Chapter Six
Brooklyn
“Hey, angel,” Trey said as soon as I answered my phone.
I leaned back in my chair, testing the limits of how far it could go without tipping over. Once I was fairly sure it wouldn’t dump me on my ass, I crossed my ankles on my desk. It was a slow day at the gym, several of the guys out of town for some bouts in L.A. I thought it would mean lots of time to catch up without interruptions, but in actuality it meant I was the only one answering the phones and picking up the rest of the workload around here, so I couldn’t even begin the overwhelming mess called Team Domination’s budget. No one knew exactly how much profit we were bringing in, or if any of it would be left once we caught up on bills, which made it hard to decide where to spend our money or whether we should, and it kind of pissed me off that the files I’d specifically made for that purpose had been altered and ignored.
“Brooklyn?”
“I’m here. Exhausted, but here.” I picked up a pen and clicked the end—it helped cover up the sound of Shane working the bag. Because he’d chosen the one right in my line of sight, I kept accidentally glancing over there. And now he was hanging with his legs hooked on the top of the punching bag and doing upside down sit-ups, the show off. “How are things up there?”
“I miss you.”
Fuzzy warmth flooded me. “I miss you, too.” I did, but it felt like I hadn’t even had time for a luxury like thinking of my boyfriend and how much I missed him. I couldn’t believe I’d been here for five days already. They’d gone by both super fast and torturously slow, in spite of that not making logical sense, and that in and of itself bothered me. “Any fun plans for the weekend?”
“Yeah, a group of us are going to the Liholiho Yacht Club tomorrow. When I made reservations I automatically counted you. Emily had to point out my mistake, and then I remembered how far away you were all over again.”
The missing sensation took hold then, and I imagined my group of friends eating yummy Hawaiian food without me. One of my first dates with Trey had been there. When he’d told me we were going to a “yacht club” I expected some hoity-toity place where I didn’t belong, and while there was plenty of hoit and toit, it was one of my favorite restaurants. “I wish I could be there.”
“Just hop on a plane real quick.”
I made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “If only. You’re still coming at the end of the month, right?”
“Yep. Already bought the plane ticket and everything.”
I let out a relieved breath. Surely by then I’d be semi–caught up, and if not, I’d need a break anyhow. Need time with a guy who brought comfort and calm into my life. He showed up when I needed him most, and knowing I’d get to see him halfway through my stint here made me feel like I could actually make it till then. Maybe.
End of the month doesn’t sound so bad. Three weeks makes it sound considerably longer.
But then we’d only have another month to go after that—less if I got a spot in the Golden City Art Exhibition. It was one of the most distinguished art shows in San Francisco, which was saying something considering the art scene there. The entry deadline was another week or so from now, although I’d submitted my work the second they allowed me to, and I’d wished on all the stars and crossed fingers and toes that I’d get in. With only two openings for artists who weren’t already established, it was a long shot. Which was why I hadn’t told anyone I’d submitted, and also why I tried not to think about it too much. I didn’t want to jinx it.
Either way, by the end of July I’d be back in San Fran full-time. I can make it.
Our conversation devolved into small talk, and over this past week it’d become pretty clear that Trey and I weren’t great at small talk, especially over the phone. I wasn’t sure why it was so much better in person. I liked to think it was that we could just be.
“I better get back to work,” I finally said when the pause stretched to the awkward point. “I’ll call you later.”
“All right, angel. I’m counting down the days till I get to hold you again.”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. Like apologizing, I also wasn’t great at expressing my feelings in general, and that went double when it came to the mushy stuff. But I tried, because Trey always said the nicest things, and I appreciated the sense of security he brought into my life, something I’d never truly had. “Can’t wait.”
Maybe not the mushiest sentiment, but it was true.
When I hung up, I noticed Shane hovering nearby. I dropped my feet from the desk and my spine went stick straight. I thought we had an unspoken understanding that we were going to stay out of each other’s way. That’s what we’d been doing since that night in the parking lot.
“It’s Friday night, and it’s almost eight o’clock,” he said.
“And here I thought you couldn’t read a calendar or tell time. I’m so proud.”
The line of his jaw tightened and the gleam in his eye made my heart skip a beat—I wish it would stop doing that. It was involuntary, and I was looking into treatments. Avoidance had worked just great for the last three days, and I’d hoped it’d cured me of the way he affected me. “Funny. Are you ever going to go home?”
I turned to my computer and placed my hands on the keyboard. “None of your business.”
