I’d had no chance of sleeping last night, and this time, it wasn’t because of nightmares. The anticipation of seeing him and knowing what I had to do kept me up all night. Why did the Redwood make me nervous? But it wasn’t a bad nervous . . . He was just a man, after all. I dealt with men at work all the time, and I held my own. But they didn’t look like the Redwood, and I didn’t think about them the way I thought about him. More to the point, my body didn’t respond to anyone the way it did him.

Like every morning, I warmed up on the treadmill next to Terry, who was a welcome comfort. Though he wasn’t old enough to be my dad, I had a cherished paternal relationship with him. I genuinely loved the man. Even when he lectured me, because I knew it was out of love.

“Hon, you have no business lifting that much weight on the leg press. You push it too hard. You promised to tone it down.”

Married to his childhood sweetheart and a father to four girls, Terry got me. His opinion meant a lot to me and I was sincerely touched by his concern.

“I shouldn’t have gone for six without straps. I know.”

“You shouldn’t have gone for six, period,” he corrected.

“You know I can put up six, but look.” I pointed to the digital readout on my treadmill in an attempt to distract him. “No incline, I’m behaving.”

He scoffed at me. “Yeah, while I’m next to you, but when I leave you’ll overdo it.”

I reached over and put a hand on the rail of his machine. “I test in a few weeks. I can’t screw up again.” My heart rate picked up the slightest bit at the thought of not testing next round.

“Do you know how hard it is to get that specific belt?”

“Yes!” My treadmill kicked into the cool-down session and I almost tripped. I couldn’t fail that test again. “I do, but I’m good at it. I like Jiu Jitsu too—but I love the no-holds-barred, everything-goes ideology behind the original Israeli Krav Maga. My instructor is renowned.”

Terry hit the stop button on his machine. “Then he isn’t going to let you test after a hyperextension.”

Now I hit stop and faced Terry. “I already missed my test. This is the next round. If I can’t fight on it, I’ll reschedule again, but I have to try.” I just . . . needed this.

“It’s better to reschedule again than to reinjure.”

After packing up, we cleaned the machines and headed to the weight room together. “I’m just hitting upper body this week. I’ll ease the knee back in gradually and see where it’s at in a few weeks. I know it’s a long shot.” I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice.

Before we split off to go to our usual warm-up spots, Terry put a hand on my shoulder. “Your inner athlete takes over and you check out. Stay present.”

With a kiss on his cheek, I promised to stay present and we went our separate ways. Stay present . . .

Instructor Kovov shouted those same words at me every time we drilled. Stay present in the moment—the current situation. Kovov didn’t know about my past, but to me, every time I heard those words, I interpreted them as staying present in real time, not the past. Before, I hadn’t understood my hesitation with the attack from behind . . . but now I did.

The familiar, humid air of the weight room reset my meandering thoughts. With each stretch, each extension, my pent-up anxiety over the past two weeks bled right out of me. Florence and the Machine flowed through my earbuds and I closed my eyes, relieved to be back in the place that kept me strong.

After stretching and a light weight warm-up, I started on my first shoulder set. Flipping my wrist, I checked my watch. 3:15 a.m. My breath barreled out. I still had time . . .

Straddling the straight bench, I shuffled through my music, searching for my “Lifting” playlist. I hunched over the dumbbells as I scrolled. As soon as I hit play, a deep voice resonated in the pit of my stomach before I could crank the volume.

“Hey, you. You’re back.”

I flipped around, almost falling off my bench.

Shit! He’s early!

Quickly turning back to the weights, I moved them aside, fumbling for the pause button on my headphones. I stood and walked the few feet to the machine he’d dropped his gear next to.

Did he seriously get bigger in the time I’d been gone? And better-looking? Was that even possible? I took a step away and shoved my hands in the front pockets of my pullover.

When I looked up, he snickered. “How did I know you wouldn’t take the full month off hyperextensions usually require?”

Breathe, idiot! I smiled up at him. “I’m here for upper body only, but I wanted to officially thank you again. I’d have hurt myself worse, if it hadn’t been for you.”

He flipped his hood back and pulled out the band in his hair, rearranging it into a bun at his nape. No other man on the planet could have done such a thing and still look as masculine as he did. “Glad to see you back and feeling better. How’s the knee holding up?”

Trying to form coherent sentences while he was messing with that gorgeous hair and staring down at me became difficult. He had full and shiny brownish-blond hair, way too pretty for a man, and out of nowhere, I had the strangest urge to brush it and run my hands through it.

Are. You. Serious?!

The blue shirt under his navy blue hoodie made his eyes more a brownish green rather than amber gold this morning. Stop gawking for Christ’s sake! I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “It’s good for the most part, thank you. It held up well on the treadmill earlier. No pain.”

“No incline?” It came out a statement, although I think he meant it as a question. I bit back a grin and cocked my head as I stared up at him. What did he do for work? A random thought, but his tone . . . It carried a subtle expectation that betrayed authority.

