Maya
Reid’s hands were already on my hips when Derek’s text came through.
Flight’s delayed. Won’t be back till Sunday night. Tell Reid he can still use the gym if he wants. Code’s the same.
I was on my hands and knees on the mat in our home gym, wearing the tiny shorts and sports bra Derek liked for “form checks.” Reid—forty-two, one of my husband’s highest-paying clients—had been spotting me through the last set. Now his palms were warm and steady on my waist, thumbs brushing the bare strip of skin above the waistband, and he hadn’t moved them since the text lit up my phone.
“Sunday,” he said behind me. His voice was low. Calm. “That’s a long weekend. You planning to work out alone the whole time?”
I should have stood up. I stayed where I was. “Derek said you could use the gym.”
“I
