You have Grace to thank for that.
I swallow, a confused ball of regret shifting unignorably around my throat. I grab my espresso mug and knock it back again, draining the dregs, desperate for more caffeine.
“It’s just business,” I growl, which is a bald lie. “So you’ll arrange it.”
“Mate, you’re the boss,” Nick laughs. “And Harry?”
“Hmm?”
“If you decide you don’t wanna do your plan, if you just wanna be with this girl, you wouldn’t be losing face—”
“Cheers for the advice,” I interrupt. “Anything else?”
“Nah, I’ll get right on it.”
“Cheers,” I say, hanging up.
I lean back in my chair and study the horoscope website, wondering if I should go to Grace’s again. But I got so carried away the last time I did it.
I just knew she’d still read that website and still be obsessed with horoscopes. Some things change, like life stealing my damn career from me with a bullshit accident.
But some things stay the same.
In the end, though, I can’t resist the temptation.
I sit down and move the cursor from Libra to Virgo and click.
A little birdie has told me that you have a secret admirer. Keep your eyes peeled, because they could be hiding in the unlikeliest of places. Love is on the horizon … if you have the eyes to see it.
I sit back, my mouth hanging open and warping into a smile.
I’m really starting to think the operator of this website is playing games with me.
But this is good. Grace will read this and think I’m falling for her again, which’ll make my ploy of devastating her all the easier.
But as I stand up and wander over to the corner of the room where my silver-colored dumbbells rest, I’m not so sure I want to do that anymore.
I pick up the hundred-pound ’bells and start doing bicep curls, keeping my back as straight as a soldier’s, using discipline to keep my form perfect. My bicep muscles tighten and squeeze, sweat coating the tight orbs of my arms.
I have to stay strong, stay the course.
Even if it’s getting so tough I could just roar.
***
I walk just a little behind Grace in the cave, the torchlight from my helmet making the damp walls glisten a pale yellow. Behind us, the sounds of the other guests echo down the close walls.
I wonder if Grace knows what she’s doing as she struts ahead, her fist-me ponytail swinging back and forth with her swaying movements. Her cargo pants are the loose-fitting kind which shows the real shape of the bulbs of her tight ass.
As I navigate around a jutting stalagmite, my manhood presses like a solid scorching rod in my pants.
She turns, face glowing with excitement and torchlight. “Come on, slowpoke,” she teases. “What’s taking you so long, huh?”
“Maybe I just like watching you,” I murmur, ignoring the twinge in my hip, that never-ending reminder of what I lost.
“Naughty,” she teases, turning away with a flashing smirk over her shoulder.
It’s not just how irrefutably sexy she is, though.
