My name’s Tara. I'm 5,6 tall curves in all the places that make guys stare a little too long. I’d been going to the gym for three months straight, trying to tone up before my best friend’s wedding. That’s where I met him Kieran.
He was the trainer everyone talked about. His in his Late twenties, built like he lived under the barbell, dark hair shaved on the sides, has tattoos crawling up both arms and peeking out from the collar of his black tank and he's always quiet, always watching. Not in a creepy way… more like he could see right through your bullshit excuses.
First session he barely spoke. Just corrected my form, hands firm on my hips when I squatted, thumbs pressing just enough to make my stomach flip. “Deeper,” he’d say, I’d always feel heat rush between my legs every time.
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