All the Sauce (IceCats 4)

Something forced.

But damn if I don’t wish it was all real. I look up into the mirror, and I bet he’d have something slick to say about my bra. He’d probably make a big deal of it since he told me before to wear only a bra to the gym. Wait. Huh. He said that before last night, actually weeks ago. I’d thought he might have been flirting with me, but I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it to be true. Shit, could he be serious?

Is Owen attracted to me?

Could he have really wanted to kiss me?

I have to be dehydrated again.

I put my phone down, grab my water, and take a nice long pull of it. Some escapes my mouth, running down my chin, throat, and into my bra. I roll my eyes at my clumsiness, but then I’m paralyzed in place when I hear Owen’s voice fill the gym.

“Excuse me, miss. This is a gym, not a brothel.”

I whip my head in the direction of his voice, finding him sitting on the bench, his sweatshirt gone and nothing but bare skin and muscles taunting me. His black hat is low on his head, and this grin sits on his lips that is downright fucking corrupt.

“Shit, I’d pay all day long,” the taller guy says. He looks like a surfer. “Hey, I’m D’Artagnan.”

The smaller one of the three only smiles. “You guys leave her alone. Sorry, miss.”

I can’t think, talk, or move. I go to cover my stomach, but then my gaze gets locked with Owen’s, and I know for a fact that he has absolutely no intention at all of leaving me alone. He licks his lips, and with the swagger of Ryan Reynolds, he winks at me.

He then gets up with no effort and struts toward me. I’m surprised he isn’t as toned as I assumed he was. He is fluffy. He has a little bit of a stomach and even stretch marks, which is totally unexpected. My mouth is dry, and my heart is pounding so hard, I doubt I could hear him if he tried to talk to me.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he goes to the weights, grabbing some thirty-fives and holding them out to me. I put down my water and stare at him. “I can’t do that.”

“You can,” he insists, and I take them, though he doesn’t give me much choice. He comes behind my bench, crouching down a bit, and I just look at him. “Come on, you can do it. I’m going to spot you.”

Spot me? As in, touch me? When we’re both a sweaty mess and you look that good?

Yeah, no big deal.

I feel as if I’m swallowing sand as I struggle to get the weights up, but then he helps, getting me in the perfect form. His touch is warm and kind. I feel safe as his hands wrap around my wrists, and I know he has me. Owen guides my arms up and down, and it’s hard to focus on what I’m doing when I’m watching him watch me. Somehow, though, I’m lifting it, and I’m proud to say, I’m doing all the work. He is there for reassurance, and I’m so impressed by myself when we get to ten.

Together.

He takes the weights from my hands, setting them down beside me.

I meet his gaze in the mirror when he says, “Told ya.”

I shrug. “I guess you were right.”

“Yup,” he says, winking at me again, and I bite down on my lip, squeezing my thighs together. I know he notices it, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Um… Well, er, thanks?”

He grins. “No problem. How many sets you got left?”

“That was the last one.”

“Awesome. What’s next?”

“Treadmill.”

“Don’t do too much cardio,” he advises, putting my weights away.

I stand up, giving him a look. “Um, cardio burns fat.”

“Yes, but weight lifting is better for it. It’s slower but more beneficial in the end. I’ll send you an article on it— Oh, wait,” he says, holding my gaze. “I can’t because you wouldn’t give my brother the go-ahead to give me your number.”

I press my lips together. “Well, I think it’s kinda pathetic you have to get your brother to get my number.”

His eyes dance with mine. “Well, I wouldn’t have to do that if you hadn’t blown me off last night.”

“Well, I didn’t blow you off.”

“Well, you did.”

“Well, I feel I wasn’t there with you. We just ended up in the same place. So, there is no way I could have blown you off.”

“Well, I feel we were there together the moment we shared those pickles.”

My eyes widen. “I never shared with you! You stole my pickles!”

“And you stole my sauce!”

I gasp audibly, which makes him chuckle, a low and dirty sound. “You lie! You basically forced me to eat it!”

When he grins, my heart dances in my chest. “I knew you wanted my sauce.”