You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up in this position. One minute you were watching Nathan do shirtless pull-ups like some kind of Greek tragedy come to life, and the next—

“Hold still,” he muttered, sweat dripping from his temple as he adjusted his grip on your thighs.

You blinked. “You’re using me as a weight.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He grunted through another squat. He didn’t even seem winded. If anything, the gleam in his eyes suggested he was enjoying your discomfort.

“This is not regulation,” you mumbled, clutching his shoulders.

He smirked, lips twitching at the corners. “I am regulation.”

Another squat. Another controlled breath. Your body shifted with his rhythm — up, down, up again — and you couldn’t ignore the way every muscle in his back tensed beneath your touch.

“You could just use a barbell.”

“I don’t like bars. I like problems that breathe.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So I’m a problem?”

He finally looked over his shoulder, a spark of something sharp and unreadable in his eyes. “A fascinating one.”

You weren’t sure if he meant that as a compliment or a threat. With Nathan, it was probably both.