Page 52 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

“Did you have business down here tonight?” I ask.

Eliza owns a handmade soap company. She sells them in boutique stores all over the area, and a couple of the independent lodges. She’s basically a one-woman success story.

“Nah. I just wanted to harass my husband before he finished up in the office.” She leans closer. “And byharass, I meanmake out on his desk.”

One thing to know about Eliza—she has zero shame. I love that about her.

“Hey, look who it is.” She gestures at the floor-to-ceiling shop window next to us.

I look up and stumble over my own feet. It’s Rumble Room, the MMA and kickboxing studio where Sam and Harper sometimes take classes. Owen’s sparring on the other side of the glass.

WithMiles.

MyMiles. He’s throwing jabs and punches at the beefy bearded trainer like he’s Captain America gearing up to save the world. And—holy cow. He does a perfect roundhouse kick right before my eyes.

Words fail me. My brain is stuck on my best friend in workout clothes, his athletic tee plastered to his chest from sweat, tossing out punches so gracefully. And from the way Owen braces himself, maybe even brutally.

Miles is the bookish guy. The writer guy. He isnotthe kickboxing until he’s ready to drop a dude…guy.

Except, clearly he is. He’sgoodat this. Like, film it and watch it on replay good. Which I have enough respect, both self- and Miles-centric, not to do. Even though I so, so want to because tomorrow I will not believe I witnessed this.

Owen nods at him, and it looks like they’ve called it a night.They’re winded and sweaty but grinning hard. Miles is having the time of his life in there.

Then, in a move I’ll be replaying in my dreams, he swiftly pulls his shirt over his head. He wipes it down his chest, shifts to the side like he’s about to leave the sparring area, and looks up.

Right. At. Me.

My stomach rolls so hard, I might be having an out-of-body experience. Now I know how Elizabeth Bennett felt when she was caught snooping around Pemberley by Mr. Darcy. Except nobody actually told me,Hey, there’s definitely no chance you’ll see your best friend half naked tonight.

I have nowhere to hide, no way to play this off with aHa ha, didn’t see you there. I can’t find the will to break this horrible eye contact with him, like he’s an exotic fish and I’m the weirdo tapping on the aquarium glass. Running away isn’t even an option.

Inexplicably, his mouth tips up into a grin, like he doesn’t mind that I’m shamelessly ogling him. Before I can process exactly what’s happening, he moves to the door and is out on the sidewalk in front of me.

Shirtless.

Is hyperventilating the one where you breathe too fast or too slow? I’m not getting enough oxygen. That’s all I know.

We’ve been friends for a while now, but we’ve never been shirtless friends. I have every intention of keeping my gaze above his neck. Collar bone at the lowest. But my eyes opt to do their own thing.

Which makes my heart rate do its own thing. Obviously, I knew he had a body beneath his clothes, but the difference between knowing it and seeing it is really dang wide. He’s slim, with nicely rounded shoulders and biceps and a flat stomach. There’s no defined six-pack, or eight-pack, or whatever the latest romance hero ideal is…but he still looks highly touchable.

I snap my gaze back up to his. I need to focus. This is just Miles.

Shirtless, shirtless Miles.

“Hey.” Simple and casual, but he sounds happy to see me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yup. I’m just going to dinner with—” I look around, only to realize Eliza left me high and dry. Naturally. “I’m meeting Harper and Eliza for pizza. What, um? What about you?”

He laughs. It’s pretty obvious what he’s up to. “Just working out.”

“I didn’t know you did all this.”

I gesture at him and almost graze his chest with my fingers. I don’t know what to do with myself here.

He has the grace to look sheepish. “Owen can be pretty persuasive.”

“You never told me you started doing kickboxing.”

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