Crush - Alan Jacobson [92]
He must have seen Dixon looking at him in the mirror, because he smiled.
Dixon grinned. A bit too much—it was her flirt smile. She stepped forward and said, “Sorry to interrupt.”
The man set the weights down on the ground with a thud. His eyes flicked behind her to the bench, then back to her. “Need help with that? A spot?”
She smiled again. She rotated her body toward the bench, then back to her new acquaintance. “Would you mind?”
He waved a hand in front of him. “Not at all.”
As he approached, her eyes widened. She liked what she saw. Raw attraction—she didn’t even know the guy.
“You a regular here?” she asked.
“Every day for the past five years. You?”
“I try to get in at night after work, but I don’t always make it.” She extended her hand. “Roxxann Dixon.”
“George.” He removed his glove and took her hand in his. “George Panda.”
Soft hands, firm handshake. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Maybe I can get you to return the favor when you’re done.”
“I’m not sure I’d be much help spotting you.” That was an understatement. Then again, he was probably flirting with her just like she was with him. “But sure, it’s a deal.”
Dixon slipped on her gloves, settled herself onto the bench, and placed her hands beneath the bar. She got a good grip, took a deep breath, and then realized she was wearing her lower cut fitness top, which, when she lifted the weight, might show significant cleavage. But as the song in The Producers says, “When you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
Dixon hoisted the bar and huffed and puffed as it rose and fell. Panda kept his hands at the ready, but they weren’t needed until Dixon strained for the twelfth rep, which went up slowly and with considerable groaning. She locked her elbows.
Before she could speak, Panda said, “Go one more. I’ll help.”
She lowered it slowly, then strained to raise it again. A yell escaped her throat and she arched her back. “Ahh!”
“C’mon, Roxxann,” Panda said, “you can do it. Just a little higher.” He had his hands under the bar, poised to take over if she got into danger.
She brought it up fully, her arms quivering involuntarily, and that was his cue. She gasped, “Take it!”
Panda did exactly that and settled the heavy bar into the weight cradles. She let her arms fall to her sides and stuck out her tongue for effect.
“Great job.”
She shook her arms, then swung her legs around and sat up, facing him. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He looked around, then clapped his hands together. “Tell you what—instead of spotting me, how about you let me take you to dinner?”
Dixon felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Wow. Uh, I’d love to,” she said before she realized she was the one speaking.
“How about Saturday?”
“Saturday? I—well, maybe I could take a raincheck on that? Things are really busy at work, and I just don’t know what my schedule’s going to be.”
“Hey, Bear, what’s up?”
Approaching from the right was a large man, pushing six-four, a smidgen leaner than Panda, with a buzz cut and a military gait. He carried a near-empty Platypus two-liter water bottle.
Dixon turned back to her new workout partner. “Bear?”
“Roxxann, this is a buddy of mine. James Cannon. Bear’s my nickname.”
Dixon squinted. Then she tilted her chin back. “Ah. Panda. Bear.”
Cannon gave Panda a shove. “George here didn’t like it when I’d yell out, ‘Hey, Panda,’ in the gym. Some of the bodybuilders gave him a hard time. They thought it was a pet name or something.”
“And let me guess,” Dixon said. “Your nickname is Cannon.”
“Actually, I go by ‘Bob.’” He laughed. “Just messing with you. Name’s Jimmy.”
“I thought you were working out.”
Dixon turned; Vail was coming up behind her, eyes bouncing from Panda to Cannon.
“We were. I mean, I was. Karen, this is George, and Jimmy.”
Panda extended a hand. This time he didn’t bother to remove his glove. “George Panda.” Cannon shifted the water bottle to his other hand and took Vail’s palm firmly.
“Karen Vail. Good to meet both of you. But,” she said, nudging Dixon in the side, “we’re running out of time. We should shower, get back to work.