"Nineteen."
Rick said it like he was counting out change. He took a sip of water and stayed exactly where he was, lounging against Lexi's pillows like the bed had always been his.
Lexi made a small broken sound and dropped again.
Sweat had turned the yoga pants into a second skin. At the bottom of the squat the fabric went fully honest. Black lace. Pale thighs. The sports bra had lost the war three repetitions ago. She pushed back up on shaking legs, face burning, eyes locked on him because looking anywhere else would have been worse.
"I can't," she whispered. "My legs—"
"Twenty," Rick said. Still pleasant. Still impossible. "Down."
She bit her lip and started the last squat.
That was when the front door opened.
Not a click this time. The full swing. Expensive shoes on hardwood. A woman's voice, sharp and bright and already talking.
"Lexi, sweetheart, we decided to drop by since we were in the area! Why is there a cooler in the kitchen? And whose jacket is this?"
