"Like this." I pick up the gun with a soft grip. Model the proper technique.
She stares back at me like I'm crazy.
"Here." I motion for her to put her hand on the gun.
She does.
I place mine over hers. Press my palm into the back of her hand, modeling the pressure she needs.
Slowly, her grip softens. Her lips part with a sigh.
She leans backward, sinking into my touch.
Melting into me.
Fuck, it feels too good touching her like this.
I want more of it.
All of it.
Her eyelids press together. Her head tilts to one side. Her teeth sink into her lip.
Desire spreads over her expression.
I force myself to pull away. "Keep practicing. You'll get it."
She nods.
"Take this home." I motion to the gun. "Do a hundred by next Monday."
"A hundred stars?"
"Yeah. On bananas. Send me a pic of each one."
"Won't that be—"
"Boring as all hell? Yeah. If you're dying, you can switch to hearts or spades."
"Okay." She wraps her fingers around the gun then holds it flat against her palm. "This is really mine?"
"Yeah. You gotta swear something to me, sunshine."
Her voice is dead serious. "Of course."
"Fruit only."
She nods.
I stand. Offer her my hand. When she takes it, I pull her closer.
I pull her too close.
She's right there.
My hand goes to her hip. Rests there for a split second, until common sense gets the better of me.
Honestly, I'm not sure where this reserve of logic and will power is coming from. I was this close to calling her and demanding she come for my listening pleasure Saturday night.
Fuck. I can't think about this shit when she's this close.
I take a step backward. "You can head home early today. Get started practicing this."
"Sure." Her ass brushes my crotch as she moves past me. She stops at the doorframe. Turns to me. "Thanks, Dean."
Her voice is soft. Sweet.
This is about work, but, fuck, it doesn't feel like that.
It feels like I'm the only thing she wants.
My phone buzzes with a new picture message from Chloe. A banana inked with a lopsided star. It's less lopsided than the one she sent five minutes ago. It's a hell of a lot better than the one she sent an hour and a half ago.
But it's still not there.
For the last two hours, she's been sending pictures like clockwork. Every five minutes. Without fail. The girl is a machine.
You'd think, at picture twenty-something, I'd realize I'm not getting a shot of her panties, but every time my phone buzzes, anticipation floods my body.
I tell my cock to calm down.
Chloe and I aren't happening.
No matter how badly I want her.
Walker finishes his last chest press. Sets the barbell in its stand. "You spotting me or flirting?"
"That a real question?"
He chuckles.
"You should see this. Kinky shit. Every fantasy she has about my—"
"Uh-huh." He stands. Motions to the bench. "You're up."
That I am. I slide my cell into my pocket. Load the barbell with an extra twenty pounds on each side.
Walker shakes his head. He knows me too well. Knows I'm going heavier to prove a point.
But I don't admit that. I drop to my back. Wrap my hands around the weight. Grunt through my first rep.
"Too heavy for you?" He looks down at me, half spotting, half taunting.
Fuck, I'm going to be sore tomorrow. But I can do this. Even if I have to cut it a rep short.
"You can load that thing with an extra hundred pounds. You aren't gonna fool me."
I grunt through my next set. Pause at the top. Fucking chest presses. "Why would I do something like that?"
"How long have I known you?"
"Easy to forget. Your life was empty before."
"How long have we been doing this?" He motions to the gym.
"Ditto." We've been working out together… forever, really. It's always been a competition to see who can lift heavier, run faster, go longer.
"You gonna tell me what the deal is with you and Chloe?"
"There's no deal."
"You do realize we went to the same high school."
"And?"
"You look at her the way you used to."
"Like I want to fuck her." I grunt through my next set. "Of course I want to fuck her. Look at her."
"You volunteered to help her."
"Time to give back."
"Bullshit."
All right, my motives aren't exactly pure. But I do want to help. Used to be I could do a lot of shit to help my friends. But now that they're all paired up, it's harder. They never went to me for assistance—most of them dread my assistance—but I always found a way.
Now, their problems are further away. They're off in their own orbits. Ones that only fit two.
"You want to get in her pants," he says.
"Think we covered this." There. That's four. Halfway through this set.
He looks down at me. "You're gonna drop that thing."
"Which is where you come in."
"Call it at six."
"I have eight in me."
"That's what she said."
"Fuck, I missed that." This weight is too heavy. And my head is too tuned to Chloe. The fire in her eyes. The earnest smile. The sigh of pleasure. I need more of it. All of it.
"You like her."
"She's my apprentice."
"You like her like her. High school like her."
I grunt through my fifth rep. Then the sixth. My arms shake. My chest burns. I don't have two more in me. But one?
I've got that.
"You gonna admit it?" he asks.
"You've been watching too many chick flicks."
"Iris hates chick flicks."
"Then all that fucking has scrambled your brain."
"You admit I get laid more than you do?"
"Who calls fucking their girlfriend getting laid?"
He chuckles fair enough. "You know what Leigh would say?"
All right, on three. One. Two. Three. There. I push the weight up.
His hands hover over the bar. He's ready to catch it if I drop the thing. Which is really fucking important. Two hundred plus pounds landing on your chest is bad news.
There's a lot of trust in working out together.
Hell, I trust Walker more than I trust anyone. He's been my closest friend forever. But I'm still not sharing this with him.
Nobody needs to know how I feel about Chloe.
I don't even understand how I feel about Chloe.
There. I lower the weight. Leave it in its stand.
"Fuck. It's bad if you can't think up something snappy," he says.
"Leigh would kill you for calling her that."
"Yeah, probably."
"She'd obviously say Dean, you're so hot. Why'd I end up with your broody older brother when I could have nabbed you instead?"
"Yeah, I see her doubting that relationship."
"Gotta figure the moping gets old eventually."
"Not like she pined for his brooding ass for two years or anything."
"You know women. Want to fix the broken guy."
"That why none of them stick with you?"
"I'm just too functional," I say.
He laughs no fucking way. "Are you jealous she's with Ryan?"
Once upon a time, maybe. I wanted Leighton, but it wasn't her I wanted. It was that she played hot and cold. It was the challenge.
Yeah, I'm an asshole. But it gets old having women eating out of the palm of my hand.
"I thought she was into you for a while," Walker says.
"Nah. Ryan is her everything."
"They're disgusting."
"And you and Iris?"
"That's different. We're poetry."
"Poetry, huh?"
He nods.
"So, baby, I want you to come on my face—"
"If you're trying to suggest that isn't poetry, I'm not hearing it."
"Should we ask Kay?"
He laughs. "You're deflecting like a fucking mirror."
"Mirrors reflect."
"Whatever. You know what I mean."
Yeah, I do.
"What is it Leighton says?"
I shrug like I don't know. Leighton likes to pull out the Shakespearean quotes. And there's one that fits this situation.
The lady doth protest too much.
I have a million excuses for my feelings about Chloe.
Keep deflecting attention.
Avoiding the subject.
Even with myself.
My phone buzzes in my shorts. Five minutes. Right on time. Another banana. But this time it's a heart. And it's a mirror selfie. Chloe holding the thing in her bedroom.
Her twin bed behind her.
Plain white sheets. Grey bedspread. Not what I expected. Not what I imagined.
But now…
Fuck.
Walker's gaze shifts to my cell. "Fuck. She likes you too."
"She hates me."