“One berry blast for—” I scoop up the cup, tap my phone to the contactless card reader until it beeps to signal the acceptance of payment and shove the straw between my lips, mumbling a “thanks, Freddie” while walking away before he can finish the rest of his sentence.
Chewing on a piece of not quite mushed up berry, I hightail it back to the main portion of the gym, my traitorous eyes searching the busy sea of people using the gym equipment, to see if I can find the nameless, tall, brunette man who I caught peering in my dance class window just over an hour ago.
“Who are you looking for?” Rosie, one of the handful of female personal trainers at the gym and my best friend at work, asks, sidling up to me and taking a sip of my smoothie forherself. She winces at the tart taste of blackberries suddenly coating her tongue.
“Um… just…” I scratch an itch above my heart. “I met the man whose filling in Amy’s old personal training position.”
Rosie’s eyebrows rise upwards in shock. “It’s been filled already?”
“Yep.” I pop the p. “I didn’t get his name though, so I just—I just wanted to see if I could spot him, but I can’t.”
“Is he good looking?” Ro muses aloud, staring out at the wall of treadmills.
My head bobs yes of its own accord, watching as Rosie swings her head to me with wide eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I playfully chastise her, knowing the words sitting on the tip of her tongue before they can even escape.
“I didn’t even say anything!”
“You forget I know exactly what you’re thinking, Ro.”
“I was just going to say it’ll just be interesting, is all! A new personal trainer on the team, a new co-worker to fight over whose turn it is to clean out whatever gunk is lining the microwave after meal prep has been reheated…”
“Sure. It’sinterestingall right.”
At least my body thinks so, if the way my nipples pebble beneath the lining of my sports bra when I bring the image of the tall mystery man to mind, has anything to say about it.
He was attractive, there’s no denying that, and obviously my body very much agrees.
Peering down at my hands, I watch my thumb trace over the simple gold band sitting on the middle finger of my left hand. I can’t count how many times it’s accidentally been mistaken for a wedding ring at a quick glance before people have realised the ring is sitting on the wrong finger.
I bought the ring from a jeweller a month into my chosen celibacy. My eyes had watered at the price, but the precious metal glinted on my finger beautifully, serving as a token of the choice I had made and the reasons why.
It still sits on the same finger now, years later, unblemished and shiny, a stark,constantreminder.
Chapter 3
Hudson
Iwake up on Sunday morning very aware of the fact I’m not in my own bed.
Flashes of last night’s antics run through my mind; downing another bottle of beer when I should have cut myself off, the strong whiff of perfume tickling my nose while wet lips suck a trail down my neck, a mass of dyed red hair gripped between my fingertips as I pound into the body beneath me.
Pressing my cheek to the cool side of the plush pillow, I crack open my eyes to see the redheaded woman, who features in my flashes, lying awake beside me, scrolling through something on her phone.
Feeling my eyes on her face, she turns and smiles at me, a coy “Morning, Hudson,” slipping past her lips. Lips, which only last night were wrapped around the tip of my cock—
“Morning,” I croak, pin pricks of pain beginning to piece either side of my temples – the beginnings of a painful hangover.
The redhead, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me, moves closer to me, tucking herself into my body. It’s obvious were both naked beneath the sheet. “How did you sleep?”
I make the mistake of glancing down to find her staring at me before I look away, focusing on the heap of unfolded clothessitting on a vanity chair. She’s staring at me too intently, as if she can peer into my soul, cataloguing every one of my movements until my skin prickles with discomfort.
Last night was a mistake.
Shit.
“Do you want some breakfast?” she croons, oblivious to my thoughts. “I think I’ve got some eggs in. I could whip us up—”
