunted and watched as she squatted again. The machine acted as a self-spotter, not allowing the weights to go below a certain point. Should the person using the squat machine trip or buckle, the bar with weights would land on the safety and keep from crushing the athlete. It afforded him the opportunity to watch her body at work from a slight distance.

Her thighs strained, legs shaking a little under the weight. Her face was set in stone, eyes straight ahead with each methodical lowering of her body, exhaling on the upswing.

It was… impressive. And hot as hell if he were being honest with himself, silently. Rather than the wafer-thin skinny ladies he had experienced in the past, her frame was built from sinew and muscle. Her thighs were, surprisingly, disproportionately larger than the rest of her body. But any idiot could tell it was from muscle. Her whole body was tight, but her thighs… those were amazing.

Created and toned from countless hours lifting, working and training inside and out, not just salad and the elliptical.

And he felt himself battling yet another erection.

“Didn’t you have a meeting?” Caleb asked after they watched Kat put the safety on the weight bar.

“No, I— Shit.” He checked his watch, grimaced, then watched as she used a towel to wipe her face. “Kat, I have to take off.”

“Sure thing.” She looked around longingly toward the cardio equipment, then walked toward him. “I’ll wait for you in the hallway or something. Or maybe there’s an unused office nearby?”

He hesitated, looking back at the equipment, then Caleb, who gave him a slight nod. “You can stay here and finish working out if you want.”

The longing in her eyes was clear, but she shook her head. “I promised to leave when you did. I’ve got my phone and an 88 percent battery. I’ll survive.”

He snorted. “Just stay. You’ve earned Caleb’s respect, so he’s good with your hanging out, as long as you don’t interfere with any private training.”

“I won’t.” She seemed so earnest, so eager, he couldn’t see denying her anything. She could have asked for a puppy, a million dollars and his Mustang, and he would have caved like a cheap suitcase.

“Then… okay.” He ran a hand over his hair, fighting the urge to stay and see her through the workout. He’d never missed a meeting in his life. He wasn’t going to start now.