Miss Matched [COMPLETED]

13. Tayla

Simon has abs. Rock hard, clearly defined, delicious looking abs. How do I know? I've been staring at them all day. He must have gained an ab for every year we were apart. The man has an inhuman amount of energy. After a 5 mile run, he drove us to the ninja warrior gym I belong to.

"I think you should try it," Simon says, eyeing the salmon ladder.

We've already done all the obstacles I'm good at. Having him trail me around the gym has been a pleasant surprise. He's been thoughtful in his approach to the harder obstacles and willing to laugh at himself when he fails. I suppose it's only fair I return the favor. "I can only get three rungs. Ever."

His gaze slides down my body. "I'm betting on four today."

I laugh and shake my head. "Oh yeah? I've magically become stronger over night? I was here yesterday." Even still, I can't help my answering grin. I hate him and I love him for nailing every date so far.

Our unexpected encounter yesterday caused my insides to melt like gooey marshmallows, and today isn't helping that sensation. "You're not allowed to give me a hand." I point a finger in his direction as I stand in front of the obstacle. The bar lays across a set of angled rungs, and I have to pull my body up, lifting the bar into the next rung in mid-air. My abs ache just looking at it.

"I will keep my hands to myself." His lips twitch.

I stretch to reach the bar and then I pull up in a quick movement, drawing my knees up to my chest. I make one, two, three rungs, and I can't get the bar out of its slot again. With a frustrated noise, I drop down.

He stares at the bar, his expression pensive. "Can I try?"

I laugh. "If you can reach the bar."

He lifts his arms, and with a little hop, he's on the bar. Show off. He doesn't even need to lower it. Without saying anything he lets go, examines the bar again, and jumps with a wider grip. Simon pulls up, drawing his knees into his chest over and over until he reaches the top. "Now what?" he calls down.

"Ratchet back down or drop down and we can use a special stick to retrieve the bar." Although I never get far enough to worry about it, there are plenty of people who make this obstacle look easy when I'm here working out.

"I'm thinking that 5 mile run wasn't such a hot idea now." He drops down gracefully and shakes out his arms. "You could get at least one more rung, maybe two."

I eye him skeptically as I pass him the retrieval stick. We replace the bar and when I reach up and grip the bar, Simon hesitates a second before saying, "I think if you put your hands just a little wider, you'd get a better angle."

He's been good about every pointer I've given him throughout the course, so without comment, I inch my hands further apart. "Like this?"

"Yeah." He comes around behind me. "Permission to give you a hand?" His tone is teasing, but he won't touch me unless I agree. At least that aspect of him hasn't changed.

My lips quirk up. "Just one?"

"If you'll let me do two, I'll definitely use both." One hand comes to rest on my hip, and I'm keenly aware of the pad of each finger on top of the thin material of my T-shirt. A shiver of pleasure rolls over my body.

"I'm not sure I like you suggesting I'm a handful." Oh no. Even my voice sounds turned on.

"Two handfuls." His voice is rough, laced with the same desire that's hit me. "Perfection."

Against my will, my body heats. While we laid in bed, he used to cup my breasts in his hands—the perfect handful, he said as he ran his thumb across the nipple. At the memory, my nipples pucker. I close my eyes and will myself to focus. "What were you going to show me?" Is that squeaky voice mine?