Page 44 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Romeo stood frozen in place. My display of affection had certainly affected him. He finally cleared his throat and discreetly adjusted himself. There was no hiding the evidence of his attraction to me. I wanted to kiss the inventor of grey sweatpants.

“Why don’t we try the treadmill again,” he suggested, helping me back onto the frame and inserting the safety key into the machine. This time when I stepped onto the conveyor belt, I was prepared for the motion, and I quickly found my stride. Romeo smiled and nodded his praise. “Good. You’re a natural.”

“I should hope so,” I shot back as he started jogging on the treadmill next to me. “I’ve been walking since I was one.”

He huffed out a laugh without missing a beat of his run. I increased the speed on my treadmill until I was jogging, not wanting to look bad next to him. TV screens hung suspended from the ceiling, most tuned to sports channels. I couldn’t help but watch Romeo instead—the way his muscles all moved in tandem as he ran.

At first, it didn’t even look like he’d break a sweat while I struggled to catch my breath as sweat trickled between my breasts. I might look good, but I couldn’t be considered in shape so much as nicely shaped. I grinned when sweat finally beaded on his brow. He was human, after all.

I didn’t know how long we jogged, but I slowed my treadmill long before Romeo. When he slowed to a walk, I sighed, then let out a low moan of relief when he finally turned the machine off. I shut mine off and unclipped the safety key, nearly stumbling as I dismounted. Running would never be something I found fun.

Romeo chugged a water bottle and mopped his face and neck with a towel before looking at me. “How do you feel?”

“Like my legs are going to fall off,” I panted, leaning over and bracing my hands on my thighs. I could hardly catch my breath.

“Where is your water?” he asked.

“Didn’t bring one,” I gasped. What did a heart attack feel like? My pulse pounded in my head. Could I be having a stroke?

“Always bring water to the gym.”

I glared at him through my blurry vision. “Not. Helpful.”

“Fuck,” Romeo swore, wrapping his arm around me and holding me up. “Riona, don’t pass out on me.”

Stars swam in my vision as he practically dragged me across the floor and through a door. “I’m fine.”

He chuckled ruefully and pulled me through another door into what must have been his office. “You’re not fine. You’re dehydrated. Tell me what you had for breakfast.”

“Coffee.” My voice sounded far away.

“Riona!” Romeo snapped my name. I opened my eyes, focusing on his furrowed brows as he lowered me onto a leather couch. My sweaty arms stuck to the back, and he repositioned me gently. “Coffee is not breakfast. What did you eat?”

I closed my eyes again as he laid my head on a pillow. “No food. Just coffee.”

He sighed and walked away, then returned and lifted my head, pressing something to my lips. “Here. Drink.”

I looked down at the water bottle and drank greedily, the cool liquid easing the burn from my workout. He pulled the bottle away when I’d finished half. “Thanks.”

“My reputation can’t handle the bad press of a woman dying from dehydration in my office,” he said sarcastically, touching the back of his hand to my cheek and forehead.

My laugh came out as a strangled croak. “I promise not to die.”

“Good.” Romeo left me for a moment and drank another water before looking through the gym bag next to the desk. He pulled out something in a foil wrapper and knelt beside the couch, unwrapping it and placing it in my hand. “Eat this. Then you can have an electrolyte drink.”

“Thanks, Nurse Neretti,” I joked, taking a bite of the energy bar. It was a chalky imitation of chocolate chip cookie dough, and I swear it stuck to my esophagus as I tried to swallow it. I struggled to sit up so I wouldn’t choke and break my promise.

Romeo held out another open drink, and I chugged it until I didn’t feel like the food was strangling me internally. He searched my face. “You good now?”

“I was fine before,” I insisted uselessly. I don’t know why I needed to save face when I’d already been semi-conscious in his arms.

His look was stern, a contrast to his usual demeanor. “No, you weren’t. Don’t do that to me again.”

“Fear not,” I said dramatically. “It won’t happen again because I’m never working out again.”

“You hardly did a workout,” he mumbled, standing and taking the empty wrapper, then tossing it in the trash nearby. “That was my warmup for the day.”

“Showoff.”

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