He stopped punishing the bag and regarded her critically. “You’ve worn the same dress every time you’ve been in the club.”

“Said the man in cowboy boots.”

“It’s my trademark,” he retorted. “Go buy some new clothes. You’re making the place look bad.”

She watched a rivulet of sweat roll down his neck. He smelled like good sweat, the healthy smell of a guy who always wore clean clothes to the gym. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized there was such a thing as a good sweat smell. Now she knew, and she wished she didn’t because thinking about anything that had to do with his body was a distraction she couldn’t afford. “New clothes aren’t in my budget.”

He returned to the bag. “Send me the bill. You need to look like you fit in.”

He had a point, but still... “I’m not buying anything uncomfortable.”

“By that, I assume you mean anything that looks decent? Yeah, that’d be a real deal breaker.”

“Try being female for a while. Then you can talk.”

***

Coop couldn’t get used to it. No conversation was ever straightforward with her. Abandoning the bag, he grabbed a scuffed black iron kettlebell and crouched down, extending the weight in front of him and trying to ignore her. He felt the strain in his delts, the hard pull in his thighs. He’d always liked brutal workouts, but he’d never needed them like he did now, when he was trapped at Spiral night after night.

Not trapped. He loved the energy of the club, the challenge of once again proving himself. He just wasn’t used to spending so many hours inside.

He fought the urge to switch hands by glaring at Sherlock Holmes. She wasn’t so impervious to fashion that she’d done up the top button of her blouse. Too bad she hadn’t opened the next one.

His arm began to spasm. A bead of sweat dripped into his eye. He changed hands. “I’m going shopping with you.” He yelled it out, but the music blaring from the speaker over his head abruptly ended so that his voice echoed off the cinder block walls. A White Sox pitcher on the next mat looked over at him. So did Piper, staring at him with those big blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Had he really just volunteered to go clothes shopping with a woman?

“Goody,” she said, with a snide expression he’d make damn sure he never saw on her face once he got her naked. “Let’s get manis and pedis, while we’re at it. And invite our girlfriends.”

She killed him with that mouth of hers, but he roped in a smile and matched her sarcasm with cool. “I don’t trust your judgment.”

“But you trust your own?”

“I know what I like.”