Pinehurst: Book One (A Magical Olympian Adventure/Young Adult Romantic Fantasy)

Chapter Eight

Chapter 8

“This way, Evelyn.” Antonio’s soft voice spoke from behind me.

I turned around to admire the scenery, I mean Antonio. His six-foot tall frame stood over me by at least half a foot. His dark hair that once hung loosely around his face, was now tucked behind his ears, giving it a sexy, lazy look that made my knees wobble—again.

His dark brown eyes, black really, were deep and intense. I hadn’t been able to admire them fully earlier on the lawn. The bright sun had obscured my vision. I admired them now. His skin, golden and tanned, was proof that he spent most of his time in the sun. This was my personal trainer? Oh Baby! Maybe this class wasn’t going to be so bad after all?

I followed Antonio out the gym doors and onto the track field. The late afternoon sun was still blazing. Today was one of those rare “summer days” in Idaho; or so I’d been told. The air was uncharacteristically hot and I could feel the beads of sweat beginning to form instantly.

“Why are we out here?” I waved my hand back and forth in front of my face, trying to fan myself. “Aren’t we supposed to be inside, hitting each other or something?”

He looked stunned. “Do you want to hit me?”

“No. Well, I mean, aren’t we supposed to? Isn’t that what Slayers do?”

Antonio smiled. “Yes and no. I don’t plan on sparring with you for some time. I think it’s better if we start slow. We need to build your muscles up before you’re ready for any real physical activity.” His eyes looked me up and down with skilled thoroughness.

I huffed. Was he suggesting I was out of shape? How dare he! I was rock hard damn it! Well, almost. I was nearly seventeen. My thighs and butt were as firm as they would ever be.

Antonio cleared his throat. Blush now tinged his cheeks—weird! What did he have to be embarrassed about?

“So where do you want to start?” I grumbled.

“We’ll do a few laps around the track, then head into the weight room and work on some basic conditioning.”

I groaned mentally. “I don’t run.” I tried to look as put out as I sounded.

“You will,” Antonio promised with a smile, ignoring my warning.

He took off down the track. I followed, barely keeping in step. Sadly, it was obvious—he was taking it easy on me.

I started off okay, but by the second lap, I was wheezing again. I held onto my right side tightly. A painful stitch had rooted itself deep. I wanted to drop to the ground and cry. But of course I didn’t. There was no way I was going to cry in front of Antonio, and have him thinking I was a total baby.

I tried to distract myself with thoughts of how cute he was; even though I was still irritated by his earlier comment. I was sure that Antonio would break Gillian’s hot-o-meter in an instant. I glanced over at him. He was smiling again–must be an inside joke.

“So, what are you doing here?” I panted along-side him. I couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat! I was dying and he wasn’t even breaking a freaking sweat? How fair is that? I felt like one of the contestants on the “Biggest Loser,” only I wasn’t over weight. I was just un-athletic, having never exercised a day in my life practically. I was so out of this guy's league.

“I’m helping to train you.”

I frowned. “I know that. I meant, what are you doing at Pinehurst? You're a Slayer right? Aren’t you supposed to be . . . I don’t know . . . slaying something?” I panted.