Beneath His Touch

Chapter Ten

JAVAN

I slammed my finger on the speed button, quickening the treadmill's pace until the belt whirred beneath my feet, almost too fast for me to keep up. The rhythmic thud of my shoes hitting the track matched the pounding of my heartbeat, but no matter how hard I ran, I couldn't outrun the thoughts plaguing my mind.

Sarah. Damn, Wildcat!

I didn't know how long I had been at it—minutes blurred into endless stretches of time, sweat soaking my shirt, dripping down my back, and yet the only thing I could focus on was her. Damn it! I gritted my teeth, feeling the frustration build with every thought of her standing there, so close to Jerry. Too close. The way she smiled, laughed at something he said as if it was the funniest damn thing in the world. It sent a searing heat through my veins, an uncontrollable fire that had me clenching my fists even as I ran. What was it about him? Why did she have to be so damn comfortable with him?

I pushed the treadmill faster, my breathing turning into harsh pants. Sweat poured down my face, sticking my shirt to my chest, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not even the music blasting through the gym speakers, Niko Sawa by Nviiri the Storyteller, could distract me. Listening to music was usually enough to get me through tough workouts, but not today. Not when her face, her body, her laugh were burned into my mind.

"Shit!" I cursed under my breath, slamming the stop button with the side of my hand. The treadmill slowed down with a mechanical whir, the movement under my feet easing as I stepped off, panting hard. My muscles burned, my lungs screamed for air, but nothing was helping. The frustration, the tension in my chest, only seemed to thicken. I grabbed a towel from the bench, yanking it roughly across my face, trying to wipe away the sweat.

I looked around the gym—it was practically empty. It had to be around five, and the others had already left for field training. I had put John in charge of the freshmen, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My mind was far too clouded with everything that wasn't supposed to be clouding it. Too damn clouded.

I threw the towel over my shoulder, pacing in front of the weight racks, still out of breath. My thoughts drifted back to her, unbidden, unstoppable. That image—her body, drenched in sweat, the thin fabric of her shirt clinging to her skin, revealing just enough. The faint outline of her pink bra, visible through the dampness.

The way her chest had heaved with each breath, rising and falling, beads of sweat rolling down her collarbone—it was maddening. My fingers itched to wipe them away, to feel the heat of her skin under my touch. What the hell is wrong with me? She was just there, just doing her thing, but I couldn't shake the way my heart had started racing the moment I saw her, not from running, not from exertion—no. It was her. All her.

I pressed my palm to my forehead, feeling the slickness of sweat still pooling there.

This shouldn't be happening. I never let myself get distracted like this, especially not by someone like her. It was stupid, reckless. But then why did the image of her, flushed and breathless, make my blood pump faster than any workout ever could?

I cursed under my breath again, pacing harder, wrapping the towel around my neck as if it could choke out the thoughts circling in my mind. Her face, her laugh, that goddamn pink bra. The way her chest had moved in sync with her breathing—it was haunting me.

This was so fucking new.

I wasn't the guy who got distracted. I wasn't the guy who let someone else get into his head like this. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake her. Her laugh echoed in my ears, her body, glistening with sweat, replayed over and over in my mind like a broken record. And every damn time, the image was clearer, more vivid, until it was all I could see.