Page 8 of Guilty as Sin
Rafe had been getting himself to six percent body fat at the time. It was a good workout.
Kelli, a personal trainer with an I-know-you-boy smile and a dark ponytail, came over during his upper-body work and said, “Looks like you’re really getting after it. Want a spotter?”
“Cheers,” Jace said, lay on his back, and accepted her help getting the bar set. Time to get after it himself, maybe, he thought as she stood over him and eyed his chest in a not entirely professional way, and not for the first time. She wasn’t too far off his Erica of the razor-blade finish, in fact, it had been clear for a while now that she appreciated his physique, and he liked slim, tidy brunettes. The kind who looked like they could look after themselves. Another way his mystery fan had got it wrong with her curvaceous blonde.
He said, as she helped him lift the bar after his final chest press and slip it back onto the rack, “I’m guessing here. Muay Thai.”
She smiled like she knew what he was thinking and didn’t mind. “Krav Maga. You?”
“A bit of everything, one time or another.”
“Show me sometime,” she said. “We could check out each others’ moves, learn something new. Could be interesting.”
So, yeah. He was here, he was alive, and he was functional once more. Nobody was going to take that away from him. For now, he left it there. He might not be allthatfunctional, but he was getting closer. And when he got home, he went for a run. Editing could wait, and so could breakfast. It wasn’t even eight yet, and the air was still morning-crisp, barely touched around the edges by the faint beginnings of summer. The area beneath the trees was dark and scented like a Northern Hemisphere Christmas, the dirt of the Heavenly Ridge ski run was packed and solid under his feet, and his lungs were working hard.
That was enough.
Too bad highs were called that because they were—well, high points. As opposed to low points. Three days after she’d made her crazy proposal, Paige stood in the echoing space of Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport, hugged Lily tight, and felt herself choking up.
What was wrong with her? She never got this emotional. She didn’t do moods. She did action. Action got you out of moods.
Lily hung onto her for one final second, then stood back, ran a finger under eyes adorned by only the faintest bit of brown liner, and tried to laugh. “Best birthday ever. I know it was hard to take, all that healthiness and calm. Thanks for doing it with me.”
“Nah,” Paige said. “I’ll get over any pesky lingering serenity soon enough, I’m sure.”
Lily studied her too closely. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
A crashing sound, a muttered curse, and a flurry of activity out of the corner of her eye made Paige look. Made her whirl, in fact, her hand going for the butt of a weapon that wasn’t there, until she saw what it was. A guy in a suit had just walked by them, run into a column, and bounced off it. As Paige watched, he grabbed the handle of his fallen suitcase and headed off with I-meant-to-do-that purpose in his step, then wrecked it by looking back again.
Blonde still worked miracles if what you wanted was male attention. For your looks. Paige had wasted almost a full day and an eye-crossing amount of money in the ridiculously pricey salon attached to the spa, but now, not only were her nails and eyebrows and skin and every other bit of her uncharacteristically smooth and perfect, her hair was back to her natural color, too. Lily’s color. Golden blonde with streaks of platinum. And she’d clearly forgotten that gold was the color of the sun and Scrooge McDuck’s money bin. In other words, blonde was magic, even if the curls didn’t even reach your shoulders.
The real star power, though, wasn’t in blonde hair, wide-set brown eyes, or her newly pretty eyebrows. It wasn’t even in the femininity that came off Lily in waves, and that Paige damped down ruthlessly. It was in the twinship—a special quality that wasn’t really special at all, because it wasn’t about you. It was about thetwoof you. Just like your hair color wasn’t one bit who you were, whatever men projected onto it. And neither were waxing and brow shaping and makeup and this stupid outfit.
“How many layers is this?” she’d complained to Lily as they’d dressed. “What’s wrong with jeans?”
“Would jeans truly be more comfortable?” Lily had asked serenely, adjusting the neckline of the cream camisole that peeked out from under Paige’s asymmetrically-hemmed, lace-edged, pale-blue tunic, then handed her a midnight-blue velvet jacket for yetanotherlayer. “More comfortable than leggings and a tunic? I doubt it. You know, you can actually be comfortableandbeautiful. Just remember—if you’re me, you have to actually look in the mirror before you leave the house.”
“Waste of time,” Paige had retorted. “You can’t be comfortable and beautiful and exquisitely groomed and on time, I’ll tell you that. And by the way? You look too good to be me. Lose the scarf. I don’t accessorize.”
Lily had tossed the filmy rose-colored silk scarf over one shoulder and said, “You took a course on vacation. You learned.”
“There are courses in accessorizing?”
“It used to be called charm school. I like to call it ‘paying attention.’ You never know. You might learn something being me.”
Now, as Lily hugged her one last time and said, “Love you. Call me,” something occurred to Paige for the first time.
“Hey,” she said. “Why did you really agree to this? It’s not because you thinkIneed it, is it? Because I don’t. I’m doing great. I’ve been counseled and everything. My leg’s all good, too.” It wasn’t, but it was getting closer. “I’m fine.”
“I know, sweetie,” Lily said. “I’m so proud of you, too. I brag about you all the time.”
Paige felt managed. She didn’tgetmanaged.Shemanaged. “I have to go,” she said. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Lily said. “Fix my problems. Just don’t forget: mirror before door. Take your time. Own it. You start making an impressionbeforeyou open your mouth.”
That was a bracing thought to leave on. Not.
Handing her driver’s license—Lily’slicense—to the security agent was a breath-holding ordeal, but when he handed it back without a word… something happened. It was more than a release of breath. It was arelease.
