Page 8 of Burn for You (Flirting with Forever 3)

My gaze sweeps around the gym until it gets to the back. Ah. She’s in the class. That figures. With Piper are two other women I recognize from school. I know Madison works in the library, and the other woman is Quinn—I remember because I’d thought it was a cool name for a woman—and I seem to recall she’s a science teacher of some sort. She works with Heath, who I’ve grabbed a beer with a couple of times after work.

For reasons I can’t begin to comprehend, no matter how many women enter the classroom, my eyes can’t seem to steer clear of Piper’s luscious curves. It’s like my eyes are strangely magnetized and just keep getting pulled right back to her.

I give my head a vicious shake, clearing it, and raise my fists just as I tell Frank to come at me again.

I finish running Frank through the rest of his sparring training, then send him off to recover in an ice bath. Lord knows I should probably do the same, but right now I’m more interested in the conversation the women in the barre class are having. They’ve propped the door open, and are working through a cooldown, treating it as a mini gab session. Snippets of their words float through the air once again.

They seem to be in a sharing mood, as I hear one lady say she thinks her arms are too flabby, and another bemoans her it looks like I’m still pregnant stomach. None of this really interests me until Piper joins in on the conversation.

“It’s funny you said that about your stomach, because I can’t wait until I have a stomach to match my wide-ass child-bearing hips.” She groans, and the other women groan right along with her, laughing good-naturedly. She looks around, amusement clear on her face. “What? That’s what my mom always called them.”

An older woman chuckles. “Might be true, though most women of all shapes and sizes have children just fine.” She laughs. “Your mama just wants you to believe you were built for it so you’ll give her some grandbabies someday, honey. Nothing wrong with that.”

What is it about women that they talk so freely about their bodies? You sure as fuck wouldn’t hear a dude in the locker room discussing his flat butt or moobs with anyone. And we’re definitely not analyzing how we feel about our baby-making equipment. I shake my head. I’m slightly disturbed by the whole conversation, wondering if it’s a good thing for women that they are able to share like this or if it’s just detrimental given half of them end up comparing themselves.

I scan over Piper’s body. She’s concerned about her wide hips? I think back to yesterday afternoon when I had my hand on her, steadying her. When she started to weave and rock in her heels right in front of me as we were listening at the door of the supply room, I’d thought she was on the verge of passing out. Instinctually, I’d reached out, holding onto her. She’d felt feminine and just right in my hand, the curve of her hip fitting perfectly. Now I wish I’d put my other hand on her, too, felt for myself the span of those “child-bearing hips.” Her waist is tiny, and she’s definitely shaped like a goddamn hourglass. There’s no way to forget the way her long hair drapes down over her chest, partially hiding her breasts. I like the way she looks dressed for work, but she might even look too damn perfect—always so put together. I’ve got to say, I prefer the way she looks right now. And I’m betting I’d probably like her a whole hell of a lot more if I got a chance to muss her up a bit.

Where. The fuck. Did that come from? I huff out a frustrated breath.

Ah, hell. I really can’t start looking at her like this, thinking about her like this. For one, if there’s anything my mother and sisters have taught me, it’s that women are not objects to be ogled. And, two, this one grabs my attention and I don’t want her to—fuck, I don’t know why she does. She’s a pain in my ass most of the time, always so damn argumentative.

So damn argumentative it turns me on, it would seem. Fuck me. I swipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my forearm before I allow myself one last look.

My gaze slides over her body again. She’s got on some sort of leotard and leggings, and her feet are bare. I don’t give a flying fuck what she thinks about her hips. They seem just right to me. With a shrug, my perusal continues up to her long hair, which is wound on top of her head in a messy bun, exposing her graceful neck. I have the fleeting thought that I’d like to touch my tongue to the column of her throat and find out how her skin tastes. I don’t understand what’s gotten into me, but that’s dangerous thinking, especially considering we are in direct competition right now. I can’t afford to let

her distract me. But, Jesus, the way she’s stretching, bending, moving her body …

Piper glances through the glass door of the classroom, locking eyes with me. Her brows draw together and my cock … twitches. It fucking twitches. And now I’m in need of that ice bath for other reasons entirely.

Fuck this, I’m out of here. I’m about to make a break for the locker room when she starts heading in my direction with her group of friends.

“Hey, Damon.” Piper approaches me carefully, wary, as if I’m a wild animal she’s stumbled upon in its natural habitat. “You know Quinn and Madison from school?”

“Yep. Hi, ladies. Did you enjoy your workout?” I chew on my lip as I pick at the wraps on my hands to give me something to do.

Quinn grins, glancing between me and Piper, then winks at Madison. I assume her friends are aware of our current battle for the department chair position, hence the non-verbal communication among them. She clears her throat. “Oh, we sure did. It’s a fun class.” She hesitates for a second, tilting her head and studying the side of my jaw. She points to it. “We, uh, saw you fighting that guy.”

Great. I guess it was too much to hope for that it’d gone unnoticed when I took that hit.

“What was that? Kickboxing?” Madison glances over at the mats where Frank and I had been practicing.

“It’s Muay Thai. We were sparring. He has a fight coming up.”

They all nod like they know what I’m talking about, so I don’t elaborate, even though I catch a confused look passing among them.

I look back to Piper and nod toward the classroom as I begin to remove the hand wraps. “Was that your first time doing a barre class?”

Piper frowns. “Yes, it was.” She practically shoos the question away with her hand, her eyes roving over the side of my face where I’d taken the hit. “Did we or did we not see you get clocked a few minutes ago? Is that supposed to happen during practice?”

I drop my head, chin to chest, chuckling as I run a hand over my jaw. I wouldn’t have thought she’d be concerned. I’ve actually thought there were a few times this past week where she’d like to hit me herself. I look back up and nod. “Yeah, I did. My concentration slipped for a second.” I shrug. “It’s all good. Frank needs to see that happen so he’s aware of how fast you can screw up. One little mistake and you lose.”

Piper’s lips twist into a tiny, knowing smirk. “Well, let’s hope you don’t get distracted like that at school. Won’t be much fun if you let me win because you’re off your game, your attention diverted somewhere it shouldn’t be.”

She shoots me a wink. With a quiet chuckle, she links arms with her friends and saunters away, throwing over her shoulder, “See you at school, Damon.”

And damned if my traitorous eyes don’t follow the sway of her hips all the way across the gym and out the door.

After Piper and her friends leave, I hit the locker room. I spend some time in an ice bath, as my muscles are screaming at me, then loosen things up in a steaming hot shower. That little minx … I don’t doubt she knows what caused my concentration to slip. She thinks she has an advantage. Well, if she thinks that’s the case, she’s got another thing coming. I shake my head, trying to get her out of my thoughts, out of my system. But damn, the way she’d taunted me right before they’d left makes me want to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. I grab my phone, pulling up the Tryst app. One surefire way to get my mind off of Piper and her antics would be to have a good, healthy argument with Sherlock4Love. A tiny red dot blinks next to her name, indicating that she’s left me a message.

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