“No incline,” I admitted, unable to hold eye contact any longer even though his gaze held a hint of humor. Different versions of an apology played on an internal reel, and I hoped my words came out better than they sounded in my head. “May I ask your name? You saved me from being crushed. I sort of assaulted you, yelled at you, and never got around to asking your name.”

Now he genuinely laughed—the sound a hearty and deep, rumbly tenor.

An unfamiliar warmth skimmed over my skin, and I couldn’t help smiling with him.

“You may,” he teased. “So proper. My name’s Jaxxon. I go by Jaxx.”

The name fit him perfect—strong and hard. “With an X?” It was out before I could stop it—I had to know. My inner nerd was on full display now.

He loaded two forty-five pound plates on each side of the bar and straddled the incline bench, putting us almost at eye-level. “Double X, actually. Mom’s an original sorta woman.” He raised an eyebrow. “Nobody picks up on that unless I spell it out.”

Removing my hands from my pockets, I shrugged. “I’m an editor. I have a thing for words, and an even stranger thing for names. It’s a problem.”

Annie was right. I was socially awkward in a non-work-related situation. Work gave me distance and I was usually the expert in that arena. This was new for me. I should have felt uncomfortable, but he was so easy going, I didn’t. “Besides, you emphasize the X when you say your full name.”

“Never noticed that,” he said, before leaning toward me, elbows on his knees.

The laser focus of that hypnotic gaze kept me in place when normally I’d have stepped back at the close proximity.

“What kind of editor?”

I’d gone mute when the traces of fresh pine, clean linen, and spearmint traveled to me. I had to stop myself from closing my eyes and inhaling deep. My God, he smelled amazing. With a slight shake of my head, I remembered the question and forced a small grin. “Fiction.”

Apologize and get the hell out!

Before he had a chance to respond, I rushed on, “Well, Jaxxon—or rather, Jaxx—I’m sorry for my behavior when you were gallant enough to save me from imminent death via leg press.” I glanced at the floor again, feeling like an ass for not apologizing sooner, before meeting his eyes once more. His sexy grin was back in place, and I’d never been so happy my sports bra was padded, because the way his lips slanted over his perfect teeth cast a strange, fluttery sensation across my chest.

“Are you blushing?” he asked, and then chuckled. “No worries. I have two older sisters. Trust me, they make you look like an amateur. I can take a good tongue lashing in stride.” Then he winked at me. Winked!

And just like that, the flutter intensified and my nipples went rock hard. There should have been some unspoken rule—he should never be allowed to use the word “tongue” in my presence. Ever.

Wait, two older sisters? “How old are you?”

He scrunched his eyebrows at me and smirked. “Well now, I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“No! It’s not an insult at all. I just—I thought—”

“I’m younger than I look. I think it’s the height. Throws people off. I’m thirty-four.”

Thirty-fucking-four! Too big, too good-looking, and now too young! Like, six years too young. Strike three—you’re out, Redwood.

His soft chortle broke into my disgruntled inner monologue. “Did your shoulders just drop?”

“Not at all,” I insisted, casually straightening my spine. I gave him a tight grin and stepped away. “Well, thank you for being so understanding that day. I’ll let you get to your workout. I don’t want to hold you up. I just wanted to thank you.”

“You’re not holding me up. I just got here.”

I glanced up at the clock and then back at him. “You are early.”

“So you do notice when I get here.”

Shutting my gaping mouth would probably be wise. I clamped it shut, but didn’t know what to say. He’d totally set me up. I opened my mouth again, intending to speak, but still nothing came out. His seductive smirk sent an odd sort of warmth throughout my body.

“I’m kidding.”

I glanced down at my hands, adjusting my wrist straps before peeking up at him. “I think you might be kind of mean. Jury’s still out . . . ”

Now you’re teasing him? Cougar!

If I thought the smirk was deadly, it was nothing compared to the full-on god-like smile he dropped on me now. “Oh . . . you’re gonna be fun,” he said, reaching down to his bag.

“I am not fun,” I threw over my shoulder as I stalked back to my bench.

“So, you get that you just challenged me, yeah?” When I swung back around to him, he nodded once and got situated on the bench. “And I accept. Brace yourself, sweetness.”

“Really?!” I plopped back down on my own bench and grabbed my weights. We locked eyes in the mirror, since his machine was directly to the side of me. “Don’t be obnoxious. Not when I have you on such a high pedestal,” I quipped.

“She jokes.” His massive chest rumbled with a laugh as he situated under the Olympic bar. Without the weight, the bar alone weighed forty-five pounds. Before he was finished, he’d have four more forty-fives up there. The man was superhuman, which was impressive from an athletic perspective.

Like the covert super stealth-stalker I’d become, I watched him rip off countless warm-up reps. Then I forced my eyes back to the weights in front of me.

Jaxx was so far out of my league, and my comfort zone, it was insane I even entertained any thought of him at all—in any context. This was the last thing I needed right now. The Redwood wasn’t simply one of the most attractive men I’d ever met. He was funny. He made me laugh and I liked talking to him. A lot.

He’s thirty-four. Absolutely not!