Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Ah. Made sense. It was common.
“I can help you set up a more lenient structure for those days,” I offered.
She glanced over at me. “Really?”
“Of course.” I turned on the display for the treadmill and picked one of the easy programs. “Hop on.”
She complied and bit her lip. “I’m sorry I was a bitch.”
I smiled. Bitch was a strong word. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” she sighed. The slow walk began, and she gathered her hair in a haphazard bun. “I woke up pissed because I dreamed about cake all fucking night. It’s pathetic.”
Pathetic was also a very strong word.
“So we both had shitty mornings. We can turn that around now,” I said.
“What made your morning shitty?” she asked.
I waved it off dismissively. “More bullshit from the dating scene. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna give up soon.”
“Oh. That bad?”
I nodded, reluctant to say more. The goal was to keep things professional.
Natalie smirked a little. “Did a Canadian spend the night?”
“Ha!” Okay, that was funny. I chuckled and shook my head. “No. I spent five minutes messaging with someone who believes our horoscopes matter.”
“Oh God. I know so many people who turn their signs into their identities.”
Yeah, it was weird.
“Okay, so no date for her, I take it,” she prodded.
“No. I think I’m done for a while.” I eyed the display. “I went out for drinks with someone last week, and I wanted to stab myself with a fork. Ten years ago, I could pick whoever I wanted, and we’d at least have something in common. I don’t know what’s happened—and it ain’t me. I’m everyone’s type.”
Her hard work was paying off. The seconds ticked by on the display, and she wasn’t remotely out of breath yet.
“Did you just say that?”
Say what? I met her gaze and noticed she looked confused. “What?”
She widened her eyes. “That you’re everyone’s type?”
I furrowed my brow. “But I am.” Wait, was that arrogant too? Christ. Fuck that. “I have a steady job, I’m reliable, loyal, I’m driven, fairly social, no baggage, and I’m objectively attractive.”
Confusion turned to disbelief, and she shook her head and faced forward as the program picked up the pace.
“You can’t say those things to me when I’m PMSing, Ethan,” she stated. “You are, without a single shred of doubt, the best PT I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to lose you when I remember that my verbal filter is down for a nap.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I was the one confused now, because what was she talking about? I hadn’t said anything controversial. It wasn’t fucking conceited to know your strengths and weaknesses.
“You’re not gonna lose me as your PT,” I chuckled. “I’m not easily offended. Say what you wanna say. We promised each other honesty, didn’t we?”
She huffed, getting a tad out of breath now. “You want my honesty? All right. Let’s be honest. First of all, being objectively handsome is great if you want your face in a fashion magazine. Attraction is subjective. Second of all—” She took a few breaths and gripped the handlebars. “Second, having a type may start with tall, dark, and handsome, but it ends with chemistry and shared interests or views. If your date can’t connect with you, the fact that she finds you attractive becomes irrelevant.”
I folded my arms over my chest as a tightness spread in my gut. Maybe she had a valid point or two, but I had experience.
“Was there a third of all?” I drawled.
The pace was increased again, and she shot me a look that was so unfiltered and full of fire that I knew I was about to get it.
“Not everyone is interested in a pretentious gym owner who shaves his chest,” she bit out.
Whoa. All right. Shit. That one packed a punch. I kept my expression composed, but fuck me if I couldn’t feel anger brewing. It wasn’t the first time recently someone had indicated it was ridiculous of me to shave my chest, and it poked at something within me that I didn’t wanna deal with. It pissed me off. She pissed me off.
“Okay, I’m done—I can’t,” she panted and smacked the stop button. “This day can go to hell.” She bent over and planted her hands on her thighs as she tried to regain her breath. “I’m sorry for what I said. I fucking hate being mean.”
I swallowed and pushed aside my personal problems to be what she was paying me to be.
“I asked you to be honest,” I stated. And I didn’t regret it either. Maybe it was something I’d needed to hear. I was undecided. “Don’t worry about it. When was the last time you had a slow day?”
As far as I knew, she came to the gym every day—which was convenient since she lived right across the street, and I knew she didn’t tucker herself out every workout. Because she wasn’t supposed to. And since she’d said she hated walking for the sake of it, at least in the beginning, a trip to the gym was just as good. Everybody needed some form of daily exercise.