Page 14 of Until You're Mine
I wouldn’t, which was why my priorities were back in order. No more getting caught up in risky, tempting situations. Basically from now until Trey came to visit, I was going to have no life besides work, work, and more work.
Head down, I strode over to my desk. The giant piles—along with a new one—made me feel extra stabby, but I shoved the fossil-that-doubled-as-a-computer to the back corner of the desk and then opened my laptop. I’d have to buy a couple of programs for it, but I wasn’t dealing with the ancient machine anymore, and this way, I could take work home with me if needed.
When I sensed someone approaching, I grabbed my Super Big Gulp of Mountain Dew, sucked down a generous swig, and then took a couple of extra seconds to steel myself. A quick glance revealed it wasn’t the young cocky fighter I’d sparred with, but the old cocky fighter who’d given his life and name to his gym, and that wasn’t much better.
“Morning, Brooki—lyn. I was hoping you’d let me take you to dinner tonight. We still haven’t had a real chance to catch up.”
“Will Finn and Liam be there?” I asked.
His face dropped and a lump of guilt formed in my gut. Which seemed epically unfair. Like the guys in the octagon who held up their fists to block, I was merely trying to keep myself from getting hurt. Why drop your guard and risk a knockout punch that might land you on your ass?
“I can ask, but I think they’ve got busy schedules, and I was hoping it’d just be you and me.”
“I’ll ask them,” I said, not giving him the out he wanted because Ineededa buffer. Every time we tried to have a conversation alone, things went downhill fast. “Just text me when and where.”
“Text? Your desk is ten feet outside my office.”
“If you want to go old-school texting and hold up signs from your doorway, have at it.”
Dad’s shoulders deflated. I could already hear one of Finn’s speeches on second chances and giving things 110 percent in my head—no wonder no one else could do math here. They’d been talking in wrong percentages for too long.
I supposed I’d have to have a solo conversation with Dad that was longer than three minutes eventually. Might as well get it over and done with. “How about we set it up for six o’clock? Where do you want to go?”
“You pick. I have to run an errand around five, but I’ll meet you wherever you want.”
I’d been dreaming of seafood ever since Trey mentioned it. “How about Blue Point Grill?”
He smiled, the lines around his eyes growing more defined as his whole face got in on it, and an ill-advised flicker of hope tried to ignite. “See you there.”
…
I was coming out from the tiny closet that doubled as the laundry room, where I’d done two loads of towels and still had at least two more to go, when I came face-to-face with Shane. Or more like face-to-firm-chest.
He must’ve just come in. I threw out a quick “excuse me” to the well-defined pecs his gray wife-beater could barely contain, and then darted away, rushing toward the safety of my desk.
Hey, if I made things awkward enough, maybe he’d stop talking to me altogether. A pang went through my chest at the thought, and I hated that I’d opened myself up to caring, even the tiniest bit.You don’t even know him. And the little you do know is that he’s an arrogant, unabashed innuendo machine.
I settled in my desk chair, and when Liam walked by, I hollered out to him. “Hey, what’s the deal with the laundry? Before I left, I set up a service to take care of it.” Originally, I’d told Dad we should drop it and make everyone bring their own towels, like most gyms did, but he’d said he didn’t want to be like most gyms, and that he’d always disliked having to haul a towel in the same bag as his smelly gear, leaving it dirty before he used it.
Liam glanced around like I’d revealed state secrets and then leaned in. “It was costing us too much, so Finn and I take turns.”
“You mean you did before I showed up.”
“It’s been a busy week. I have a lot more on my mind than the fucking laundry, but I’ll do the next load if you can’t handle it.”
“Jeez, bite my head off, why don’t you?”
He scowled and then stalked off. WhenThorcame out, Chelsea and I often joked about the similarities between Liam and Thor. Same build, same dirty-blond hair—although not quite as long—and same one-word, half-grunted answers. But at least they used to be friendlier answers.
Finn stood off to the side, and judging from thewhoalook on his face, he’d seen our interaction.
“Dude, you said it was bad, but I’m about to tell him to pull his head out of his ass and call Chelsea, or I’ll do it on his behalf.” I tapped the stack of papers I’d finished sorting against the desk so February’s invoices would fall into place and fit in their folder better. “Has he even talked to her since she moved?”
“You wanna ask him, be my guest, but I suggest body armor and a shield first.”
I placed the folder in thedonepile, the first of many to come, hopefully. “He needs an intervention.”
“One where weencouragedrugs so he can stop being so damn pissy.”
