As I’m finishing my last rep of back squats, he casually walks behind me. I briefly feel his chest press into my back as he takes the weight, grabbing the bar from my hands.
“Thank you,” is all I manage to get out.
He says nothing. His gaze rakes over my body, making me feel naked in front of him. Every sweep of his eyes feels like a caress on my skin. Then… that gorgeous man licks his lips and smiles, sending a shiver down my body.
Damn this shameless man.
We’ve had a few more awkward run-ins in the gym. I do my best to keep my distance, but I catch him watching me. Instead of taking his eyes away from me when caught, his eyes darken.
My mind is clouded with lust. Turning me into a wanton woman!
###
I’m packing up when he moves for the exit. On impulse, I pivot, pulse spiking, and step into his path outside.
“Hey, do you want to grab a coffee?” I ask, feeling my cheeks burn. “As thanks for last night?”
“Just coffee?”
I look at him with wide eyes. “What else would you like to do?”
I nervously fidget as he studies me with a fire in his gaze. I press my thighs together because fuck… one look from this guy is an instant panty dropper. He’s beautiful!
He sharply exhales like I’ve asked him for something impossible. “You don’t want that.”
“Want what?”
“Me.”
“I think I can handle more than coffee,” I challenge.
He shrugs me off with a laugh. “No… no, you couldn’t.”
There it is. Rejection. Dammit.
I nod, feeling bummed and willing the growing pit in my stomach to swallow me whole.
“I’ll see you around, Pippa.” He grins, getting in his truck.
As he drives off, I groan. The atrophy of any remaining confidence residing within me is blown awaywith the golden leaves in the autumn breeze, only to fall in a discarded, crumpled heap on the ground.
Maybe I couldn’t handle him. But what if I wanthimto handleme?
THREE
PIP
Mondays in a radiology department are always a mixed bag. Halloween brings out all sorts of crazy injuries over the weekends in the lead up. It makes working in radiology a little bit more exciting; you never know what popcorn-worthy orthopedic trauma you’re going to see.
I finished reviewing the scheduled appointments and prioritizing the ad-hoc lists when one of the girls in reception calls me over.
“Hey, check this out.” She hands me a blank form on a clipboard for show. “On the down-low… aren't they some of the guys from Friday night in the waiting room?” she whispers, tilting her head behind her. She’s not wrong; they are.
They’re wrecked: split lips, swollen eyes, and bruises creeping along their cheekbones like ink spreading through water. One of them is holding his ribs, wincing with labored pleuritic breaths. They look like they were chewed up and spat out by something bigger than them.
Someone.
Him?
