I spot him pretty quickly out of the corner of my eye. I’ve got a kind of Noah-radar which is horrible because I nearly forget to keep moving and my feet are off in the wrong direction again.

It would seem he meant it when he said it was a good place to chat people up. He is standing by the water cooler, casual and sweat-free, a broad smile on his face as a blonde goddess flicks her immaculate hair in his face and leans forward to take a cup of water from him. Her hand brushes his, I’m sure of it, even at this distance, and I feel a twinge in my chest.

I turn back so abruptly I nearly give myself whiplash.

‘Are you okay?’ The soft voice nearly sends me off the machine sideways. I’d been concentrating so hard on trying not to watch Noah, not to think about what he was joking about, that I didn’t hear anybody come close. ‘Hey?’

I try and smile. I probably look sick; I feel sick. My feet have got a mind of their own, and Noah has buggered off to enjoy himself. Then I look.

The guy is still there, and he’s got the nicest, softest green eyes.

‘Do you need a glass of water? You look a bit—’

‘No!’ I shout. No way am I going near that water cooler. Unless it’s to throw a cup of water at Noah’s crotch.

He’s looking even more concerned now.

‘I don’t think I am okay, but I don’t need a drink.’ I am sure I sound slightly, okay a lot, pathetic. ‘I’m normally fine on this machine,’ I try not to pant, ‘but it’s doing weird things.’

‘Hang on.’ He leans in. ‘Here, let’s decrease the incline, and er, speed. Somebody has set a challenging programme.’ He smiles. ‘It might have been me actually, sorry!’

‘You!’ I smile. I am now capable of normal expressions and breathing now the machine has slowed down. ‘My fault though, I should have reset it.’ I should; if I hadn’t been in such a rush to jump on and impress Noah. My God, why am I trying to impress the man?

‘Hope you didn’t mind me jumping in.’

‘Oh God, not at all. You saved my life!’ I think he’s set it to super slow now, which is fine. I can do tortoise speed.

‘Your, er boyfriend just looked a bit busy.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ I answer quickly.

‘Oh, right, good.’ He half smiles.

‘He’s a friend, like a brother. Well, not my brother, but you know what I mean. We’re buddies!’

‘Boyfriend doesn’t mind?’

‘No boyfriend!’

‘Oh.’ His hand is next to mine on the rail as the machine comes to the end of its performance and slows to a halt. We stand and stare at each other.

He’s nice. Not buzzy in your tummy nice, but nice-nice. Not Noah nice. But I don’t want Noah nice, do I?

‘You wouldn’t fancy a drink some—?’