Wanna Bet?

Part 4

The great thing about having shorter legs is that it enables one to accomplish a greater number of burpees in a shorter amount of time. As compared to, say, a person of modelesque stature and long, lean legs, which take forever to unfold as one jumps into a plank and tucks back to a squat.

"Ha!" I crowed, popping up from my tenth burpee just as he called out "Eight!"

He fell back onto the mat, a little winded. He had the kind of coloring where his neck, and the little I could see of his chest and shoulders peeking from his singlet, flushed red when he exerted himself.

He held out his hand. "A boost?"

I pulled him up, which brought me face to face with his broad, sculpted, flushed chest.

Good lord. I grabbed my water bottle and took a long drink. My garden hadn't been watered in a while, wink wink nudge nudge, but slobbering over my workout buddy slash new neighbor who happened to have modeled more than a decade ago gahhhh wasn't really neighborly etiquette, was it? A girl had to have a little propriety.

I should give it at least a week until I could start fantasizing about him.

"So, about breakfast?" He mopped his face with a towel.

"You're buying."

"I remember." He winked. "All we have to do is go up one flight of stairs, actually."

I followed as we climbed the steps, one floor from the gym to ours, and down the hall to his unit, right beside mine. He unlocked the door and waved at me to enter with a flourish.

I gave him a look that said, don't try anything funny, Mister; I took lessons in judo and I'm not afraid to use it.

He pointedly wedged a doorstop and waved me in with a bow, which I returned with a queenly wave.

The layout of his studio unit was a mirror image to mine: bathroom to the side as soon as you entered, short hallway, kitchenette tucked between the bathroom wall and living/sleeping area, the room ending in a window and tiny balcony.

The difference was that his pad was YouTube Tiny House video-worthy and neat as a pin. I wasn't a slob, but Kiko organized his space like Marie Kondo's most loyal apprentice.

"Have a seat," he said, as he donned a denim apron. "Or look around, though there isn't much to see."

"Are you kidding? Now I get all the construction sounds coming from here last month."

"I will make that up to you, I promise."

I had a foldable table tucked against the wall as a dining space; he had a custom kitchen counter of gleaming blond wood, with three identical metal and wood stools. I took a seat in one of them. The shelves behind him had clear jars of the same size and shape, all neatly labeled: oatmeal, sugar, flour. White ceramic bowls and plates were stacked uniformly off to one side, and mugs of the same white ceramic hung on pegs under the shelf. Behind me was his sofa bed, one of those cool Scandinavian affairs, slate gray cushions in a spare wood frame. He even had a rug to designate the living and sleeping area from the rest of the space.

"I feel like I wandered into a Muji showroom."

"Thanks?"

"Totally a compliment. Your place feels like...somewhere a grown-up should live."

"You're a grown-up; how does your place look?" As a pretty red kettle started to boil on the stove, he opened a cupboard and pulled out a box of pancake mix, and then from under the counter came a mixing bowl and a spatula. Two mugs were taken off the pegs and set in front of me. A French press materialized. Everything coordinated.