Gym Crush

I’d been tracking her progress for weeks, usually through the mirror while pretending to focus on my own sets. Every time she walked into the weight room, the air seemed to get thinner. Today, I decided to stop being the guy just nodding from across the floor. I waited until she was finishing up on the cables, caught her eye, and gave her that slow, lingering grin that usually gets a reaction.

I moved into her space, leaning casually against the rack while she grabbed her water. "You're killing that PR," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I let my gaze travel over her before locking back onto her eyes. I kept the banter light but heavy with intent—a few subtle touches on her arm when she laughed, a bit of teasing about her form—watching the way her cheeks flushed under the gym lights.

The tension was so thick it was practically its own workout. When she mentioned needing a post-workout meal, I didn't hesitate. I stepped closer, closing the gap until I could smell the faint scent of her perfume through the heat of the gym.

"Actually," I murmured, tilting my head toward her, "I was just about to head home and make something. My place is five minutes away. Why don't you skip the protein bar and come over? I think we’ve spent enough time talking in front of a mirror." I watched her bite her lip, and I knew right then I wasn't going to be eating alone.