Bad Rep

FIVE

Feeling uneasy and small under his gaze, I quickly pull my hand out of his larger one.

"Alright, I'll let you two get to it," Jeremy says, dismissing himself from the awkward interaction.

We both watch as he walks away, and then Rhodes swings his gaze to me, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his gym shorts. "Let's head to my office, shall we?"

I frown, crossing my arms over my chest. "No, thanks."

A look of surprise crosses his face. "No? Okay... then we can just talk out here, I guess," he says, leaning back against a squat rack.

I shake my head. "No, there's no need to talk."

He frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you mean?"

I sigh, moving my hands to my hips. "I mean, I don't think this is going to work out between us."

His frown deepens, eyes narrowing. "And why is that?" he challenges.

"Well, I don't think it's best to work with a steroid user," I rebuttal.

His dark brows raise a fraction in surprise and he huffs out a humorless laugh. "I see your boyfriend still talks shit about me."

Huh, so he does recognize me and knows that I'm with Eli. Before the last weight lifting competition—when we literally ran into each other—we never spoke or interacted. I actually stopped going to most of the competitions after the accident, but before that I used to go all the time to support Eli. I knew there was a possibility Rhodes knew who I was, probably seeing me with Eli at competitions, but I wasn't certain.

I cross my arms back over my chest, shifting my weight to my left hip. "My fiancé," I correct.

I don't miss those stormy gray eyes subtly glancing down at my ringless left hand, making me instinctively tuck it into the crease of my elbow, tightening my arms across my chest further.

He slightly shakes his head. "Either way, you can check my record, sweetheart. It's clean as a whistle, despite what your fiancé says."

I scowl at him. "Yeah, because you have people to cover it up for you."

He rolls his eyes, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, clearly agitated. "And what other lies has Eli told you?"

"He's told me enough information to know I don't want you as my trainer."

"I'm sure he has," he mutters under his breath. "Listen, I don't give a shit about what Eli says about me. I'm a damn good trainer."

I make a noncommittal sound at the back of my throat. "I'm sure," I say, unamused. "But I signed up with Victoria and what we've been doing is working for me so far, so I think I'm just going to stick to what she and I have been doing on my own and just wait for her to return. Thanks, though." I flash him a quick, over exaggerated smile before turning on my heel and wandering off in the gym, knowing if I didn't make a run for it right then and there he'd probably argue with me forever.

I start myself off with some stretching before warming up on the treadmill for fifteen minutes, something Victoria always has me do. As far as our actual workouts, though, those tend to vary from day to day, but I try to recreate them as best as I can on my own.

Deciding to focus more on arms today, I go over to the weights, lifting some dumbbells before using the bar, a pair of steely gray eyes intensely and creepily watching my every move. Knowing that his eyes are on me, I feel the need to go hard, to give it my all so he can see that I mean business and don't need him as my trainer. Each set I add more and more weight—probably more than I should—just to prove my point.

While I am pushing myself, I find myself missing Victoria somewhat. It's not that I miss her surprisingly intimidating small stature or her drill sergeant like ways, but I guess it's the accountability I miss. Having her beside me, pushing me as well as pacing me is a combo I don't think I can quite achieve on my own.

I used to go to the gym by myself—without a trainer—all the time, but that was when I really didn't need one. Back then, I just needed to maintain my body and weight, now I need to completely transform. And while I know my way around a gym, I'm not a professional when it comes to knowing what to do to lose the weight like I want to.

I probably should have a trainer, someone with a sense of knowledge and safety to help guide me along on this journey, but it seems like my only option is no option at all. While I'm sure Rhodes is an okay trainer, there's no way Eli would be comfortable with it nor could I go behind his back and work with Rhodes.

Defeated, I move on to the squat rack, wanting to give my arms a bit of a break. I set the bar on the bar rests, only to realize they're a little too high. Typically, the bar should rest just below your shoulders, but with the way the rests are currently the bar is hovering about two inches above my shoulders.

Setting the bar down onto the safety rails, I try to lower the bar rests, only to find that they're way different than the ones at my old gym. At my old gym, you could easily adjust them with a safety pin, but this one is completely different. I try to prod and pull at it, but it just doesn't seem to want to budge. I should have paid more attention to Victoria while she was doing it for me.

Feeling those gray eyes still burning into my back, embarrassment threatens to deflate my pride. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me struggle, I decide to leave the bar where it is, loading on the weights.

Once everything is set I get into position, the back of my head hitting the bar as I grip it—ideally it should be just below my shoulders. I lift the bar up and over the lip of the rests, settling it onto my shoulders.

I push myself to do squat after squat, adding more and more weight after each set.

On the last set, I struggle to get the bar up and over the lip of the bar rests, the weight nearly at my max, but I persevere. I start on my squats but I'm not able to finish the set, the weight too heavy and my legs burning. I stand up and try to push the bar up and onto the bar rests but the bar is too heavy and my arms are too tired after the workout to get the bar back up.

I slightly panic, fighting to place the bar back onto the rests backwards, unable to turn around in the squat rack. My tired arms are at an awkward angle to where I can't push the bar up and over the hooks of the rests behind my head.

I start floundering, the bar nearly slipping from my grasp and tipping over and falling off my shoulders. Just when I think I'm about to fall over with the weights, a pair of strong hands grip my hips, stabilizing me before they leave my body, and the bar with the weights is yanked out of my grasp and flung up onto the rests with a rattling clank.

Two huge arms cage me in, gripping the bar on either side of my head, the powerful body they belong to standing inches from mine, crowding me. I take a step back only to bump my head into the bar, trapped.

Eyes as dark and threatening as the clouds of a late summer storm pierce into mine, level and inches away. Rhodes is so close I can feel his breath fanning across my face, his sharp jaw cliched and his broad chest rising and falling with each breath.

"Are you going to let me train you now?"