KICK IT | JENLISA

35

Lisa

Jackson's only response was he turned around a picture on his desk of his family. A few years younger, Jennie's smile shone as she laughed. A blonde-haired guy draped his muscular arm over her shoulders. Was he her boyfriend, husband, or platonic neighbour?

And fuck, what I did and said... I puffed my cheeks with an exhale. I already shot myself in the ass, but this was a whole different level of potential dumpster fire. Fuck, fate was laughing and firing blanks at me. Knowing that Jennie was Jackson's sister shouldn't have changed my opinion of her, but it did. I was more of an ass in how I behaved around her. It was all I could think about during her class, distracting me into restlessness. Jackson's sister. Maybe anointing her to nun-status cooled off my attraction and her creeping into my mind. But who was the guy who pulled her away from me in the studio yesterday? He wasn't the guy in the picture gazing at her with adoration, but probably that guy from yesterday is her new boyfriend.

Since her vault only cracked open when she hurled insults at me, I knew nothing about Jennie Kim. That bothered me, especially since she now worked on my team. We respected each other's privacy, but my team were extended family members.

I deserved her irritation. My apology was half-assed, and she hadn't accepted it. So, I would properly apologise when she arrived for our first one-on-one session. Whether she accepted it or pulled a shotgun on me, who knew?

While this was a professional relationship, uncertainty buzzed in my veins. I cleaned up, stocking my home gym fridge with Gatorade and those fucking granola bars that she carried in her purse. Grunting, I pushed my weights set, elliptical, and treadmill aside, giving enough floor clearance for two mats and space between them. Sweat sprung up on my forehead, which I wiped away and unrolled my new mat. Bambam, being the opposite of subtle, ordered one custom-made in Houston's colours. The team logo was on one end, and my last name was in white letters on the other. It emitted a fake rubber smell and curled up at the ends.

I wasn't at the stage where I checked for Jennie's rust bucket of a truck out the windows every few minutes, but the house was too quiet. While checking on my lunch plans, she arrived ten minutes early... texting me in her fashion.

Jennie: Here.

Me: So? Come in.

Jennie: Make me.

Shaking aside the obvious question of why she didn't say come out, I found her on the side of my second garage spreading out a large white sheet on the grass. Three blank paint canvases and two quarts of paint sat in a corner. I palmed my hips and squinted under the sunlight. "You have shit picnic ideas."

"Not a picnic, doof..." she interrupted herself, with an insult no doubt. "Visual stimulation."

"Right."

My mouth dried at the sight of her visual stimulation. A sharp curve followed her strong shoulders, and the protruding lines of her clavicle showed through her red racerback shirt. The high collar offered full coverage, but the compression fit showed off every dip, swell, and curve. Black, knee-height leggings moulded to her thighs with an insane gap. I groaned at the improved view when she bent over.

She is Jackson's sister, Lisa! Nun-zone her, now! The overhead sun glowed on her skin and streaked highlights over her hair, pulled in a tight bun. Her eyes shone with golden browns. "I thought we could try a visual to help you with meditation."