Page 116 of Grand Love

I nod and she smirks. “One more day and you get uninterrupted Ellis time.”

Deep down I know I have to go in—I can’t and wouldn’t let Logan down. I just wish I didn’t have to leave Ellis again.

“Now will you go and make yourself look like a hot goddess! You have a five p.m. PT session tonight and we need you looking fire.”

“You do realise that by five p.m. I will be a hot sweaty mess?”

“Hot, sweaty mess sounds exactly like something Daddy would like a bite of, wouldn’t you agree, Ellis?”

I give her a look and try to cover his ears. “Don’t dirty talk about me to my son.”

“He doesn’t understand.” She waves me off, taking him back from my arms. “Do you have your old dance tights? The ones we ripped you for because we could see the crack of your ass.”

“Probably.” I frown.

“Wear those! And a sports bra, nothing else.”

“You do realise how cold it is out?”

“Yes, Grandma! And we’re trying to find you a man to keep you warm at night. You’re welcome. Now go!” She spins me around and slaps my butt, pushing me back into the hallway.

Reluctantly, I pull open my drawer and search for my tights and bra. I chuck them on my bed and disappear to the shower. I say reluctantly, but if I’m being honest, there is nothing reluctant about my need for Mason Lowell.

* * *

Mase

Henry is leantover the reception desk whispering something in Gemma’s ear when I walk through the gym doors at five past five. Neither of them see me, but I make myself known by clearing my throat as I pass.

“Do you have to lie across the furniture, Evans?” He rears his head back, a smug smile transforming his face a second later. “What’s that look?”

“Nothing.” He chuckles.

I don’t like the bastard. Never did and never will. Logan insisted on taking him on but if it was up to me, I never would’ve had him loitering around the customers.

“You have a good workout this evening, Mr Lowell.” Gemma smirks, pushing on Henry’s chest and busying herself on the computer.

Gemma rarely speaks to me which I’m sure is all down to her jerk-off boyfriend, but her comment has me frowning as I climb the steps to the main floor.

It doesn’t last long, though, because Nina fucking Anderson.

My kryptonite.

My girl.

My Pixie.

My undoing.

And undoing she does, because right now I don’t know if she is the one breaking the walls I’ve built between us or if I’m fighting my way out all on my own.

She’s on the bike wearing nowhere near enough fucking clothes. Her top is a scrap of stretchy material that I could easily rip off her with one hand. It barely covers her tits, leaving the skin exposed at her ribs.

I itch to grasp her there.

To feel her skin beneath my hands. Feel her breathe.

She moves to stand on the pedals, as if she knows I’m standing behind her. As if she knows my cock is trying to knock the motherfucking wall down all by himself.

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