“Because, I am not one to let a man dictate when, or if, I do something.”
Caroline doubles over in laughter, tosses the card on my desk, and makes her way toward the door. “That’s a good one, Dani. Just remember, I know all about you and what you let men dictate.” She disappears around the corner and I collapse back into my chair, the offending card mocking me from the desk.
Fuck. What now?
“You don’t think it was maybe a tad bit overkill?”
What? Two dozen white, long-stem roses to a woman I only met once?
I stare up at Rick, my trainer, as I recline on the bench in the gym and try to look more confident than I really feel. “No, not at all.”
He smirks at me. “Dude, two dozen roses? I don’t even get my wife two dozen roses on our anniversary,” he says, reaching down to grab another twenty-five pound plate to add to the bar.
Sweat drips down the sides of my face and onto the bench under my head. I grab my towel from the floor and do my best to mop it off, even though I know I’ll just have to do it again in a couple minutes. “Maybe that’s why you never get laid, my friend.”
He laughs as he adds another plate to the other side of the bar, making it three hundred fifty pounds. “Whatever, dude, let’s bust out this last set.”
I recenter myself under the bar and try to get back to concentrating on my workout instead of Danika, but I can’t help but wonder about her reaction to the card.
I bet she is fucking pissed and I bet it’s fucking hot. A laugh escapes me and Rick looks at me like I’m insane. Thankfully, my cock stays in place instead of inflating to nut-busting proportions like it so often has every time I think about meeting Danika. The flashing anger in her eyes and the way she stood up for her sister have me under some kind of spell.
There’s just something about that woman that stokes a fire in me I didn’t even know still existed. God knows I don’t have a clue what to do about it anymore. The “invitation” seemed like a great idea at the time.
I grip the bar tightly, raising it up off the rack and then slowly lowering it down to my chest. My muscles strain and burn as I push it back up, raising my arms to full extension. After repeating the process five more times, I gasp in relief when I finally rack it and finish.
Rick is in my face immediately, grinning like an idiot. “Way to go, man! You rocked that! I can’t believe you did six reps at three-fifty!”
I wish I could be more excited about the accomplishment but my mind is elsewhere.
“Thanks, man,” I reply, wiping my face with my towel. I slowly sit up and look around the gym, searching for Gabe so we can get out of here.
I finally locate him talking up a petite redhead near the treadmills. I catch his eye, and he winks at me with a knowing grin.
He is such a dog sometimes. Okay, well, all the time.
She hands him her cell phone and his fingers fly across the screen, no doubt giving her his number. I swear, I see more women coming and going from Gabe’s condo than you would from a gynecologist’s office.
I wait until he glances up at me again and roll my eyes, making it clear I don’t appreciate waiting for him just so he can line up another booty call. He shrugs at me and says goodbye to little red before making his way over to where Rick and I are waiting.
“You ready to go?” Gabe asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. We have a routine and we rarely, if ever, break it. Gym in the a.m., early, like really fucking early sometimes, then we head to the office, then the gym again in the afternoon on days one of us really needs to let off some excess steam, and then we head back to our condo building so he can clean up before one of his lady friends arrives and I can relax and unwind from what lately have been excruciatingly stressful days.
We’re opening several more restaurants and bars under the Hawke umbrella, and it appears it may not have been such a good idea to try to do so many at once. Gabe and I are constantly on the move—examining potential locations, interviewing potential managers, dealing with contractors and the city to arrange permits—and it’s enough to cause constant migraines and sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I was ready five minutes ago, but you were too busy shaking your dick at that redhead to notice.”
“And you completely missed his badass bench set,” Rick adds.
Gabe rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with my weightlifting skills. “I’ll be sure to catch it next time. I was more worried about getting her digits.”
I scoff and wipe myself again with my towel. “Shocking.”
“Oh, you can’t talk, my friend. You’ve been brooding and distracted since you met a certain feisty blonde last week, and you don’t see me sending two dozen roses to someone I barely know and who already hates my guts.”
“She doesn’t hate my guts,” I retort, a little too quickly.
Shit. I hope she doesn’t hate my guts. What if she does?