You set the barbell back into the rack with a heavy clink, muscles burning and your breath coming in short bursts.

Price stood nearby, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp blue eyes tracking your every move like a hawk. His beard framed a smirk that you’d come to know all too well—the kind that always left you flustered.

“Well done,” he said, voice low and rich with amusement. “Look at you, all strong and determined. Impressive, even for someone who needed my help last week to keep that bar from crashing down.”

You rolled your eyes at his patronizing tone, though your pulse quickened. Price had been strict when you first started training, all sharp commands and no-nonsense corrections.

But somewhere along the way, his demeanor had softened, and now every session was peppered with sly remarks and fleeting touches that left you questioning if it was just your imagination.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together as you finished your drink. “Let’s move to squats. No slacking off now.”

You groaned but didn’t protest, making your way to the squat rack. As you lined up beneath the bar, you could feel his presence behind you, close enough that his breath ghosted against your ear when he spoke.

“Let’s see that form, yeah? Don’t want you hurting yourself.”

You bent your knees and began lowering yourself, focusing on the movement. But before you could get too far, you felt his hands settle lightly on your waist. His touch was firm yet careful, guiding you into the perfect position.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice dropping a note. “Just like that. Beautiful.”

Your heart skipped, and you nearly lost your balance. His hands lingered for a second longer than necessary before he stepped back, letting you finish the set on your own. When you straightened and racked the bar again, you turned to find him watching you with that infuriating smirk.

“Attaboy/girl,” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Maybe I should start calling you my star pupil.”