Page 5 of Rush

I know it might seem strange to pull a yoga move here, in the locker room, but I need a moment to relax and find my focus, and this is how I do it nowadays. The old me would have just done a shot.

“Ahem.” The sound of a deep, timbral voice clearing behind me has me shooting upright and spinning around.

And, oh dear God, no.

Ares Kincaid.

He’s standing right there, across the room from me.

And I have no shirt on.

Crap.

“Oh Jesus, shit, fuck!” I wheeze out in complete horror, my arms clamping over my chest.

“That’s a lot of expletives for one sentence.” Ares’s head tilts to the side, a look of amusement on his face.

“I-I…” I’m floundering. I have no clue what to say. I’m all like, Jesus, take the wheel.

I’m half-naked in front of Ares Kincaid.

My dad is going to be so pissed when he finds out.

Please don’t let him find out.

“I didn’t think anyone was here,” I finally manage to get out.

“Clearly.”

His eyes drop from my face and start to trail down my body. I see a spark of interest in his eyes, and I’m surprised by the flash of heat I feel between my legs.

Did I mention that Ares Kincaid is good-looking?

I’ve seen him on TV and in pictures, but this is the first time I’ve seen him in the flesh. He’s all rippling muscles, hard edges, and golden skin. Dark scruff covering his strong jaw, like he hasn’t bothered to shave in days. Striking blue eyes, which are still working their way over my body, and dark hair, which is shorter than it used to be. I remember him having longer hair.

Anyway, he’s hot. If you like that kind of thing—jocks—which I don’t.

What do I like?

Honestly, I have no clue anymore.

Before I was sober, I used to go for guys who liked to party. Dirty, rough guys. Guys I could get drunk with. The quintessential bad boys.

Sporty, serious, and stable were never in my repertoire.

Maybe they should be.

Not with him, of course.

And not anytime soon. Relationships are not something I’m interested in. Staying sober is.

“So…” His eyes finally land back on mine, and I give him an irritated look due to him blatantly checking me out. The bastard doesn’t even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. He just smiles and shrugs his big shoulders. “This might be a crazy question”—his lips are now twitching with amusement—“but who are you? And why were you bent over and shirtless in here?”

“I, um…look, do you mind if I put my shirt back on?” I take a step back, angling down to look at my shirt, which is still on the floor in a damp heap.

“No. Go ahead.” He gestures a hand in my direction but makes no move to give me any privacy. He just stands there, watching me with his blazing eyes burning right through me. The color reminds me of a flame when it’s reached its hottest temperature.

“Could you turn around?” I give him a pointed look, tightening my arms over my chest.