Page 7 of A Temporary Forever

“Laughing to yourself?” A man jumps on the treadmill beside me.

“Xander Stone. What the fuck, man? I haven’t seen you since—”

“Shut up. I don’t need the ladies around hearing we’re old.” He winks at a woman on a stepper next to him and she blushes, biting her lip.

I laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“Seriously, van den Linden, have you hit your head? I’m exercising. It’s a gym.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I snort. “Dickhead, I meant in New York.”

“I moved here a month ago.”

“Seriously? How come I haven’t run into you yet?”

He checks my screen and raises his incline by three more points. “Well, I’ve been busy flying back and forth between San Fran and here, no time for socializing.”

“I never would’ve thought you’d grow up like that, party boy.”

Xander Stone was my partner in crime during our time at Wharton. Three years younger than me, he was one of those kids too smart for his own good.

As a gifted child with photographic memory and an inherent ability to play the system, he skippedgrades a couple of times, so we ended up in the same class in college. Not that he ever shows his intelligence, always the one stirring shit.

We lost touch after graduation. He moved to work in his family business in the San Francisco headquarters of their global developer firm, while I went to Asia to lead our flagship hotel there.

“Oh, that was just a temporary situation while I figured out the details of my relocation. I’m free tonight if you want to hit the town.” He increases the speed.

For some reason, even though I was ready to slow down, I increase my speed as well. “We can do that.”

“Let’s catch up once I’m done, if you have time.”

I have more time than I care. “I’ll move a few things around.”

An hour later, showered and sore—I’ll feel that last uphill sprint for a few days—we walk into a small juice bar adjacent to the club.

“Are you in New York permanently, or just visiting in between the exotic locations where you pretend to work?” Xander slurps his smoothie, his blue eyes gleaming.

“Try to be a hotel manager for a day or two, asshole.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Don’t be so sensitive. I’m happyto see you, that’s all.”

“Or you need hand-holding, being new to town and getting settled,” I quip.

We take seats in the corner. The place is airy and light, with most patrons coming from the gym. Hunter’s Clubs are state-of-the-art facilities, owned by celebrity trainer Hunter Stuart who owns similar gyms all over the country.

The businesspeople of Manhattan frequent this particular location, and a lot of deals get closed in this juice bar.

“I wouldn’t mind an introduction to an exclusive club scene here.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

The fucker wants my connections to get into a sex club. Some things never change. “I can vouch for you at my club, but let’s go out first. I need to make sure you didn’t turn into some sort of perv. I have a reputation to protect.”

He laughs. “I doubt that, but thank you. We should go out, just like old times.”

“Yeah, only the recovery takes longer.” I shake my smoothie, the ice clanging.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have that problem, old man.”

“Sure.”

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