Spring Fling (Dating Season Book 1) Laurelin Paige (best ereader for graphic novels .TXT) 📖

I introduce Lucy and then the worst thing happens.

“I have a wild question,” she says. “Can I join your session? It’ll give me creativity for the marketing campaign.”

“Sure,” Finn says. “You can change in the locker room.”

“I have clothes in my car. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be back.”

Her heels tap-tap away and I give Finn my best faux smile. I’m not keen on Lucy joining us. Mostly for selfish reasons. This was more so an opportunity to see Finn in his habitat, with flirty touches, but now, with Lucy in the mix, I’ll have to put in real effort. Well, there’s nothing to do here, except go with it. And that’s what I do when Lucy and her toned body returns. Somehow, in blue yoga pants that stop at her knees and a matching sports bra, she manages to look glamorous.

“Let’s do this,” she says.

We follow Finn through the rows of treadmills and stationary bikes to a semi-secluded area in the back of the gym.

“Okay, ladies. This workout will be intense.” He rolls out two blue yoga mats. “It’ll test your endurance and strength, so it’s important to stretch properly.”

“Sounds ominous,” I joke. Sort of.

We sit, legs splayed, and follow Finn’s guidance. I’m not going to lie, stretching is a mini-workout for me. A mirrored wall behind Finn refuses to let me stop comparing myself to Lucy. She’s graceful as a swan as she rests her head on her knee and touches the tips of her toes. I’m a duckling who rests my head on my chest and touches my knees.

After five minutes of loosening our limbs, Finn declares it “go time.”

He pops up and drags a box to the middle of our space.

“Watch me,” he says. His muscles ripple as he demonstrates how to do a two-footed jump onto it and then off, five times.

This move is easy—for Lucy. I’ve become a faulty kangaroo. The box is just high enough to make it difficult to catch my balance.

“Good job, babe,” Finn says, when I land the last one with a grunt. “Balls to the wall.”

He tosses us each a red ball. Guess who doesn’t catch theirs? After I’ve retrieved mine, he shows us what this exercise involves. Like a trained athlete, he rises from a deep squat position, before racing to a line taped on the wall, soaring into the air, and slapping his ball at least a foot above it. Any other time, I’d marvel at the glimpses of skin, the impressive calf muscles, the way his gym shorts hang on his hips...that time is not now.

I’ve been designated to go first. Even though they’ve been stretched, my legs aren’t prepared to spring out of a squat and run. In an awkward lunge, I stumble a bit and drop my ball.

“You got this, Chloe,” Lucy says.

Although her sportsmanship is kind, no, I really don’t. The second, third, and fourth try isn’t easier. The fifth time, I throw my ball at the wall.

“Woo-hoo,” I say. “Hit the target.”

Finn laughs. “Let’s go, Lucy.”

While she slams her ball against the wall with ease, I grab a towel to mop the tsunami from my forehead while Finn’s distracted.

“Is the air even on in here?” I mutter to myself. Exercising is making me grumpy. I’m more of a walk outdoors and enjoy the scenery kind of girl. You know, the kind of exercise I look cute doing.

“Dumbbell snatches are next,” Finn says.

I’m hoping that wasn’t an insult.

Once again, we’re squatting. For masochism, ten pound weights in each hand have been added to the mix. Sweat runs in rivers down my face as I do my best to keep up. For real, where’s the air conditioning? An article I read this morning said this is a great way to be in tune with your partner. Said it promotes bonding. Mm-hmm. Sure. Grown-ups are liars. Lucy and Austin are in sync, touching their dumbbells to the floor and rising, while I’m the stray whack-a-mole popping up a few seconds too late.

When Finn finally calls it complete, Lucy says, “I’m loving this.”

I’m too busy catching my breath to commit murder.

Weirdly, Finn just smiles before re-focusing on me. It’s a little surprising that he isn’t at all put off by my performance. In fact, he’s kind of like a small child wanting to show off his prowess.

Speaking of small children, it turns out that a burpee is not me sitting on Finn’s lap while he gently caresses my back.

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask when he completes a four part push-up move.

Narrator: he was not kidding.

“Show me what you’re made of, Chloe,” he responds.

Well, it’s not sugar and spice and everything nice. More like Jell-O and spite. Lucy and I are to do these ridiculous burpees at the same time, and I’m cursing up a storm in my head when he starts chanting, “Squat. Pop. Stand. Reach.”

Lucy’s ponytail circles like a lasso as she does the quick succession of movements. Around the halfway mark, I skip the push-up and invent a new move—the Chloe-e. I squat, clap, and then complete the rest.

“You’re doing awesome,” Finn lies. Badly. “One more exercise and you’re done.”

Hallelujah. As we move to the weight benches in the corner, he makes sure to show how heavy his weights are, and tells us he’s just set a new personal record for deadlifts.

“That’s impressive,” I tell him. I mean it, too. This is hard as shit and he makes it look easy.

When he’s occupied with spotting Lucy, I try to get my panting under control. Like my life, I have mixed success. Hands on hips, I watch as Lucy breathes through several reps, barely straining her biceps. She’s good at everything. Much too soon, she lowers the bar to its resting position with a jarring clank, and now it’s my turn. I straddle the bench parallel to the one Lucy used and lean back onto the stiff leather padding. I’m ecstatic for the chance to lie down for a few minutes.

Finn makes adjustments