Page 10 of Blurred Lines

What was my problem? I’d never lost my mind over a man before, and thanks to Violet, I’d hung out with half of Hollywood now. Kane Sanders was objectively hot, but I hadn’t gone gaga over him, had I? Cristian Garza gave off some weird kind of pheromones that turned my brain to mush. I half wished he’d say something rude or hurtful so I could write him off as a jackass and push him out of my headspace.

But, of course, he didn’t.

No, he studied me slowly, from my head to my toes and back again. It felt as though he were peeling off my clothes with his gaze. I’d worn leggings with a loose T-shirt to cover up my bulgy bits, but now I felt naked.

“You’ve lost weight,” he said finally. “Seven pounds? Eight?”

“You can tell?”

Theo hadn’t said a word, even though he knew I’d joined a gym.

“It’s my job to tell. You’re getting stronger too.”

“You think?”

“Last week, you had thirty pounds on the bar. Today, you have thirty-two.”

“How do you know that? We haven’t spoken in a month.”

Since the day I’d found his wallet, in fact.

Cristian pointed upward to a mirrored window near the double-height ceiling. “That’s my office.”

“So you’ve been spying on me?”

“I watch everything. It’s my…”

“…job,” I finished.

“That’s right.” He took a seat on a nearby weight bench. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d come back either.”

“So why are you here?” he asked, patting the bench beside him. “Take a break.”

“I guess… I guess you gifted me a chance to change, and it was now or never.”

Against my better judgment, I sat. Cristian made my pulse race faster than the treadmill did. Not that I ran very fast right now, but one day, I hoped I’d manage a mile without dying.

“Did you get set up with your coach?” he asked.

“Yes, Kelli. She’s been great. She planned out five sessions a week for me, three with a focus on cardio and two with weights.”

“If it’s weight loss you’re looking for, then ask her to put together a meal plan as well. Kelli’s also a certified nutritionist.” I’d set my phone on the end of the bench, and Cristian glanced down when it buzzed. “Mushrooms are a good start. They’re packed full of protein, fibre, and antioxidants.”

“I don’t actually like mushrooms.”

“Really? Then who just sent you a picture of one with the caption ‘Are you hungry?’ and a heart-eyes emoji?”

The first thing that fell out of my mouth was “Do you always read people’s private messages?” And the second, as my mind caught up with his words? “Oh, hell.”

I scrambled for my phone, one hand landing on Cristian’s well-muscled thigh in the process. Dammit, this wasn’t a message via social media. Somehow, Mario had gotten my freaking phone number, and now pictures of his anatomy had invaded my text messages, my last bastion of digital safety.

“It just came up in the notifications. What’s the problem? Do you have a fungus phobia?”

“You mean mycophobia. And no, it’s not a mushroom.”

Now he peered across for a better look. I, on the other hand, had already seen quite enough close-ups of Mario’s dwarf puffball.

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