Page 22
The gym has been quiet this evening, just me and two other men I don’t recognise, who must be guests at the Glen Garve Resort keen to squeeze in a workout during their stay. Now, though, who do I spot but Iona, in a plain white T-shirt and black leggings—a simple outfit, much more conventional than some of her animal-themed ones, but it looks good on her. Then again, what doesn’t?
“Iona!” Standing, I raise a hand in greeting.
She glances my way, and while she doesn’t quite roll her eyes, she’s clearly not thrilled to see me. Ouch. Oh well, that’s her standard reaction to me nowadays, and I’ve learnt I can’t let it hold me back. So, undeterred and beaming widely, I go over to say hi.
“Lewis.” She offers a stiff smile. “As I was driving over, it did occur to me that I might bump into you here. I know how much you like to work out.”
“And here I am! Lucky you.” I adopt a fake stern expression. “Have you been avoiding me? I’ve barely seen you since the welcome dinner.”
“Ha!” There’s no amusement in her tone. “Well, I’m going to go make a start. On . . . something.” Adjusting her glasses, she glances around the gym a little uncertainly.
“If you like, I can show you—”
“I’ll be fine.” Her voice is sharp, but after a moment, her features soften slightly. “Sorry, but I came here for some time to myself—I’m sure you understand. Anyway, seeing as you’re a sweaty mess, you’re obviously mid-session, so I’ll leave you to it.”
I maintain my smile even though it stings to be so quickly dismissed, given how close we once were. “Aye, of course. Have a good workout.”
She’s absolutely right—the need for time away from others is one I fully understand. I come here to escape everything, including thoughts about Iona. God knows how I’m going to manage that when she’s just a few metres from me.
Back at the bench press, I lie down and grab the barbell, searching for the mental calm the gym usually provides me. I lift, striving to focus on the motion, but invariably my mind drifts to Iona. I don’t want to be staring up at the ceiling—I want to be glancing over at her.
By the time I finish the set, my chest feels like it’s on fire, but it’s a satisfying burn. Standing, I have a stretch and can’t resist checking to see what Iona’s up to. She’s on the lat pulldown machine, yanking the weight down with quite a jerk, arching her back while doing so. Her grip is too wide, and she’s using her momentum more than her muscles. Yikes, that’s a sure-fire way to end up with an injury. I know she wanted space, but . . .
I walk over. “Er, Iona? You really need to keep your back straight and—”
“God!” She drops the weight and glares at me. “Can’t a woman come to the gym without some know-it-all man bothering her? What year is this?”
The other two guys halt their workouts and look over.
“We’re friends,” I assure them, raising my hands in a gesture of peace.
“More like acquaintances,” Iona corrects. “But aye, I do know him—unfortunately—and he’s not troubling me. But thanks.”
With nods, the men leave us to it.
“Sorry,” Iona mutters, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “That was a bit dramatic of me, but I was releasing some pent-up frustration during that exercise, and I could have done without the interruption.”
“No need to apologise. I don’t want to be ‘some know-it-all man’, but if you continue like that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
She sighs. “All right, fine. What am I doing wrong?”
“First, let’s reduce the weight. Once you’ve got the motion right, we can increase that, but for now, the main thing is to concentrate on your form. Next, bring your hands a wee bit closer together on the bar.”
She adjusts them.
“That’s better. Now, keep your back straight, and when you pull the bar down, do it in a nice, controlled way, keeping your elbows close to your body. Let your muscles do the work. Like this.” I put my hands on either side of hers, taking extra care not to accidentally brush her fingers, especially after her earlier comment. In fact, I’m so focused on this that I’m completely unprepared for the whiff of strawberry shampoo I inhale as I lean close to her.
Damn, that smell is a time machine, and suddenly I’m drowning in memories of . . .
No, pull yourself together, Lewis. This isn’t the place for such thoughts.
Gathering myself, I demonstrate the motion for Iona, showing off the smooth, controlled rhythm. “All right?” I say, fighting to maintain an even tone, despite the rush of intimate recollections. “You try it now.”
She does, and this time her movement is fluid, her back straight.
“Perfect!” I flash a grin, hoping my composed exterior is masking the emotions I’m wrestling with inside. “Now finish the set. Normally, I’d say ten to fifteen reps, but as it’s a low weight, I’m confident you’ll make fifteen no bother. Go for it! You can do it.”
As she works through the set, I try not to be too mesmerised by the way her muscles flex and relax under her T-shirt, or by how the movement accentuates the curve of her hips. I swallow hard, willing my traitorous eyes to behave and focus on her form and nothing else.
