Desired by All and He Threw Away 45

Chapter 45 

Taylor’s POV 

The gym smells faintly of rubber and chalk the scent sharp and clean almost antiseptic. 

Sunlight slants through the tall windows painting long stripes across the floor where dust motes float like tiny sparks.i tell myself im here to monitor him. 

That’s it. Professional. Just a physical therapy session. Nothing more. 

But the second I see him move, my self–reassurances crumble.he is lifting his foot slowly testing the limits of yesterday strain and even in that deliberate controlled motion there is something that steals my attention. 

the line of his muscle beneath pale skin the smooth contraction of his biceps the effortless way his shoulder rolls back into place.my pulse betrays me quickening despite my focus. 

I grip my clipboard tighter, letting the cold cardboard anchor me. One two three- check marks against each warm up step the numbers scribbled in neat columns. 

i try to concentrate on the readings on the way his muscles respond but my eyes keep wandering Again. And again. 

the light catches a thin sheen of sweat along his jawline glinting like morning dew.i notice the subtle rise and fall of his collarbone as he breathes and the way his trapezius shifts under each motion. 

he doesnt strain he doesnt wince or even complain.every movement is deliberate its measured. Controlled. And my chest tightens with a strange mix of admiration–and something else I don’t want to admit. 

You’ve worked with a dozen athletes before, I scold myself silently. He’s no different. 

But he is different. 

It’s not just the movement, the physicality.its the focus in his eyes that quiet intensity that radiates confidence bordering on arrogance. 

he pushes past limits without a hint of hesitation.and then theres the memory sharp and stubborn:the vulnerability he let me see during recovery when I had been the one supporting him guiding him through pain 

he didnt want to admit. 

that version of him clings to my thoughts refuses to detach itself and suddenly i feel like Im trespassing in a space that isnt mine. 

Aiden finishes a set and then he pauses.im jotting something down on the clipboard- numbers ranges, reaction times- but i dont look up. Not yet. 

Then he lifts his head. 

Our eyes meet. 

I freeze.theres no mistaking it- he knows i have been checking him out. 

The gym is quiet too quiet except for the soft whir of the ventilation system and the faint echo of my own heartbeat pounding behind my ribs.My breath stutters uneven shallow and i feel heat crawling up my neck 

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searing my cheeks. 

Guilt prickles down my spine sharp and insistent i have to look away. i have to act like a professional. 

my Clipboard in hand i scribble something anything letting the pen scratch furiously across the paper. My handwriting tightens my lines jagged and frantic. 

Numbers blur. Observations blur.my mind refuses to cooperate. 

“Smooth,” i mutter under my breath. “Real professional, Taylor.” 

a small knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He doesnt say anything doesnt need to.the. gesture is enough and i can feel the flush spreading further warming the tips of my ears curling down the nape of my neck. 

i force my gaze back to the clipboard scribbling meaningless check marks making the numbers look precise. Pretending. 

pretending Im not aware of how close he is of how much every small shift of his body draws my eyes like a magnet.Pretending im not aware that my pulse is not my own anymore. 

Aiden doesn’t move. He doesnt comment.he simply turns back to his drills the sound of controlled motion filling the space between us. 

the gentle whoosh of his shoulder the soft scrape of sneakers against the polished gym floor the faint exhale as he pushes past the limit–all of it conspires to draw me in to steal my attention away from the clipboard i clutch like a lifeline. 

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