Body of Work by Karla Doyle Page A

now?”
    “You’re a—”
    “Thirty-five, and done. One minute break.”
    This time, she joined her fellow victims in the communal sigh of relief. She collapsed onto her stomach, eyes closed, groaning as the grass soothed her scorching skin. Her baseball cap rolled off her head, letting more heat escape. She might not move from this spot for the duration of Brian’s class.
    “I’m a what?” he asked, tipping a bottle above the back of her head. Cool water dribbled down her shoulders and neck.
    “Oh god, that feels good. I was going to say jerk, but now you’re my hero.”
    “You should probably stick with jerk.”
    She mustered the energy to roll onto her back, catching one arm on his shin in the process. Forget the heat from the pushups, the sparks where their bodies touched were ten times hotter. She tipped her chin up, and yes, arched her back so her nipples made two points in her pale-blue tank top. “Do me again, you big jerk.”
    His eyes skimmed her body, then returned to her face. His fingers twitched on the water bottle. Instead of pouring it over her, or taking her up on her offer in some other, better way, he stood. Turned his back on her and boomed the next order of business.
    “On your feet. Time to work the legs.”
    Sam had been way off-base, thinking Brian wanted her here. For the next forty minutes, he put the group through a sequence of exercises that seemed as though they’d be a walk in the park, so to speak, but ended up being torture in the park instead. Through it all, he encouraged his trainees—except for her.
    Oh, she got plenty of his attention. When he had them do long hops across the field, he reminded everybody else to keep their legs together. Not her. He made an example of her by securing her legs closed with a skipping rope. During numerous lengths of walking lunges, he strode alongside her, nagging her to take longer, deeper steps. He finally wandered off—when she met his expectations, presumably—only to return with a coil of thick rope, which he hung around her neck “for added resistance”.
    That rope later looped around her waist so she could run—a loose description of what she actually did—across the field while dragging the monstrous truck tire. Good god, the fire in her legs. Next, backward crab crawling. Modified back-rows using the rope slung over a low-hanging tree branch. Flipping the massive, heavy tire over and over until her muscles screamed. Alternating knee-raises while stepping up on the tire. She had no love for that damn tire. Not much left for the drill sergeant trailing her through every exercise, commanding her to tuck in, lift up, stretch out—and everything in between. They had to be nearing the end of this godforsaken hour.
    Another boot-camper called him away to hold her feet for crunches. Cassie faked a cough to mask her laugh, not that she blamed the woman in neon spandex for finding an excuse to get Brian’s hands on her body, even if it meant doing more sit-ups.
    Cassie used the reprieve to flop on the grass. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scents of lilies and fresh-cut grass, the sweetness of summer in general, before releasing it all in a slow, relaxing breath. Sunshine kissed her skin, creating spots behind her closed eyelids. Didn’t matter that she was sweat-soaked, she welcomed the hug of the sun’s rays as they gifted her with that sense of lightness that precedes sleep. Perfection.
    “Hey,” the toe of Brian’s shoe nudged her waistline, “there’s no napping at boot camp.”
    “Just enjoying my minute of rest.” She cracked an eye open. The giant towering over her blocked her access to the sun, eliminating the need to squint. “What’s next, slave driver, laps around the pond?” She blinked until the sunspots disappeared and he came into focus, looking massively sexy and more than a little amused. “What?” Oh crap. “I know…there’s a toll for taking an unauthorized break. Let me guess, I get to crawl around