Page 33 of L.O.V.E

He turned to leave. Stopped. Faced me again. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

I had no words because my heart was leaking, shame and guilt flooding my chest.

“Are we okay, you and me? We’ll be seeing a lot of each other with Lacey and Ellis.”

I nodded yes, though inside I screamedno,no,no.

“Good.” His dimples appeared. “Friends.”

Then he was gone.

Cole

“You talked to her?” Dark circles framed Martin’s eyes.

Last time he’d looked so worn out, Ellis and I had been dragging him out of a brothel in Nevada.

“You asked me to check up on your girl, so I did.”

“And?”

“And you’re good, bud.” The fib left a sour taste in my mouth and a gnarly ache in my gut. But, fuck, Martin sucked at relationships, and if one little white lie could help steer him the right direction, then my integrity could weather a hit.

Martin tracked a leggy brunette on her way to the weight room, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and my guilt for lying evaporated. I refrained from smacking him but, damn, how I wanted to shake some sense into the bastard.

“Hey, guys,” came a heavenly voice over my shoulder, her timing spot on.

Martin snapped his head toward the sound, face blazing. “There’s my girl.” He pulled Natalie into an awkward embrace, giving me a good view of her backside.

She wore baggy sweats, the drawstring pulled tight but hanging low on her hips, highlighting a round, firm ass, and a slim waist. A black tank top clung to her fit back and arms, her skin pale and delicate, too clean and pretty for the likes of my friend.

Martin went in for a kiss. Got nothing but cheek. Interesting.

“Be right back.” She gave him a friendly pat on the back. As she passed, she shot me a quick glance and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Cole.”

Her dismissive tone stung.

Every emotion rolling through my body was wrong. A betrayal.Fuck. I needed to ghost. With a clap to Martin’s shoulder, I retreated to my office, where I wouldn’t be tempted to watch the self-defense class or the woman I’d persuaded to attend said class.

As if God himself were trying to right my wrong, Victoria glided through the door.

“Hey, baby,” she sing-songed, swaying my way, all long legs, bare midriff, and ample bosoms on display.

She landed in my arms, stiff but pushing all her soft, sweet curves against my rigid planes, staking her claim, a sobering reminder of where my head belonged. “Take me to lunch after my workout?”

“It’s a date,” I whisper-growled in her ear, pulling her tighter. “Wasn’t expecting to see you until dinner. You hate working out here.”

“I do.” Her nose scrunched, protesting the musty smell of my yet-to-be-remodeled workspace. “But I was in the neighborhood and wanted to see my man.”

Victoria hated that my office was the loft above a dirty “fight” gym, rather than sharing space with my father, who had a million-dollar view from atop his ivory tower.

“Everything okay?” She tipped her head back, inspecting my face.

“Yeah. Just missed you. Why aren’t you at work?”

With a shrug, she said, “Wasn’t feeling it,” and wiggled free of my embrace. “No big deal.”

“You’ve skipped work three times this month.”

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