Part 2 (1/2)

Chapter.

4.

The sounds of the gym came m.u.f.fled through the door. Feet hitting the treadmill, grunts of someone trying to lift weights, MTV on in the background. Someone brushed by me as I lurked outside. A towel was slung over the guy's shoulder as he barged through the door. The gym's noise blasted out to me before the door settled shut again.

I hopped from foot to foot, trying to build up the courage to go in.

Come on, I told myself. This is nothing. What if I ended up as an actual reporter and had to go to war-torn lands to get the latest story? How could I do things like that if I didn't even have the guts to walk into the college gym?

The thing was, all the people working out would be older than me-second and third years. The kids my own age were only just arriving and were far too preoccupied with settling in to bother heading for a workout.

I took a deep breath and pressed my lips together. I really needed to stop hanging around outside doors.

Letting my breath out in a whoosh, I pushed my way into the gym. Heat and the faint tang of body odor clung to the air. Everyone seemed busy with their own thing. The occupants barely glanced at me as I stood, still feeling awkward, my eyes scouring the machines. I didn't even know what the star of the swim team looked like. It wasn't as though he would be wearing a name tag.

A skinny guy in a football top about four sizes too big stopped at the water fountain to my right. He bent his head to take a drink, and the s.h.i.+rt ruffled up around his neck like an Elizabethan collar. He was certainly the least intimidating of the bunch.

”Excuse me?” I said. He jerked upward with a cough and a splutter. ”Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

His eyes took me in, the briefest flick up and down my body, resting only briefly on my chest.

”That's okay,” he said, his hand over his mouth to stifle another cough. ”You lost?”

”No, I'm looking for Flynn Matthews. I'm a new staff writer with the Sage Gazette.”

”Oh, right.” His narrow shoulders dropped. ”He's over here. Come with me.”

My heart sank as we crossed the gym to where a guy sat on a bench, lifting weights. The moment I saw him, I recognized him from earlier in the day when he'd nudged me and asked me if I was dreaming.

”Flynn,” my escort said, lifting his voice to be heard above the rest of the ruckus. ”You've got a visitor.”

The blond lifted his head and caught sight of me, a slow grin spreading across his face. ”And there was me thinking you'd finally picked up a girl, Shawn.”

A flush crept up around Shawn's throat, and I experienced a pang of sympathy for him. However uncomfortable I felt at times, it couldn't be easy being his build in a world full of jocks and gym-bunnies.

Flynn's eyes were an aqua green and incredibly sharp. I felt myself shrink under his gaze. But he kept it on my face, and I gave him credit for that. I'd been blessed with curves, and most guys checked them out before they'd even bothered looking at my face.

”You've woken up then, huh?”

I gave him a tight smile. ”I was never asleep. I just like to think, that's all.”

”Think or dream?”

”As long as either one uses the brain and imagination, I don't see what's the difference.” I glanced down at the weights and added, ”But I believe in using brain above brawn.”

His eyebrows lifted at my comment. ”Some people don't have a choice.”

”Aren't you even going to ask me why I'm here?” I said, putting my hands on my hips.

He glanced down at the smart phone, tucked just beneath the bench, and then bent to retrieve it. ”I'm a.s.suming you're the girl from the Gazette. Dana phoned and told me you were on your way.”

”Oh, right.” My cheeks heated. He'd fl.u.s.tered me. Of course they knew each other. The way these two looked, they were probably dating.

”Just let me put the weights away,” he said, ”and then we can go talk.”

I looked at the selection of dumbbells around his feet, the lightest one probably forty pounds. Feeling stupid at my earlier retort, I didn't want to stand around, watching him.

”Let me give you a hand.”

A laugh bubbled up from his throat, right up until the point I bent and picked up one of the weights, one handed. I lifted the dumbbell and stacked it back in the rack and turned to find him staring at me.

I stared back. ”What?”

”You got some muscles hidden under there?”

I realized what I'd done.

”Yoga,” I told him in a rush. ”Builds up some amazing strength. Nothing like using your whole body as a weight.”

Flynn studied me again with that intense stare. His eyes had the sort of clarity I'd expect to find in a glacial pool or in the sea of somewhere tropical and untouched.

He nodded, but his eyes were narrowed, as though he were agreeing with me but thinking something else. ”Maybe I'll have to give it a go then.”

I laughed, a high-pitched t.i.tter, and cringed at the sound. ”You should,” I said, hoping he wasn't going to ask me for lessons. Other than a brief fad last year doing Bikram yoga-where I'd been stuck in a room with thirty other people to sweat out fat and toxins-I didn't know anything about it.

He tilted his chin toward me. ”Look, give me five minutes to shower and change, and I'll meet you outside. Then you can grill me.”

”Sure.”

I left the remainder of the weights where they were.

I sat at a picnic table set in the small courtyard in front of the gym. My hands rested on the table, and I absently picked at the dry skin around my nails. Weirdly, I was looking forward to being in Flynn's presence again. While the jock persona did nothing for me, something about him had sparked my interest. At least he hadn't attempted to shake my hand or touch me in any way, and for that I was grateful. Normally, I avoided contact with other people, but today's multiple introductions had left me open.

I lifted my head to find Flynn striding across the courtyard toward me. His hair was still damp from the shower, making it a shade darker. With his hair being so short, I was sure it would have the texture of velvet if I ran my hand across his head. I shook the thought away; I'd just been relieved that he'd made no attempt to touch me, I certainly shouldn't be thinking about touching him.

”Hey,” he said as he slid onto the bench opposite me. ”I just realized you never told me your name.”

”Elizabeth.” I was certain the extended hand would come and I'd see something I didn't want to. Miraculously, it didn't.

”Elizabeth ...” He seemed to mull it over. ”Pretty.”

”Thanks.” I tilted my head. ”I bet you say that to all the girls.”

”Only the ones who have pretty names.”