“You crushin’ on your PT, Nat?” Willow teased, waggling her brows as she handed me the hose again and reached for her water. I narrowed my eyes to glare at her and she laughed out loud before lifting the bottle to her lips. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide and she almost choked on the water. “Holy shit. Isn’t that him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Ha-ha, Willow. You’re hilarious.”

“No.” She swallowed, twisting the cap back on her bottle. “Seriously, look.”

I turned to face the same direction as her and fought to keep my composure when I realized she was right. Rhodes was there, walking straight toward our table. His arm was draped around the shoulders of an older woman. A very, very pretty older woman.

“And is that Mrs. Landers?” Willow asked, her voice raising an octave. Rhodes’ eyes found mine just as the words left her mouth. They were dark in the dim light of Rook, but I could still feel their intensity. He was dressed in dark jeans and a light gray quarter sleeve button-up that accentuated the tan muscles of his forearms. He frowned when he saw me and, like an idiot, I lifted my hand in a small, non-committal wave.

His face hardened further and he strolled right past our table without a word, pulling Mrs. Landers closer into him and moving the hair from her neck so he could whisper into it. She giggled and placed a hand on his stomach as he opened the door and ushered her out into the night.

I was still staring at him open-mouthed when Willow snapped her fingers in front of my face and grabbed the hose from my hand.

“Hello? You there, Nat?” She laughed, shaking her head. “What the hell was that? He acted like he didn’t even know you. And why is he with our anatomy teacher? Maybe she’s teaching him a thing or two. Or vice versa.” She giggled at her own joke and I finally closed my mouth, crossing my arms over my chest.

“We should probably get going. Church in the morning.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she groaned, dropping the hose on the table after one last pull. “I love Jesus, but this town on a Sunday is something else.”

I laughed a little, but my stomach was still in knots as we walked out to the Rover and drove across town to my place. Rhodes had straight up ignored me, which I guess wasn’t really any different than what he did when we trained together, but it still bothered me. Did he always have to have a stick up his ass? And why was he all cuddled up with Mrs. Landers?

My brain ran wild with possibilities as I tossed and turned in bed that night. When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamed of shoplifting with Rhodes and getting arrested. But for some reason I didn’t cry or scream when they put the handcuffs on us and threw us into the back of the cop car. Instead I laughed, and for the first time, Rhodes laughed, too.

I woke up angry on Sunday morning. I thought praying and singing in church would calm me down, but it didn’t. Instead, I found myself not listening to Pastor Mike and thinking about Rhodes and Mrs. Landers. I convinced myself that it wasn’t him with her that upset me, but rather that he didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Up until that point, I thought he just didn’t like to talk much, but acting like he didn’t know me in a public place gave me a new idea. It hit me then that maybe he was ashamed of me. He was my trainer — not my friend — and I knew that, but I wasn’t okay with him treating me like I didn’t matter. I may not have been as beautiful and fit as the other women he trained, but I still deserved to be treated like a paying client.

He didn’t owe me anything. He didn’t have to be my friend. But I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he insisted on always being such a jerk. He dodged my questions when we trained, opting for silence, instead, and he ignored me the one and only time we bumped into each other outside of the gym. He didn’t want to be my friend? Fine. But I was his client, and he at least needed to be nice to me.

After church, I changed quickly and ran out of the house to head to my training session. I was fuming in the car, going over all the things I would say when I finally got face-to-face with Rhodes. What’s your problem? Am I really that hideous that you can’t say hi to me? What the hell were you doing there with Mrs. Landers?

Of course, as soon as I actually made it inside the training room and was met with those sharp green eyes, everything I’d planned to say flew out into space, leaving me with my arms crossed and foot tapping on the spongy gym floor like a moron.

Rhodes cocked a brow, though his mouth remained a thin line. “You’re late. Get on the treadmill. Bump the incline up to four and the speed to five.”

I glared at him, willing my mouth to open, wishing the words I’d recited would flow from my mouth like I imagined they would if we were in a movie. But I came up empty, and I couldn’t take the heat from his glare any longer so I huffed and climbed onto the treadmill, doing as he said.

Rhodes didn’t take it easy on me that day. After forty-five minutes on the treadmill changing the incline and speed every three minutes, I was drenched and on the verge of passing out. I couldn’t drink water fast enough. Then he had me on the machines. It was leg day, which was news to me, and I found out quickly that leg day sucked. But, I had anger on my side, and I pushed through everything he threw at me.

I tried to take every question I had and use it for fuel to go faster. I focused on the embarrassment and anger I felt when Rhodes ignored me the night before and geared my frustration toward lifting more and lasting longer. I was doing everything I could to ignore what I was feeling and think only of what my body was doing.

Almost as if he knew I was fighting something, Rhodes pushed me harder than he had the entire week before. He made me do more reps when I thought I was done, yelled for me to run faster when I slowed down even the slightest, and got in my face when I murmured that I couldn’t do another set. He knew I was perturbed, but he didn’t ask me about it. He made me work through it. And that just pissed me off more.

When two hours had passed and he told me to get on the Stairmaster, I’d had enough. I tried to push through it, but two minutes in I felt my breakfast threatening to make a second appearance.

“I’m done,” I said, gasping for air as I hit the stop button on the machine. The stairs halted and I rested on the top one, laying my head on my slick forearm as I stared down at my sneakers. Suddenly, Rhodes’ hands gripped the bar and he lowered his eyes to mine.

His jaw was so square, so set — just having his face inches from mine made me uncomfortable. When he spoke, his voice low but firm, a chill ran down my neck. “No you’re not.”