Page 13 of Fractured Fear

I once skipped a workout without calling Joey and he flipped his shit when I showed up the next day. The workout was twice as hard, and I could barely walk home afterwards.

As much as I love being prepared to punch a handsy man in the face, being sore is the absolute worst and I’m a whiny baby about it.

Surprisingly, my workout is easy today. Well,easier. I don’t hobble out of the gym, so that’s a plus.

Now it’s just after lunch and in walks…another fucking sexy-as-hell man.

Is there a sign on my door offering discounts to hot men or something? Because what the hell? I normally get teachers looking for a field trip for their students, stay at home moms who want out of the house, artists who need a space to create. I do not get sex-on-a-stick men.

He’s tall like Zane, but where Zane’s skin is a beautiful ivory, this man has a rich tawny tone. His eyes are a deep chocolate I would happily drown in. His hair is cropped all around and looks to be a true warm brown. He’s wearing a simple white henley, dark wash jeans, and work boots, but on him they are anything but simple. The shirt hugs his chest and torso in a way that showcases the solid muscles underneath. His rolled-up sleeves display his mesmerizing tattoos, and…oh my. Are those finger tattoos? Why is that so hot?

Pushing myself to be the professional business owner I am—who does not check out every man who walks in the door—I stand and greet the man in the only way I know how.

Awkwardly.

“Hi! Welcome to Clay Creations. How can I help you?” For good measure, I throw in a wave that can only be described as the imitation of a fish flopping on dry land.

Yep. Awkward as fuck. Apparently, that’s me when a man is involved.

He looks at me and smiles.

Shit.

This is going to be a repeat of yesterday. Only this time Alma and Paul are here with Hayes. Well, I guess they don’t need yesterday’s story. They’ll get to witness it all first hand.

“Hi, I’m here for a lesson my friend signed me up for.”

Friend? Is he Zane’s friend?

Of course, Zane’s friend is as hot as he is. Hot men live in packs I swear. They all know each other and have some sort of hot guys club. I’m so fucked. Zane paid for three months’ worth of classes. I’m going to be seeing Rio two days a week for the next nine weeks. Yep, definitely fucked.

“You must be Rio. I’m Spencer. I’ll be your teacher.” I reach out my hand to shake his.

But when he takes my hand, he pulls me close and says, “Actually my name is Navarro Juan Carlos de la Cruz Flores. But, Mama, you can call me Rio.”

Oh. Hell. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is, should it?

I realize I’m panting.Fucking pantingwhile I’m less than a few inches away from this man. Could I be any more pathetic? He’s just flirting. He probably does this with all women.

I go to pull my hand away, but he holds firm. Not in a painful way. It almost feels as if he doesn’t want to let me go.

His hands are warm and soothing. How is that possible? It’s just a handshake, but his touch speaks volumes, as if telling me a story. It tells me that he works hard. The scars on his knuckles hidden under the ink tell me he’s fought before. More than once by the look of it. He’s no stranger to pain, but instinctively I know he wouldn’t turn that pain on me. I don’t know how I’m so sure of that after only just meeting him, but I am.

“You never truly know someone” has been a rule that has kept me safe in recent years. I don’t want to give Rio the opportunity to prove me wrong, but I get the feeling he’ll show me whether I want him to or not. I shouldn’t let him, but everything about him piques my curiosity.

After a moment I realize I haven’t moved, but neither has he. He’s watching me with a playful heat, a heat that warms me all the way down to my core, and I find that I don’t hate it. I should hate it. I should turn his attention elsewhere, deflect his focus,but I can’t bring myself to do it. His attention on me is addicting and I revel in the burn.

He slowly lets my hand slide from his. His fingertips graze down my palm making my heartbeat silently pound against my chest.

I make myself switch into work mode. “I’ll give you a tour today and do some demos. Next time you’ll be on the wheel. Before you leave, I’ll need you to sign some paperwork. Sound good?”

“All good here, Mama.” He flirts further while dragging his eyes from my dirty Chucks, up my dusty leggings, and over my large band tee.

“We The Kings?”

“Huh?” I glance down at my shirt. “Oh. Yes. Love them.”

“Never heard of them.”

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