Page 55 of Strelitzias in Spring

“Feck off. Yer half Irish, and yer mam would hit ye with a damn shovel if she heard you disrespecting yer heritage.”

“Ladies love Highlanders; I think I’ll claim just that part from now on,” I tease.

“Did I say stretches? I meant sprint intervals on the treadmill.”

Flipping him off, I ignore his last words and step down from the training platform, running right into my worst goddamn nightmare.

“Oh, Wolf, I didn’t realize you were training today,” the woman cloaked in pink yells over the music blaring out of the speakers.

I nod, walking past my ex-girlfriend and toward the yoga mats rolled up in the back of the gym. I hear footsteps following me, and I grit my teeth, praying to every god up there that Kelly changes her direction.

“So, how have you been? I saw your work on that Jets player.”

I’ve got no fucking luck. I nod again and unroll a mat in front of the mirror.

“So, how’s the shop? How’s Aubrey? I need to call her for lunch, maybe get together.”

I can’t help the laugh that rockets out of me. “The fuck are you talking about? You and Aubs hate each other. And why the hell would you call her?”

“No, we’re friends.” She crosses her arms, popping a hip out in a stubborn display.

“The fuck are you on about, Kelly?”

“I just, I thought maybe you and I, you know? Maybe we should give it another try?”

My jaw drops, and I stare at her through the mirror. “Kelly, I mean this with no disrespect, but getting back together with you sounds like torture. I would rather pluck every eyelash out of my left eye than talk to you, and the idea of fucking you?” I shudder, not hiding my revulsion. “You’re with Gage, be happy with him.”

Kelly’s face breaks into a scowl before smoothing out, a veneer moving over her features to hide the ugliness inside. “Wolfie, you don’t mean that. Don’t you ever think about us?”

“Only when I want to make myself throw up.”

“Wolf.” Her voice is sharp, a reprimand for being honest.

“Kelly,” I sigh, tired of her shit, even though I’ve only been in her presence for a few minutes. “I’m not trying to be a dick, but can you just leave me alone? We’re not together, and we probably never should have been in the first place. Gage is a loose cannon, but he’s art in the cage. Let him take care of you, be that trophy wife you’ve always dreamed of ’cause you sure as shit aren’t going to be anything to me ever again.” Bending, I grab the mat I just placed down and move to another part of the gym, keeping my back to Kelly.

“She’s a feral one,” Jedd murmurs, sneaking up beside me as I start on my agility stretches.

“She’s batshit crazy. And if she thinks I’m still interested, she’s delusional, too.” All thoughts of Kelly, all feelings, fled when I realized how opportunistic she was. Instead of dwelling on what could have been my life, lately—as in the past two months—my mind conjures up images of a blonde bob and warm skin, a heart-shaped face, and eyes that seem to glow the longer they stare.

My one night with Serena was supposed to quell the idiotic attraction I can’t help but feel when she’s in front of me or on my mind. Instead, it seems to have done the opposite, making her a constant fixture, a perpetual presence that won’t go the fuck away.

“Ye got somethin’ on yer brain, McCleery?” Jedd eyes me skeptically in the mirror, loosening the hold Serena has on my mind.

“No,” I respond, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Nothing important.”

—

I felt Kelly’s eyes on me up until I walked out of the gym, a persistent, annoying gnat that refused to go away. When she broke up with me, I was devastated; I was gutted when I found out she started dating someone else from my gym. But when I took a step back and looked at it, with Aubrey, Trent, and a shit ton of whiskey, I realized that it was the best damn thing to happen to me.

Life with Kelly would have been constant stress, isolation, and fights; no one, from my mother to my employees, liked her; they just tolerated her for my sake, though I didn’t find that out until later.

Climbing off my bike, I pull my helmet off and clip it to the handlebar at the same time my phone vibrates in my pocket, signaling a call. Without looking at the screen, I lift it to my ear.

“Yeah.”

A soft scoff sounds off, and I smile, knowing immediately that my mother is on the other end of the line. “Is that any way to speak to the woman who gave birth to you?”

“Hey, Ma.”

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