The Gym

On the fourth day Isabella decided that if she stayed inside her own head any longer she was going to come apart.

She left campus early, skipping her usual afternoon office hours, and drove straight to the gym with the radio turned up loud enough to make thinking difficult. In the locker room she changed into the white halter sports bra and dark gray shorts, pulled her hair into a high ponytail, and put on the black cap. The familiar routine of it helped a little. She claimed a treadmill facing the windows and set a punishing pace, running until her lungs burned and sweat soaked through the thin white fabric. Every hard stride felt like she was trying to outrun the memory of the desk, the bruises, the way David had sounded when he came inside her.

It almost worked.

After the run she moved to the free weights, loading the bar heavier than usual. Squats. Romanian deadlifts. Controlled, focused movements that demanded her full attention. She was halfway through her third set when a familiar voice spoke behind her.

“Didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”

Isabella racked the bar and turned. Coach Ryan Hale stood a few feet away in a black tank top and shorts, a towel draped over one shoulder. His eyes moved over her body in a slow, open sweep — the sweat-darkened white top, the way the shorts clung to her hips and ass, the flush in her cheeks from exertion.

“Just needed to clear my head,” she said.

Ryan stepped closer, leaning one shoulder against the mirror. “You always push this hard, or am I just lucky today?”

Isabella picked up her towel and wiped the back of her neck. “I’m fine, Ryan.”

“You look better than fine.” His voice dropped into something more intimate. “That top should be illegal in a public gym. You’re lucky I got here before anyone else started staring too hard.”

She turned away and started loading the next set. Ryan didn’t leave. He stayed beside the rack, making no effort to hide the way he watched her move. Every time she descended into a squat his eyes dropped to her ass and the stretch of the gray shorts. When she stood and racked the bar again he was still there.

“You free after this?” he asked. “I could spot you on heavier sets. Or we could just… cool down together.”

“I’m good on my own.”

Ryan smiled, unbothered. “Offer still stands. You know where to find me.”

Isabella left him there and headed for the locker room, then continued through to the small sauna at the back of the building. The dry heat hit her like a wall. She climbed to the upper bench, sat with her back against the hot wood, and closed her eyes, letting the heat sink into her muscles. For a few minutes there was only the sound of her own breathing and the low hum of the heater.

The door opened.

Ryan stepped inside, already shirtless, a towel hanging low around his hips. He didn’t look surprised to find her there. He closed the door behind him and took a seat on the bench across from her, legs spread, watching her through the thick air.

“You always come in here alone?” he asked.

“Of course.”

His eyes dropped to the way the white top clung to her sweat-slick skin, then lower to her bare midriff and the short shorts. “Dangerous habit. Someone might get the wrong idea.”

Isabella kept her eyes closed and didn’t answer. The sauna suddenly felt much smaller than it had a moment before. She could hear him breathing. She could feel him looking at her. The heat made everything slower and heavier.

Ryan shifted. The bench creaked.

“You look good like this,” he said quietly. “All flushed and quiet. Makes it hard to behave.”

Isabella opened her eyes and looked at him. He was already leaning forward, elbows on his knees, gaze steady and openly interested.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

The heat kept rising between them.