Crash Into You

• Workplace romance

• Slow burn

• Close proximity / forced proximity

• Rescuer / caretaker moment

• No-dating rule

• Overcoming personal fears / trauma

• Found family

• Class / background differences

• Bantery flirtation

Sure!

ONE

Claire

“I can’t believe you’re not going to the convention!” Natalie whined.

Two of our fellow recess monitors focused on us for a moment, shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun and the dust swirling around the schoolyard.

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed.

“You promised you’d think about it.”

“I did.”

She crossed her arms. “So why aren’t you going?”

“I—can’t afford it. Anyway, I still have to work at the gym.”

And…there’s no way I’m getting on a plane.

If I want to travel, I’ll read a book.

“What if I loan you the money?” she asked. “Couldn’t you get the week off?”

“Even if I could, my cousin Jenn’s wedding is that Saturday.”

“I have to do Vegas without my best friend?” Natalie asked, her eyes trained on the play structure.

“I’m sorry, Nat.”

“Noah!” she called to one of her second graders, “We go down the slide, not up it!” Once his feet were back on the ground, she returned her attention to me. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the real reason?” She bit her lip, thinking, then her eyes flew open. “The plane ride.”

I covered my face with my hand, not wanting to have this conversation again. “It’s not a big deal. I have no money for Vegas, anyway.”

“But money isn’t the issue.”

“Please, Nat, can we not talk about this?”

“We have to talk about this. Vegas won’t be the same without you,” she said. “What if we drive? It’s only five hours.”

I gave her an impatient look.

“Right.” She returned her focus to the playground, and her lips formed a crooked, disappointed line.

“Don’t you already have your plane ticket?” I asked.

“Yes, but I’d still drive with you if you’d agree to go,” Natalie said.

“Who’d watch Simba?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“This is part of the subject,” I insisted. “Zoe!” I called to a girl who was shoving rather than tagging. “Gentle hands, please!”

“Finding someone to watch your dog is not the point. There are plenty of people who’d watch him. What if—? Can’t you get a doctor to prescribe something to help with the anxiety on the plane? I’d be right next to you the whole time.”

My hand went to my chin, pretending to look pensive, but I already knew my answer. “I can’t. I told you about the last time I tried, remember?”

Natalie’s smile disappeared. “You can’t keep living like this, Claire Bear.” A gust of wind blew her auburn hair into her eyes. She used her teeth to remove the elastic band from her wrist and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Meanwhile, I scoured the playground for another recess infraction, anything to get me out of this conversation.

I zeroed in on two kids fighting over a basketball. “Hey, let’s share!” I strode toward the children.

Natalie finished securing her hair and called after me, “We’re not done talking about this!”

Oh yes, we are.

After I resolved the basketball dispute, I strolled back toward Natalie, who was chatting with two other teachers, all of them smiling. Probably talking about the Vegas trip. A tiny spark of regret surfaced. I shoved it down and mentally prepared to rejoin the group.

On second thought, recess is almost over. Maybe a quick trip to the ladies’ room is in order.

I ducked into the staff restroom. As I washed and dried my hands, and attempted to put my wind-tousled hair back in order, I met my own eyes in the mirror.

Am I really fine?

Is hiding in the bathroom fine?

Last time I’d tried getting on a plane, it was a catastrophe. My brother, Dominik, had convinced me to accompany him to Cabo San Lucas for spring break. I’d perspired the entire car ride there, then dissolved into a trembling, hysterical mess in front my brother and the whole airport. Embarrassing, to say the least.

The bell sounded, and I headed out to the playground to help Natalie round up her students. Thankfully, she didn’t mention the trip again for the rest of the day, but knowing my best friend, she wouldn’t let it go that easily.

No matter what arguments she came up with, there were two things I knew for sure. One, I wasn’t going anywhere on anything that wasn’t touching the ground. And two, I couldn’t wait to get to my cycling class tonight to work off this frustration.

…

The cool air hit me as I opened the door to the cycling room. I stepped up onto the raised platform and pressed the main power button on the stereo system, enjoying the satisfying click as the green light came on.

“Test, test?” I said into the mic.

“It’s working,” came a deep voice from the doorway.

I spun around, startled. “Gavin!”

The Club Manager was the last person I expected to see in the doorway of my cycling class tonight. He spent most of his time in his office. I’d never even seen him near the cycling room.

Except for my first day, Gavin Briggs had maintained a noticeable distance from me the entire year I’d worked for San Diego Fit Club. He was always polite, but he never spoke to me for more than five minutes. He kept things between us strictly professional. Which was fine. It kept my fantasies about him to a minimum. I wished I could forget about him altogether, but I taught at this club three times a week, and he was always here.

Today, he was in workout clothes instead of his uniform. His dark hair was still neat and dry, so I figured he hadn’t worked out yet. He got sweaty pretty fast.

Not that I watched him work out or anything.

“I’m taking your class today,” he said. “What do I need?”

“You?” I raised one eyebrow. “Are taking my class?”

“Yeah, why do you say it like that?”

“Because you—” avoid me like the plague “—never do cardio. Wait, is this an evaluation?”

“No, no. I don’t do group instructor evals.” He ran a hand through his hair. “To tell you the truth, one of my clients bet me I couldn’t make it through your class. I’m here to prove her wrong.”

“I see.” This would be an interesting role switch of sorts. Me, telling the boss what to do. “If you’re serious, you need water, a towel, and you need to set up your bike.”

“Check…and check.” He held up his towel and water bottle, one at a time. “I’ve never done a spin class before. Can you set the bike up for me?”

“It’s better if you do it yourself—then you’ll remember for the next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Oh.” I started to laugh, but his face was totally serious. “Just try. If you need help, let me know.”

“I need help,” he said immediately, still standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

“You should start by picking a bike. I’ll lead the entire class through the set-up process in a few minutes.” Why does he have to be so infuriating?

I stumbled over the strap of my bag and my hands shook slightly as I adjusted my seat position. What was wrong with me? I’d done this least a hundred times.

Two minutes before the start of class, all twenty bicycles were taken. Gavin was on his bike, but his form was terrible. I’d have to help him, after all. I switched off my mic, and my cleats clicked on the hardwood floor as I made my way over to him.

“Everything under control here?” I asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look—” gorgeous, delicious, off-limits “—all wrong. Hop off.”

He got off, and I adjusted his seat and handlebars—trying to ignore how good he smelled—and motioned for him to get back on. It was an improvement, but he still looked out of place—all that muscle on the sleek frame of the bike. I was used to seeing him lifting massive amounts of weight effortlessly, so it was nice to see him out of his element for once.

Although he seemed to be having trouble getting comfortable, I wouldn’t waste my time telling him about gel seats or gel-filled biker shorts. He already said he wouldn’t be coming back.

He might not even make it through this class.

So glad you asked!

Crash Into You

© June 2025 Cassie O’Neal

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published by Moth and Rust Media

www.cassieoneal.com

ISBN: 9798286262687

ASIN: B0FDFZBDXJ