"Ace."
"I said no."
He frowns. "Why? You've done it a hundred times. This is literally how we got the Wrangler deal."
I toss my hand wraps into my bag and grab my water. Taking a long drink before I consider answering him.
"Because it makes my girl upset, and I don't do that."
Jett stares at me. "Harper has a problem with you posting shirtless?"
"Harper told me it makes her uncomfortable. And you know what? If it were the other way round with hundreds of guys commenting on her body, I’d probably snap." I shrug. "So no more shirtless."
I caught her the other night scrolling through the comments on my recent post. And to be honest, I was as horrified as her. I never paid much attention before. But seeing her face as she was reading them, I knew I was done with this.
"Ace, it's marketing. It's not real."
"It's real to her. The comments are real. I respect my girl too much."
"She's dating a professional athlete. It comes with the territory. It’s not like you engage back?"
I look at him. Hold his gaze long enough that the easy grin he was wearing starts to fade.
"Let me explain something to you, Jett. If Harper tells me something bothers her, it bothers her. I don't get to decide it shouldn't. I don't get to tell her it's not a big deal or she's overreacting or it comes with the territory. She told me how she feels. That's the end of the conversation."
He opens his mouth.
"And if I do something that makes her mad," I continue, "I'm not taking it out on her. I'm taking it out on you. In this barn. With those gloves on. So, unless you fancy being my new heavy bag, I'd drop it."
He closes his mouth and nods. "Fair enough."
"Good."
"For the record, I think she's got you wrapped around her finger."
"She does. And I'm exactly where I want to be. Trust me. Never be concerned about me being whipped around by Harper."
He laughs, but he lets it go. That's the thing about Jett. He'll push, but he knows when the wall is real. This one is real. Harper asked me for one thing. One small thing. She sat on my bed and told me that seeing those comments made her feel like she had to compete for something she'd already won. And the lookon her face when she said it, the way she braced herself like she expected me to brush it off, told me everything I needed to know.
So no more shirtless workout videos. These abs are hers. And I'd make that choice again tomorrow without thinking twice, because the only person whose opinion of my body matters is the one sleeping in my bed.
I grab a towel. Wipe my face. Check my phone.
A text from Harper. A selfie. Her in her car, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, middle finger up at the LA skyline in the background.
Goldie: Heading into the office. Wish me luck. Love you always.
I grin. Type back.
ME: You don't need luck, Goldie. You need a getaway driver. I volunteer. Love you.
I'm about to hit the shower when the barn doors creak wider, and Colten walks in.
He doesn't look right.
It's not obvious. Colten never looks panicked. He never looks scared. I've known this man my entire life. I know his breathing. I know the way he walks. And right now, his stride is wrong.
"Ace," he says.
