Girl on Track

27| Set fire to me

A pair of hands reach out to steady me, firmly grabbing my waist. I lift my head, certain who I'll find before I even meet his hooded gaze.

Tyler.

His eyes roam my outfit with feigned disapproval. "Is this what you wear to bed?"

I blink once, then twice. I'd been half asleep only a moment ago, but now every nerve in my body is awake. "What's wrong with my pajamas?"

"Aside from the obvious?" His eyes are bright, and there's a faint smell of alcohol coming from his breath, but not the harsh kind. It's warm and sweet, making me wonder what he'd taste like.

"Sorry that my choice of bedroom attire isn't sexy enough for you."

"That's the problem," he says, almost pained, "it is."

I manage to inhale and exhale at once. There's a part of me that wants to just reach out and touch him, but I'm not about to jeopardize my training. "Why are you even here? I thought you weren't friends with Sam."

"I'm not." His eyes are practically undressing me. "I'm keeping my friends close and my enemies closer."

And this is what scares me. There's always some ulterior motive with him. "Well, you should probably get back to the party."

"It's over," he says, and I suddenly realize how quiet it is. How alone we are. "Sam's already holed up in his bedroom with some girl. The others either crashed in the guest room or left already. Come on, I want to show you something." He grabs my hand, and instead of doing the sane thing and pulling away, I let him lead me to the kitchen.

The place is dark, and I find myself holding on tighter as he leads me back out onto the patio. I can see why, despite the leftover beer bottles, he'd wanted to show me this. Everything about this looks magical, from the fairy lights coiled around the wooden veranda to the old-fashioned lanterns dangling from the trees. I take a step further, tilting my head to the starry night sky, where the moon sits half-hidden behind a haze of white mist.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"Yeah, it is," but something tells me he's not talking about the sky. Gently, he leads me around the ledge of the pool and toward the hot tub, where I finally dig my heels in.

"No way," I say. "I'm not getting in there."

He turns and grins at my expression. "This is strictly professional," he says. "As your trainer, I'm letting you know that your muscles will thank you in the morning for getting into this hot tub. You're already starting to feel it, right?"

Unfortunately, he's right. My thighs are beginning to ache in ways I never thought possible. But I'm not an idiot, and there is nothing professional about climbing into a hot tub with Tyler.

So, why do I want to?

Before I can think, he's stripping down to his boxers. I want to look away, but it's hard to deny how perfect he looks, each muscle taut and sculpted to perfection. I catch a glimpse of his back as he turns, watching his shoulder blades arch like wings as he lowers himself into the tub.

"Are you getting in?" he asks.

"No. I don't have a swimsuit."

He grins like I'm being a baby, but this is less about modesty and more about the fact that I don't think I can trust myself in there. "Then sit on the ledge," he says. "Come on, sirenita. How often do you get to use some rich kid for his hot tub?"

Knowing he's not the type to give up, I settle on sitting on the ledge of the tub and slide my legs into the water. "There, happy?"

"Always around you."