Fix You: Bash and Olivia by Christine Bell

tumbled from my lips. The last time I’d heard that phrase it had come courtesy of my eighty-year-old uncle Ernie. Why my brain had bypassed all those “witty little banters” I had stockpiled and gone for that crusty gem, I’d never know, but Bash took it in stride and gave me a crooked half smile.
    “Yeah. Pretty chilly.”
    I shoved back my embarrassment, swung the door wide, and waved him in. The weather had taken another turn, and they were calling for snow, which at the moment sounded lovely. Maybe it would cool off my flaming cheeks. This really had to stop. Surely I had more game than this? But I still couldn’t quite believe he’d shown up. I half expected him to cancel or blow me off, and here he was, in the flesh. Now what to do with him?
    My face got even hotter and I stuck my head outside to let the brisk wind cool it off before closing the door.
    Bash turned to face me, waving me on to lead the way. His gaze traveled downward, seeming to linger on the narrow strip of bare skin at my abdomen between my yoga pants and my T-shirt. When he locked eyes with me again, his pupils were dilated and made my insides jiggle a little.
    I headed toward the gym, very conscious of the fact that he might possibly be looking at my ass as he followed behind. “I have a couple bottles of water in there already for us,” I said, throwing a glance over my shoulder. Busted. He didn’t snap his head back to try to hide it, either. He just slowly let his baby blues travel the rest of the way back up my body. A thrill shimmered through me, but I made sure to keep my tone loose. “I wasn’t sure what else you might need, but they have a ton of equipment there.”
    He patted the beat-up khaki duffel bag I hadn’t noticed on his shoulder and gave a curt nod. “All set.”
    We walked the rest of the way in silence, but my brain was buzzing like a bee in a sack. Bash was here to help me learn how to protect myself. That was it. Guys looked at girls’ asses all the time. It meant less than nothing. I needed to stop pretending it was more. Not just because he was totally wrong for me. But because the last thing I needed right now was more. If I could end the week with a few kick-ass moves that gave me some peace of mind, and a new friend of sorts, that would be my best week in months.
    With renewed determination, I swiped the key card through the reader and shoved open the gym door.
    As I had predicted, like the rest of the building, the room was still uninhabited. There was an RA who was required to stay in the dorm whether school was in session or not, but she only came here to sleep, and I’d yet to see her. We did, indeed, have the place to ourselves.
    Bash stepped in and let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
    I tried to see the gleaming, high-end machines and ballet barre along with the unattended smoothie bar in the corner through his eyes. It was all so…fussy.
    I wrinkled my nose critically. “Too much?”
    He laughed and slung his bag on the floor in front of the mirror that ran the length of the west wall. “For what we’re going to be doing? Definitely, but it works.” He was wearing the same coat he had on the other night, and this time, when he took it off, I thought I was totally was prepared.
    And then I wasn’t.
    The T-shirt had been bad enough, but the black tank top was the stuff of dreams. His shoulders were broad, with a thick cord of muscle running over the top. His biceps were round and defined even in rest, as he bent to lay his jacket on the floor next to the water bottles I’d left.
    A dozen totally unwitty banters bubbled to my mouth in a frenzy of panicked nerves, and I swallowed every one.
    Progress.
    I set my key card and cell phone on the ground next to Bash’s stuff and faced him.
    “Let’s start with a few quick stretches,” he said, straightening. He stood a few feet away from me and demonstrated quickly. Somehow, I managed to keep it together as he led me through a three-minute routine of