“Sex is normal.”
“Delia,” I sighed, exasperated.
“What? It is! And I prefer it. If I’m going to work out, it should at least feel good.”
“Well clearly, that’s not working for you,” I bit out.
“How do you know?”
“You’re practically vibrating. Every time I see you, you’re a rapidly fraying rope about to snap. And I don’t think that has anything to do with your work-life balance, because you love your job, and you love your life outside of it. Whoever you’ve been fucking”—I thought of TJ’s dweeb ass, though I’d bet all my money they never got that far—“wasn’t doing it right.”
I was playing with fire here, but this conversation was suddenly like a train wreck I couldn’t look away from. I wanted—needed—to see it through.
Delia frowned, propping her fists on the gentle swells of her hips. “I’ll have you know, QB, that I have fabulous sex.”
I smirked, understanding the words for what they were: lies.
And that bothered me. This woman was loud and riotous and way too sexy for her own good. But she was also insightful, loyal, a hell of a business partner, and one of the hardest workers I’d ever known. Beneath her seemingly tough-girl exterior was a soft underbelly of trauma and pain that needed to be handled with care.
If she was mine, she’d never have to lie about being satisfied. It would simply be a reality. But I’d take care of her in other ways too. In all the ways she’d let me.
That was dangerous territory to consider for so many reasons, the least of which being the story she’d just sharedwith me. This situation itself was too precarious—me and her cozied up in her garage, sampling our spirits. Already, the alcohol buzzed in my veins, setting my nerve endings alight exactly like her eyes did every time they met mine. They were a dangerous combination, the liquor and those caramel depths. I couldn’t afford the inhibitions either would provide if I imbibed too long. Not right now, anyway.
When I took Delia for the first time, it would be because she was clear-headed. Not because alcohol got the best of us.
When I claimed her, we’d both be of sound mind and body.
“Come workout with me one day,” I said.
“Why?”
“Just give it a chance,” I implored. “Who knows, you might like it.”
“I run nearly every day,” she grumbled.
“You run because it keeps you fit and nothing more,” I shot back.
Delia gaped like a fish, and I grinned in satisfaction of having pegged her motivation so easily.
“You checking out the goods, QB?” Delia quipped, turning her hips side to side. But something in her eyes clued me into the fact that how I handled her question mattered in a big way.
“All women’s bodies are beautiful, Whiskey. Yours is no exception. Only a fool would say otherwise.”
Her cheeks heated, and a small, pleased smile danced on her lips. But she recovered quickly, schooling her expression to neutrality. “So what’s wrong with running to stay fit, then? Clearly it’s working.”
“Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “And I’m not saying runningisn’t hard. It takes a level of mental fortitude few possess. But clearly it’s not enough to dispel all your excess energy. What I am saying is…don’t you want to be strong too?”
“I am strong.”
I snorted. “Your arms are string beans.” To demonstrate, I looped a palm around her biceps, my thumb easily meeting my fingers.
“I renovated this entire house myself, QB. That takes some level of strength, don’t you think?”
“So prove it,” I dared. “Come workout with me. Just once. See how much better you feel after.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t do it again,” I said. “What’s the harm in trying?”
