Her eyes widen. She nods.
“That’s what happens when a man’s in the presence of real beauty.”
She swallows. “Is that your flex?”
Flex? For a half second, my brain short-circuits and my pulse spikes.Shit.
“My what?”
“You know,” she says, completely unaware of the mental spiral she just set off. “Your thing. The thing you do to make women feel good.”
Relief floods through me so fast it’s almost dizzying.
I don’t hesitate with my answer. “My flex is doing everything I can to makeyoufeel good.”
The silence that follows is thick, charged. She pulls her hand back like she’s been burned, cheeks still flushed.
“It’s working,” she says softly.
“Good,” I reply. “Because we’re not doing another workout until you eat something. You can’t build strength if you don’t fuel your body.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again.
I grin. “Come on. Food first. Training second.”
7
Kari
“…and long story short, I’m living the dream,” I deadpan as I pick at my fries. “Back home with my parents. I wake up every morning to wedding planning and customer complaints.” I frown and lightly thunk my forehead against the tabletop feeling defeated. “My job sucks.”
We’re tucked into a booth at a little neighborhood place that smells like fryer oil and grilled onions. The lights are low and the vinyl booths are cracked with years of wear. The dinner rush has thinned, leaving behind a hum of conversation and the tinny clink of silverware against cheap diner plates.
“Hey.”
Grey reaches across the table, his fingertips brushing my hair back from my face. The contact is gentle, unthinking, like he’s done it a hundred times before. But I don’t want to think about him being so careful with another girl.
His thumb tips my chin up, just enough that I’m looking at him instead of the scratched tabletop. The shift in my mood is instant. Embarrassing, really. One touch and he flips a switch inside me and all the static in my head quiets.
I hate how good that feels. But only because I know he isn’t someone I can have.
He studies me like he’s listening to my soul, my thoughts. He glances at my plate and picks up one of my fries and brushes it across my lips.
I blink, then laugh softly and let him slip it into my mouth. And it’s good. Delicious.
It’s such a small thing. He doesn’t make a joke. Doesn’t mention that I’ve barely touched my food. He just… feeds me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You know what I think?” He leans back. “I think you’re resilient.”
I arch a brow. “Resilient? Me?”
“Yes you.” He picks up another fry. “You’re patient, have more fortitude than most, and an ability to keep your cool under pressure.”
I snort. “I don’t like any of that.”
“Why?” he asks. “Because some middle-aged guy thought he was above the law and tanked the company? That isn’t on you.” He shakes his head. “Don’t waste another second thinking about that dick.”
I laugh despite myself. He takes the opportunity to put another fry in my mouth, that I eagerly chew.
