An image of the staff changing room flits to mind, and I internally groan.
Beggars can’t be choosers. It’s that or nothing, and I’ve already established I can’t do nothing.
“That must be so annoying,” I interrupt the receptionist as she continues her rant. “I hope they get it fixed soon so you don’t have to keep explaining yourself.”
She laughs, and I use that as my chance to say goodbye.
I’m blessed by the traffic gods on my way to the stadium, giving me plenty of time to shower and get ready before I meet Wes.
When I get to the changing room, I’m grateful to be alone until I reach the cubicle and a throat clears behind me.
“Keeley,” Sal’s deep voice floats through the air, drawing my gaze to find him dripping with sweat, his towel draped over his shoulders, his chest bare. And my entire body tingles.
I clench my fist, biting back a moan.
How the hell have I never seen his body before?
Taking a step forward like a moth to a flame, I stare in awe as a bead of sweat rolls across his taut skin, dripping between the crevices of his abs, the lucky droplet making it all the way to the waistband of his shorts.
I swallow a lump in my throat as a strangled groan breaks my trance.
“Fuck, Keeley,” Sal growls and I snap out of my ogling.
“Sorry.” I choke on the word, coughing before trying again. “Sorry. You’re back?”
“I am.” His nostrils flare as his gaze drops to my stomach, visible below my sports bra, before darting to my face again, his expression pained. I have no doubt he’s cursing himself for not resisting the urge to look.
“Did you have a good flight?” I ask, pulling him from his head. “I snuck off to yoga while the boss was away. Just going to shower and I’ll be back at it.”
I bounce on my toes and Sal seemingly relaxes.
“Thanks for letting me know.” His lips thin into a suppressed smile and I laugh. “Enjoy.”
“I will. You too.”
You too?The thought of Sal showering beside me has me clenching my legs, and I internally groan for allowing that idea to play out in my head.
With a smile, I shake off my thoughts and step inside, closing the door behind me before I laugh into my hand.
Fuck. That can’t be real. He can’t be real. It’s a figment of my imagination. It has to be. Because the alternative is that Salvatore D’Angelo is ripped like a god.
Closing my eyes, I lift my sports bra over my head, and another image of Sal’s chiseled abs floods my vision. My mouth waters, and I bite my lip as my phone buzzes, snapping me out of my lust-filled daze.
WES: I need an extra thirty mins. I hope that’s okay.
KEELEY: Works for me
I’m going to need that long just to cool the fuck down, and it has nothing to do with my hour-long yoga session and everything to do with the man getting naked in the cubicle beside me.
Basically, I’m fucked.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SALVATORE
The treadmill clicks over to five miles, and I gradually slow the machine, my surroundings seeping back into view. I don’t usually disappear into my head like I did just now, but when life is a fucking shit show, it’s kind of hard not to.
After a five-minute cooldown, I grab my towel and wipe the sweat from my face, staring at myself in the mirrored wall as my breathing calms.
