Page 37 of Drilled (Dad Bod Contracting 2)
I half expect him to launch into another lecture, or a life story about how he started Shred-90 and all that, but he doesn’t. “Thanks. Yeah, I noticed you in those workshops. You have a really impeccable form.”
I feel a little thrill that he noticed me and my form. “Thanks.”
“So, you’re a trainer? Out of where?”
“Oh, the metropolitan Chicago area. I’m a local.” The seminar is a pretty big one, so there are trainers from all over the country in attendance.
“Nice.” He was hoping for a bigger opening, I think, and I’ve left him off-balance.
Why am I so uninterested? I mean, sure, he’s a little vain, but he does run a Crossfit program that’s gotten attention from celebrities and fitness industry experts alike, which is a pretty big deal. Plus, he’s gorgeous, objectively speaking. I should be into him. I should give him more of a chance.
I lean toward him, nudging my glass onto the bar in a subtle signal. “What about you? I’ve heard of you, but I’m not sure where you run your program out of.”
“I’m from LA.” He laughs. “I’m a pretty tiny fish in a pretty big pond out there.”
“You got a write-up in Muscle and Fitness recently, didn’t you?”
He preens again. “Yeah, I did. You saw that?”
I almost laugh at how pleased he is. “Yeah, it was a good write-up.”
He nods. “Got me quite a few new clients, including a couple low-level Hollywood people.”
“Is that your target demographic? Hollywood?”
He laughs. “I mean, yeah. Trainer to the stars has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He eyes my glass and signals for the bartender. When we both have new rounds—him a sugar-free gimlet and me more red wine—he really turns on the charm. “So, enough about work. Have you lived in Chicago long?”
I shrug. “Yeah—my whole life. I lived downtown for a few years, but the hectic pace and the noise ended up driving me batty, so I moved back out to the suburbs.” I sip, and smile at him. “What about you? LA born and raised?”
He shakes his head, carefully setting his martini glass on the bar. “Nah. I was actually born on a military base in Germany. My dad was a fighter pilot and my mom was a nurse at the base hospital. I lived there until I was…fifteen? Then my dad got transferred to Edwards for a training position, and my mom managed to pull some strings to get transferred there, too. I still speak German fluently, as a matter of fact.”
“Nice,” I say.
Way too much information, bub—that’s what I’m thinking. Why do I care about your life story? If you’re trying to pick me up, then quit dicking around and ask me if I want to go somewhere. This talk-talk-talk shit is for the birds.
He seems to expect me to reply with some kind of equally personal information, so I decide to take matters into my own hands. Prove to myself—and Imogen—that she’s wrong. I’m not hung up on anybody.
“So, I’m not really one for small talk,” I say, watching him steadily.
He takes a sip, eying me with great interest. “No?”
“No. Not really.”
His smirk turns eager. “Want to get out of here, in that case?”
“Sure.”
He lifts a hand. “Check please.”
Within a few minutes, we’re stumbling into his penthouse suite. He’s all hands and lips, pulling at my clothes, biting at my skin—
And I’m panicking.
Because goddammit, Imogen is fucking right. I can’t do this.
It’s not Franco’s mouth. It’s not Franco’s hands. The way Matty is pulling at my clothing isn’t right, and the way he bites my shoulder is wrong. He kisses up from my breastbone to my throat, to my chin, and I put two fingers to his mouth, stopping him before he can kiss me on the lips.
He frowns. “No?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s…a thing, for me.”
He shrugs. “No big deal.” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I can kiss you in other places, right?”
I swallow hard—because I’m trying to envision him on his knees in front of me, lapping at my core, and all I see is wild, loose, long blond hair and wicked blue eyes. The thought of Matty…doesn’t work.
He senses something. “Are you okay?
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Matty. I just…I think I made a mistake coming up here.”
He frowns. “Did I do something?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Then what is it?”
I shrug. “I’m just not feeling it. It’s not you, I promise.”
He lets go of me and backs away, nodding. “Okay, I understand. No hard feelings.”
“You’re sure? I didn’t mean to lead you on, or be a cocktease or anything. It’s not like me to back out like this.”
He shrugs. “We all have off days. It’s cool. I’ll walk you back to the elevator.”
I adjust my clothes and we walk back down the hallway. It’s a bit of a wait before the car arrives at the penthouse, and Matty’s gaze is more thoughtful than I’d have anticipated.
