"Uh, Hawkes? Your girl is here!" Dace, the same guy who busted us at the party, shouts, grinning at me from behind a weight bench.
Austin whips around on the treadmill so fast he damn near flies off it. "Shit," he growls, stabbing the button tostop it. His eyes lock with mine as he grabs a towel, mopping sweat from his forehead.
Why isn't he wearing a shirt? Why aren't any of them wearing shirts? Maybe I should hit the gym more if this is where hot, half-naked men congregate. A girl's gotta get her thrills somewhere.
He saunters toward me, breathing hard.
I scurry out into the hall like a fucking rabbit being hunted by a wolf.
He follows, leaning one shoulder against the wall. His gaze crawls all over my body in a way that should be illegal.
"Stop looking at my boobs, Austin."
His lips quirk into a grin. "You forget that my eyes are up here, too, princess?"
"Whatever. I'm not looking at you." If lying is a sin, I'm probably going to hell. He has an eight-pack. I thought those only existed in my fantasies. But my fantasies didn't do that body justice. Christ Almighty. I could break something riding him.
"So…you're back," he drawls, that damn panty-melting smirk stretching across his gorgeous face. "Miss me that much?"
"Yes. I mean no. Definitely not." I lick my lips, trying to get my head on straight, when his deep laughter booms down the hall. "I came to ask you to please call off the media."
"Why would I do that?"
"They know my name, Austin. They know where I live. They know where I work," I growl, throwing my hands up. "I'm going to get fired, and unlike you, I don't have millions in the bank. I need my job to survive."
"I still like my plan, princess."
"Oh my god," I groan. "Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Do you have a secret cocaine habit? Are you a sociopath? Because there is seriously something wrong with you."
He grins at me, sweat glistening all up and down his chest. "Yeah, there's something wrong with me," he agrees, his voice soft. "You."
I cross my arms to keep from touching him, to keep from tracing the line of muscle from his collarbone down his abs. "Oh, that's original," I say, far more breathlessly than intended.
"No, I mean it." He shifts his weight into the wall, the motion drawing my gaze to the flex of his bicep. "You won't go out with me. Won't even give me a shot. It's driving me fucking insane." His voice drops, as rough as whiskey. "I've been hard for fucking days, princess. Do you know what it feels like to chafe your own cock?"
I blink. "That's…not my problem?"
He grins wider, the heat in his eyes hot enough to scorch. "You keep saying that." He leans in, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. "But you don't mean it."
I squeeze my eyes shut, counting to three like a child, but it doesn't help. He's everywhere—his scent, his heat, the weird gravity he has that makes me want to lean in and lick the salt off his skin. "I just want you to call off the media, Austin. That's it. This isn't difficult."
"If you want me to make all those photos go away, you gotta give me something to work with, Serena. The scandal isn't going away without a reason."
"Absolutely not," I say, but it comes out as a whisper.
He tips his head, studying me. "You know, for someone who pretends to hate me, you sure show up here looking for me often enough."
"I'm here because you're ruining my life!" I hiss, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one is in the hall. "I'm getting dick pics, Austin. Plural. Dicks, everywhere."
For the first time since I met him, his smirk falters. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Who's sending you dick pics?"
I sigh, exasperated. "Everyone, Austin.Everyone.The internet is a terrible place."
He goes still, his jaw flexing. "Yeah, fuck that." In one motion, he closes the distance, planting his forearm against the wall just above my head, caging me in. "Give me names, princess. They'll never send another one when I'm finished with them."
