Leaning in closer, my mouth hovers over hers. “Do you have any gym clothes with you?”
Her brow cocks. “Gym? Clothes?” The way she voices those two words, I’m not convinced she’s ever set foot inside a gym. “I’m not the cardio type.” Her cute nose wrinkles as if disgusted by the thought.
Brushing my lips over hers, my words are barely above a whisper. “Neither am I, at least not the type you’re thinking.”
Chapter 32
Nash
Sundays have always been my day off from the gym. Most of the time I’m traveling, but it’s also just a reset day—cleaning, laundry, and administrative work.
I usually spend my hours on the couch reviewing the pending consultations and contracts that are coming down the line. Once I’ve read through each file long enough that my temples are throbbing, I move on to the roughstock. That’s several more hours of obsessing over the stats and every performance. Year after year, we’ve had nationally ranked bulls in the NFR and PBR, and I’m not about to ruin that legacy for our family’s business.
The clank of weights fills my ears as I open the door for Betty. The possessive man in me needs to stake his claim as the guy at the front desk looks up and smiles at her. Weaving my fingers through hers, I’m likely squeezing a little too tight, but she only squeezes back, following me into the belly of the space.
“What’s your favorite body group?” I ask, searching for a good spot for us to start.
“On you?” she quirks a brow, drawing out my laughter.
There’s nothing that makes me happier than her ogling my body. The rake of her gaze over my frame and every chiseled muscle I’ve worked my ass off over the years to build and then maintain makes my cock twitch in excitement. My woman is free to stare at every part of me.
Squeezing her hand again, I only shake my head. “As much as I’d love to have that conversation with you, I was thinking more of training today. Legs, arms, core, glutes?” Heat flares in her stare with that last suggestion. The need to adjust myself, remembering what she’d looked like last night, ass in the air as I licked each cheek, causes my hips to shift, trying to roll out the discomfort.
“Don’t you fitness freaks have schedules or something?” she quips with a grin.
Betty Hughes might be the death of me.
“You asked for it.” Dragging her behind me, our first stop is the hack squat machine. I always start with the exercises I love most, so I’m forced to push harder as the workout continues. It’s a method that helps me strengthen my discipline, reinforcing the work ethic I’ve applied to everything I’ve done throughout my life.
Betty pushes through every exercise like a pro. Not once does she shy away from telling me the weight is too heavy or too light, or asking questions to help with proper form. I’d never considered sharing this part of my life with a partner. Other than Hunt, and when I played sports, the gym was a place just for me. It served as the clarity I needed when I couldn’t find it elsewhere or didn’t have the time to get lost in the grind of ranch work.
I’m on my last set of Bulgarian split squats, my thigh trembling as if I’m made of nothing more than Jello, when myeyes meet hers. Her skin is flushed and drenched in sweat. Not once did she try to pretend it wasn’t there or wipe it away to make herself look more put together. The orderly bun she’d arrived with sits lopsided now, and loose strands stick to her neck and temples.
“Three more, Nash. Let’s go,” she claps.
A second wind rarely hits me when I’ve pushed this hard. It’s all sheer will and mindset that force me to complete the set. But today, having those brown eyes focused on me, something shifts. This, Betty, a partner, is what I’ve been missing all this time.
It never seemed as though I was going through the motions of life before, but maybe I was. I did my job and kept my company alive, because who would let it fail? But for the first time, I’m questioning whether I even like it.
The same is true of the responsibilities I have to the distribution business. I fulfilled my obligations. The dutiful son learned the ins and outs because I was told one day it would all be mine. One day, I would find myself back in Cole County, bound to a legacy I never asked for.
“That’s my guy,” Betty lightly ruffles my hair as I slump onto the bench. I only wince up at her with a half grin and one eye squinting closed to keep the sweat from blinding me.
“I don’t know how you were never a cheerleader,” I grunt.
“Too dainty for me.” In a swift motion, she inhales a deep breath, lifting one of my weights, her back leaning as she waddles to return it to the rack. I follow with the second one before wiping down the bench and snatching my bag from the floor. Draping an arm over her shoulders, she rests her head against my side. It’s perfect. What I would give to start every morning like this.
“You did great today,” I praise her, keeping her tight to my body as we exit the glass front doors out into the scorching sun.
“I’ve never worked out like that, but I like it. All I’ve really done is self-defense classes with Beckett. He insisted when I started working at the bar,” she drones as if annoyed her brother cares too much.
“I remember. He told me when I was home to help my dad one weekend. We just want our Betty Minor safe,” I chuckle, opening the truck for her.
Without so much as a wince, she slips into the cab, buckling her belt. Unlike my younger woman over there, my knees creak and my ass burns as I jump into the driver’s seat. Becoming an athlete from a young age and continuing through college took a toll on me. I’ve rebuilt myself stronger over the years, but these joints and muscles still like to remind me I’ll be forty-one in a few months.
Pulling out of the lot and onto the road, I hesitate to bring up our conversation from this morning. I meant every word, but I also need her to know that whatever she wants to do with her body will always be her choice. It doesn’t matter what I want in that regard.
Placing a hand on her thigh, her gaze tracks up to me. “Did you still want to stop at the pharmacy?” My pulse races waiting for her answer. I realize I don’t know this part of her or how she’ll respond. It’ll take time for me to grasp how much of a toll that time in her life really took on her. In time, I hope she’ll open up to me about that. I can’t imagine carrying that all alone for years.