He lifted his shirt to wipe away the sweat on his forehead and Holy shredded abs, Batman. The glistening dips and grooves highlighted all the work he’d done on them.
He cleared his throat, a smug grin curving his mouth when I slowly raised my gaze a foot or so.
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “You’re in my line of sight. It’s not my fault you think your abs are so damn special that you try to show them off every second.”
He flexed, more muscles popping out, exaggerating those dips and grooves, and was it so bad to want to touch them? Like in a research capacity, so that I could…balance the getting-fighters-ripped-abs budget better. Yeah, that was totally a thing.
“While that’s some riveting Friday night entertainment and all, as you pointed out, it’s getting late,” I said. “So have a good weekend and don’t let the door hit you on the way out. Or do, and consider that a parting sentiment from me.”
While his time telling skills were on point, he needed work on his vocabulary, because instead of leaving, he crossed his forearms and leaned on the half wall that housed my desk. His hands were still wrapped from his time on the bag, and I wished I didn’t find wraps so damn sexy. “Any idea when you’ll be calling it a day, so I know how much longer I have to stick around?”
“Not this again.” I scooted out my chair and straightened, my body protesting after sitting in the same position for too long. One of the reasons I wasn’t going home yet involved the need to expend some energy. It’d been a long time since I’d hit a bag, and I couldn’t wait to swing until my muscles burned. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a really long time, and I don’t need you waiting for me. I brought my gym bag, and I’m just waiting for you to leave so that I can get a workout in.”
His eyebrows ticked together. “You could’ve worked out while I was doing my thing. It’s not like I take up the whole room.”
It sure feels like you do. He managed to rob me of oxygen every time he entered the gym, and the closer he was to me, the harder it was to get enough. He was definitely too close right now, making my lungs work double-time. I’d blame the change of air quality if I could only get myself to believe it.
Shane nudged my arm. “Come on, who are you gonna spar with if no one else is here?”
A mirthless laugh escaped my lips. “I don’t think sparring with you is a good idea.”
“You’re right. It’s a great idea.” He whipped out the wolfish grin. “Unless you’re scared.”
I held up a hand. “Don’t even try reverse psychology on me. It won’t work.”
He shifted his weight to his other foot and rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Well, looks like we’ve reached an impasse. I can’t leave you here alone, and you can’t get in your workout because you’re too self-conscious around me.”
“You wish.” Disengage. No falling for that, regardless of how much you want to correct him. I grabbed my gym bag from under the desk and put the straps over my shoulder.
His voice took on that singsong quality of someone who’d perfected the art of persuasion. “I’ll let you practice your jabs on me…” He stepped closer, and I had to force myself to stand my ground—no looking weak in front of the Big Bad Wolf. Then he spread his arms wide, and I noticed a line of black script along his biceps—which meant he had a tattoo and not a piercing, although saying anything and getting a closer look was out of the question. “Come on. You know you’ve been wanting to take a swing at me for days. It’s much more satisfying hitting a moving target, too.”
He had me there.
Was I really considering this? The familiar tap, tap, tap sounds had been calling to me all week, making me nostalgic for the days when I was just a kid in the gym, a girl among a lot of guys. They’d all taken it upon themselves to show me how to swing, offering tips as I circled the room and tried this move or that one. They taught me to swivel my hips and get more power behind a punch, how to do takedowns that made someone’s weight work against them. I’d never step into the ring with a professional female fighter. I held no visions of grandeur—they were levels and levels above me. But self-defense moves, nice, solid punches, and a couple of takedowns that would drop an unsuspecting guy to his knees or back? Those were in my skillset.
Or they used to be. Honestly, I was kinda mad that I let myself lapse in the self-defense area. I’d gotten too comfortable in my safe bubble, and that was one of the most dangerous positions to be in, one I’d sworn I’d work to avoid.
After hearing about Trey’s plans for the weekend, I was also feeling a little lonely, and I didn’t want to go to Finn’s, feel more alone, and end up being the sad girl who spent Friday night solo.
The other night when Shane claimed he was patient, I wanted to contradict him, but he was letting me work out my wants and worries in my mind right now, no longer pressuring. In fact, something about his stance and expression felt very encouraging. With a hint of taunting, because, well, he was him.
“I’m rusty,” I said. “It’s not like I had a boxing gym membership up north.”
“Good. Boxing gyms are for wusses who can’t handle a real fight in a cage.”
I shook my head. “You’re such a cocky jackass.”
“And you’re a judgmental minx. I thought we already established both of those things. Now, are you gonna show me what you got, or not?”