Body of Work by Karla Doyle

the front of her baseball cap lower and tried skirting around the group to the back row. Too late, the entire lot of jumpers had zeroed in on her, and they were hooting like crazed people. This couldn’t be a good sign.
    “Not so fast there.” Brian’s deep timbre stopped her in her tracks. “You have to pay up.”
    Oh god, of course there was a fee. By the time she turned to face him, her cheeks burned something fierce and the one-armpit stress sweating had kicked in. Lovely.
    He took the count to one hundred, then gave the trainees a break. “One minute rest.”
    A group sigh of relief went up from his minions. A few of them dropped exaggeratedly onto the grass. Brian ignored them, hooked one finger at her and reeled her closer. If he was hurting from a hangover, it didn’t show. No bloodshot eyes or dark circles to give away the night Sam had outlined. If anything, he looked energized. And in gray sport shorts that showed off his muscular legs and a steel-blue sleeveless tee that accentuated his muscles and the color of his eyes, he also looked downright delicious. No wonder he garnered a huge crowd on Sunday mornings.
    He folded his thick arms across his chest and stared down at her. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
    Not “this is a nice surprise”, or, “glad you came”. She could kill Sam for persuading her to do this. “I like to mix things up. But I left my purse in the car, so I’ll go get it and be right back with some money.” Yeah, right. Once she got to her car, she was so out of here.
    “Hold it.” He didn’t touch her, didn’t move a muscle. Nor did he need to. His voice alone glued her to the spot. “The first class is always free. No easy getaway for you, cutie.”
    “Then what was that comment about paying up?”
    A wicked smile curled into place between that ginger beard and mustache. “Latecomers interrupt the flow of the routine. There’s a toll for that.”
    She surveyed his students. Some were toned and fit, but most had a journey ahead of them before they hit that point. Whatever they could do, she could do. She lifted her chin and returned his cocky grin. “Name it.”
    “Ready for pushups,” he called over his shoulder. Behind him, dozens of bodies assumed the standard position. “You’ll be doing yours right here, in front of everybody.”
    “No problem.” She shook out her arms. Clasped them behind her back to stretch her pectoral muscles, then hit the ground. “Drop and give you ten?”
    “You’re going to give me a hell of a lot more than ten.” He chuckled. “But you’re not ready to start yet.” His feet left her field of vision. Some cheers—and taunts—rose from front of the pack. Next thing she knew, Brian had his hand wrapped around her shins, lifting her legs off the ground.
    “What the—?” Her toes connected with a solid surface again, but they hadn’t gone down in elevation. She craned her neck and saw the mammoth tire under her feet. Oh crap.
    He knelt, tickled her ear with his breath. “Time to pay up.” He straightened, giving her butt a hearty whack on the way. “One!”
    By the fifteenth pushup, heat had spread across her chest and shoulders. To her left, the masses continued heaving their various weights up and down. Nobody quit. Nobody looked close to quitting. Neither would she.
    “Seventeen…”
    Boot-campers started falling off at eighteen. Not her. No way. Piece of cake, this.
    “Twenty-three…”
    Good god, her arms. Apparently Jell-O could do pushups.
    “Twenty-nine…”
    Her abs had officially caught fire.
    “Thirty-one…who’s had enough?” He laughed at the mixture of groans that answered his question. “Too bad. Thirty-two…” He crouched beside her. “How about you—had enough yet?”
    “Never.” She only had enough breath for one word, and it seemed to amuse the hell out of him.
    “Thirty-three…” A heavy palm spanned her back, applying less-than-subtle pressure. “Thirty-four…how about