Page 26 of Keeper
This is what he deserves. He thinks he can act all hunky-dory without a care in the world over a protein shake? Well, he can’t. I’m tired of him behaving as if nothing’s changed. First, we all but have sex, like an epic, climb-the-walls hook up where the only box left unchecked was aPin theV. Then he avoids me. Then last night, he’s all over me, forehead kissing and pressing all of his—
Nope, I’m done. I’m not a meek little girl anymore who Booker can control. I’m putting on my proverbial fuck me heels in the form of sexy active wear, and I’m showing him the new Poppy.
Booker’s gaze lowers to my sports bra that has a fabric crossing in the front, leaving a circular cutout that reveals an ample amount of cleavage. Far more than is appropriate for actual gym workouts, but it’s never busy up here this time of day and I like my breasts. I wouldn’t have wanted to pierce my nipples if I didn’t.
It’s irrelevant that Booker was the first guy I let see my rack since then.
His eyes skate over my bare torso and down to my black leggings with sheer cutouts all the way up the sides. My body definitely isn’t as cut as his, but I know I look different than before I left.
I was never really into fitness when I was younger. I was far more interested in theatre, art, and other things that used the left side of my brain. But when I went to Uni, I wanted a transformation in more ways than simply chopping off my hair and piercing my nipple. So I started working out. That’s when I met a student trainer. A pretty hot student trainer, even if he wasn’t the most interesting bloke. He created a diet and exercise routine for me, and I started to see results in no time. Muscles in places I didn’t know muscles existed. Curves deepening around my hips and arse. More energy in my daily life. It was rejuvenating and great for my sex life. Working out gave me an overall confidence that I was lacking before, and I became completely addicted to the feeling. Now I feel right at home when I walk into a gym.
Booker looks over my shoulder as I pull up the playlist entitledWickedon my mobile. I have to stifle a laugh when I realise he has no idea what he’s agreed to. I turn off the screen so he can’t see what’s coming and hand him the device. “Let’s start with a light jog to warm up.”
He follows me to the treadmills, popping his earbuds in on the way. Starting up my own machine right beside him, we both begin with a slow walk. As the speed increases, I can tell the instant the music starts playing in his ears because he gets a contorted look in his eyes.
He grabs my phone and I flail my hand out to stop him. “Don’t look!” Frowning, he pops out a bud, so I repeat myself. “Don’t look at what the song is. Just listen.”
“Is it all instrumental?” he asks, looking confused.
“No, justlisten.” I bite my lip.
He reinserts the ear piece and asks, “Did they just say Oz?”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter. Another moment passes and his eyes turn to saucers as he deadpans, “Oh wait, Glinda just arrived. It’s getting good now.”
I laugh so hard I almost trip on my treadmill. His voice is loud in the quiet gym and he has no idea. I can’t contain my giggles when the few other people here begin to gawk at us. Watching his face as he squints hard to listen to every single lyric is hilarious. This is so much better than I expected.
I’ve been obsessed withWickedsince my mum took me and my sister to see it in London before I left for Uni. Watching Booker’s eyes twinkle with amusement instead of disdain only makes me love him more.
Like him, I mean. Like him more. As a friend.
“Nice vibrato,” he says, nodding his head like Kristen Chenowith is rocking some Led Zeppelin. I buckle over laughing at his serious expression. He looks over at me like I’m a lunatic. I’m just glad I manage to stay vertical on the machine.
After a few more minutes of jogging, I wave him over to the leg machines. A light sheen of sweat coats his face and arms, and his smooth skin glistens under the fluorescents. He’s still immersed in the music, but his eyes fall to my cleavage that is also coated with sweat.
I touch my towel to my chest and he quickly looks away, neck turning red.Did I catch him checking me out?
I can feel his gaze on my backside as he tails me to the bank of leg machines. Positioning myself correctly, I begin cycling through a few sets, enjoying the way he’s tracking my movements. I pop all the areas of my body to maximise the resistance and he nervously looks away. The entire scene makes me purr with satisfaction.
When it’s his turn, I’m extra careful not to check out how hot he looks with his taut jaw and veined muscles working overtime as he pushes his body to its breaking point. I don’t bother noticing the drizzle of sweat skating down his temple and falling into his clavicle. It’s really quite irrelevant at this point.
After a strenuous set of lat pulldowns, I allow the weight I was pulling to lift me from the bench just as Booker hands me my mobile. “I actually didn’t mind working out to that music,” he states as I roll the headphones around my finger. “It made me feel like I was at the play.” He cuts grave eyes at me. “If you tell my brothers that, I’ll make you pay.”
A snicker bubbles up in my throat. Is it wrong that I want him to make me pay?
I school my expression. “Free weights?”
He silently follows me as I drop my mobile by a workout bench and head over to the barbells on a rack positioned in front of the mirrors.
Booker clears his throat from beside me. “I was going to see if you want to come with me to a little outing Cam is throwing for Indie on Wednesday night.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s her birthday and apparently her family isn’t big on celebrating. Cam wants to make it special I guess. It’s at a pub in Bethnal. It’ll be small. Just the Harris clan and a few teammates and friends. Casual but probably fun.”
I consider this for a moment. Is he asking me as a date, or as a flatmate thing? Surely it’s only a flatmate thing. I shrug my shoulders to put off a carefree vibe. “I’ll probably miss the beginning because of work.” His face falls, so I quickly add, “But I can come after if you think it’ll go past nine.”
“Oh yes, definitely. I’ll come back and pick you up.” He shoots me a cute boyish smirk. Those dimples on full display.
