Sweet Curves (Sweet Enough to Eat #2) - Mila Crawford ,Aria Cole Page 0,2

kick your ass on the bench press?” The most popular trainer in my gym shouted at his client. “Three, two, one, that’s it, now give me ten more. You think I was gonna let you off so easy? You don’t pay me to let you off easy.”

I shook my head, wondering how in the hell Jocko got clients when he talked to them with his unique brand of motivation. Most of his clients were weightlifters and former MMA fighters from the Dominant Alpha gym up in Boston.

I glanced at my own crammed schedule on my office desk. I’d had to whittle my client list down a lot the last year, transitioning to the owner of Rise Fitness after being the manager for the last five years had been a total life change--but one I’d been waiting for.

It just sucked that it’d taken my grandpa passing away to make the dream a reality. After graduating with my kinesiology degree, I’d started full time at Rise, and realized instantly that it was a sinking ship. With rent rates ever-climbing on this block and pretty much nonexistent leadership from the top, I’d worked my ass off to establish this gym as a newly dominant force in the fitness community.

I’d always had big plans for Rise, but when grandpa passed and left me just enough for the down payment on a business loan, I’d hopped at the chance to buy the current owner out and make Rise mine.

Jocko was my first hire because his reputation as a personal trainer preceded him, so I’d offered him double what his current gym paid him and poached him shamelessly.

Rise had been on the rise ever since.

It just sucks that it meant I had less time to do what I loved, teaching people how to master their bodies and work out like the beasts they are inside.

The soft jingle of the main doors echoed through my office then, and I peered out of the crack of my office door to catch a glimpse of the newest client. We didn’t generally accept walk-ins because we were pretty constantly packed, but this was our first week staying open late and, without much advertising, the trickle for late night gym-goers was slow but steady.

“Excuse me?” A voice close in caliber to a mouse hit my ears before a woman came into view.

A beautiful woman. She looked like my old high school crush.

I swallowed when she helped herself into my office, her body, head to toe, now visible. She was curvy, classically beautiful with soft waves over one shoulder and features that nailed me in the gut like a left hook.

I cleared my throat, “Hello?”

“Hi.” She smiled, eyes darting around the walls to take in the various accolades and news clippings that featured Rise. “I need a personal trainer.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t really accept walk-in sessions…”

When I spoke the words her eyes finally landed on mine. Like icy blue fire that stung with a single glance. I stood, coming around the desk to get a little closer. “Wait a minute--do we know each other?”

“Umm…” she tipped her head to the side, lips working back and forth before her eyes cast down. “Never mind, I’ll find another gym.” She was already turning to go, clutching her big ass purse to her body as if to shield my gaze.

“Wait,” I stretched a hand out, catching her tenderly at the elbow, “Katie?”

Her eyes shot wide open then, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh...hi, Sawyer, great to see you again, but really I don’t want to keep you, you look busy and--”

“Hey, hey, never too busy for an old friend.” The truth was, we’d been way more than friends. So much more I’d be lying if I said she hadn’t crossed my mind quite a few times in the five years since our high school graduation.

“Sit, please, it’s been...a really long time.” I clamped down on my lips, unwilling to say more.

“Long time,” that shy but toothy smile crossed her face and flashed me back to every hot summer night of my high school years. Regret washed in tidal waves through me when I thought about Katie Wilder.

The one that got away.

“So what have you been up to?” I sat back behind my desk, regretting the distance between us, even if it was only twenty-four inches. Twenty-four inches of torture after five years apart.

“I opened my own bakery, it’s not far from here.”

“Wait, you’ve been right here? This whole time?”

“For the