Page 22 of Letting it Ride

I’m feeling braver over text. Yeah, I told Annika I wasn’t into him before I left. It was a lie. Obviously.

I knew it! You thought you could hide it.

Okay, yes. I want him. But like, more than a hookup, I think.

How would your brother feel about all this? Didn’t you say he’s always told Cam to stay away from you?

If you want to bust out of your rut and live a little, I support you. But don’t do something you’re going to regret.

Shit. I slide the phone into the side pocket of my shorts. She’s right, and I hate it.

Maddox has always told Cam to stay away from me.Always.

I never thought there was a chance for me with Cam, but then I caught him looking at me over Thanksgiving dinner one year when I was something like twenty-two years old.

I’m pretty sure Maddox saw it, too, because ever since then, I’ve heard Maddox tell Cam I’m off limits more than once. If Cam and I hooked up and Maddox found out, he would kill Cam, then kill me, and then kill us together all over again.

Should I just forget the whole thing? Look for someone else to have a little vacation fling?

The idea of something short-term with a guy I don’t know sounds oddly safer than getting Cam to realize I’m interested in him. Because a vacation fling doesn’t have to work out. There’s no expectation beyond these few days on the ship.

If I let Cam know I’m interested and he doesn’t reciprocate, I still have to see him back home and relive the humiliation of putting myself out there. And if hedoesreciprocate, we’ll both have to deal with the fallout when we get home.

I nod to myself. A stranger is safer. It’ll be fine. I just can’t think too much about why the idea fills me with disappointment.

I force myself to pick up a set of small weights and start on my bicep curls. Lifting will keep my mind off of other things. I focus on my form in the mirror. Okay, I’m only half focused on my form. The other half of me is watching the other people in the gym. Specifically, searching for Cam.

He said he was going to work out, and I was hoping he’d be here, but there’s no sign of him, which is probably good if I’m trying to push him out of my mind. I know he runs a lot—Maddox once told me he did cross-country in college—so maybe he’s running. I think I saw a jogging track listed somewhere on all the maps.

There are plenty of other cute guys here, all with six-pack abs and toned biceps and thighs. All with absolutely no strings and zero ties to my brother, too.

I check my posture, squeezing my shoulder blades together. From what I read in last month’s Cosmopolitan,it’s healthier for your back. Plus, it has the extra benefit of making your boobs stick out. No complaints there.

I head over to a bench and slide weights onto either side of a barbell for bench presses, then reconsider and pull a couple off the end, not wanting to lift too much without a spotter. The last thing I need is to drop a weight on my neck while we’re in the middle of the ocean. That wouldn’t do much for my mature, confident woman image.

“Do you want a spot?” a deep voice asks.

I look up to find an attractive man peering down at me. The scruff over his chin reminds me of my brother, which doesn’t help the attraction, but it seems to work on him. He’s smiling as he makes no move to hide his obvious perusal of my body.

So maybe the boob thrust worked after all.

“Sure.” With a spotter, I can lift my usual weight. I slide the five-pound plates back onto either end of the bar and settle onto the bench.

“I’m Grant,” he says as I bring the weight down.

“Addison,” I grunt out as I push it back up. I’m hoping that was at least a little ladylike, but I doubt it. I lower the weight for another rep.

“You have nice form.” Grant’s hands hover, ready to take the weight if I need him to.

Biting my lip, I check out his arms. His biceps are huge, and he’s got at least four inches on me in height from what I can tell by looking up at him. He’s not as tall as Cam, but he’s got more muscle.

I manage six bench presses with the heavier weight before I rack the bar. “Want me to spot you, too?” I ask as I sit up.

Grant sizes me up, like he’s not sure I can handle the kind of weight he wants to lift. I tense my abs to make the muscles more obvious.

“Sure. Let me swap out the plates.” He pulls off the smaller weights that I stacked on either end of the bar and puts another forty-five-pound weight at each side.

I do the math in my head. Ninety pounds per side equals 180, plus the forty-five-pound bar. So, 225 pounds. Not bad.

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