6. Ashton
Chapter 6
Ashton
When I waited for Kendall outside the gym, I was confident I’d be able to coax her to go on a date with me, but I had no idea I’d have such a great time on said date.
Or that I’d be this fucking turned on.
No. Scratch that. The latter doesn’t surprise me, not after that workout.
“You mentioned college,” she says. “What did you major in?”
Fuck. This isn’t my favorite topic. “My undergraduate degree is in economics.”
No. Wait. Why did I say “undergraduate?” Obviously, she’ll?—
“You went to grad school as well?”
She sounds impressed, and I only have myself to blame.
“Business school,” I admit reluctantly. “But I’m taking a break from it.”
“Taking a break” sounds better than “dropped out of my MBA program,” right?
She cocks her head. “When are you going back to it?”
My smile is forced. “You sound like my parents,” I say, trying to keep it light.
I should’ve guessed she’d be one of those women who think being a personal trainer is not a real job.
Even in the gym uniform, she looked like a million bucks. Dressed in street clothes, she’s the epitome of high fashion, one of those effortlessly stylish women you encounter in the Hamptons or on the Upper West Side. Or in my parents’ circle—but that’s not an association I want to have with her.
Either way, she probably dates investment bankers, doctors, and lawyers, not gym trainers like myself.
Kendall must pick up on some tension because she winces and says, “Sorry, didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.”
I shrug and take a deep breath, ready to change the subject. “What about you? What was your major?”
I don’t bother asking if she’s gone to college. Everything about her screams it.
“Fashion design,” she says. “And I just applied for an MFA program in the same thing.”
“You want to be a fashion designer?”
She certainly dresses the part.
Her eyes glint excitedly. “I do. Fashion can be so transformative, don’t you think?”
I don’t, but… “Fitness can be similarly transformative. People think it’s all about the body, but so much of it is really about the mind and self-confidence.”
She all but bounces in her seat. “Exactly!”
I want to kiss her, badly. It’s an urge that’s been growing since the moment she landed in my arms, and I can no longer resist. Calling forth every ounce of my charm, I lean forward and pitch my voice low. “What are you doing after this?”
Her eyes widen, and a pretty blush creeps up her smooth cheeks. “I was… I—” She fumbles for her cup just as her bag drops off her chair.
She whips around, presumably to catch it, only to knock into a passing waiter carrying a tray with soup. I spring into action, reaching across the table to pull her out of harm’s way, but this time, I’m not fast enough.
The bowl tips over and directly onto her chest, covering her whole outfit in creamy liquid.
Fuck! “Are you hurt? Was that hot?” I demand.
She looks at me, her eyes wild. “No. It’s cold.”
Whew. “Thank God they forgot to warm it.”
“No one forgot anything,” the waiter says defensively. “It’s vichyssoise. It’s supposed to be served chilled.”
I glare at him. “Are you sure you should be talking?”
“You’re right,” the guy says meekly. “I’m so sorry. Needless to say, your meal is on us.”
Turning away before I give in to the temptation to smack him, I grab our table napkins and dab at the mess, at least until I realize that I’m much too close to Kendall’s perfect breasts, especially for a public place.
“Here.” I hand her the napkins. “Use these.”
She takes them with a sigh, only to toss them onto the table after a few seconds of fruitless dabbing. “It’s like cleaning a football field with a Q-Tip.”
She’s got a point. The thick soup covers her so thoroughly she’d need to run through a carwash to get clean.
“How about we swing by my place?” I suggest. “It’s across the street. You can borrow something of mine to get home.” And the fact that she’ll have to give the clothes back is an excuse for us to meet again.
She narrows her eyes. “Earlier, you said you had to take the subway to get home.”
Busted… but wait. “I never said I was headed home. Just to the subway. I could’ve been going to the Met or MoMA.”
“Both are already closed,” she says. “Try a better lie.”
“A stroll in Central Park? A Broadway show?”
“Why do all those things sound like dates?” She stands up, and globs of viscous white liquid drip onto the floor.
I grin ruefully. “Maybe because I was brainstorming where to take you the next time?”
She gestures at the mess. “I look like I’ve been on a bukkake porn film set, yet you still want there to be a next time?”
Fuck me. I didn’t make the connection before, but it does look like she’s covered in cum… which naturally makes me want to cover her in mine.
With effort, I wrench my mind away from those images. “So… do you want to change?”
She nods. “Lead the way.”
Though our meal is supposed to be comped, I throw some cash on the table on the way out.
As we cross the street and enter the elevator in my building, I tell her stories about the silly excuses I’ve heard from clients for why they don’t want to work out, like “I’m going to the bar tonight, so I won’t make our one p.m. appointment tomorrow,” or “My dog had an upset stomach, and I ended up walking her so much that I don’t need any more exercise.”
“Is that what I’m going to be?” she asks as we approach the door to my apartment. “A story about how a client fell off the treadmill and got covered in soup?”
“No.” Hopefully, this will be the “how I met you mother” story that I tell our kids.
Wait, what? Kids? Where did that insane thought come from?
Minutes ago, I was contemplating a one-night stand... and now, reproduction?
One way or another, I need to get this woman out of my head before I do something stupid. If my short and disastrous relationship with Gwyneth taught me anything, it’s that I’m not ready for a serious commitment. Not anytime soon.
Shit. Now that I’ve thought of Gwyneth, I realize that Kendall reminds me a bit of her—at least insofar as she is also the type of woman my parents would love and therefore push me toward.
“Jeesh, that was just a joke,” Kendall says. “You don’t need to get all serious.”
Fuck. “Sorry. You just made me realize that I should have something like trainer-client confidentiality, like shrinks do.”
I unlock the door to the sound of happy barking and grin as Ems looks up at me with his intelligent eyes, wags his tail for all he’s worth, and gives me a doggy grin.
“How are you doing, bud?” I ask.
He wags his tail harder.
“You’ve been knighted,” I tell him. “Henceforth, you’re Sir Ems. You may rise.”
He cocks his head in confusion, but Kendall laughs, which is when Sir Ems becomes aware of her for the first time and showers her feet with as much attention as he usually pays to the butt of the neighbor’s Chihuahua.
“He likes you,” I say.
“He just wants to lick the soup off of me,” she counters.
Huh. “You might be right.” I look down into my dog’s soulful eyes. “Are you hungry?”
Dumb question. Hearing the code word, Sir Ems waddles excitedly to the kitchen.
I sigh. “Can I feed him quickly and then give you the clothes?”
She nods.
We head to the kitchen together. As soon as we enter, she grins and says, “That’s adorable.”
I follow her gaze.
Sir Ems is doing his usual shtick—lying flat on his belly, his short legs stretched out behind him. “That’s called a corgi sploot.”
“Well, feed him. Quick. He looks like he’s starving.”
“Yeah, right. I fed him before I left.”
I open a can of wet food and spoon it into a metal bowl. As Sir Ems attacks it, I lead Kendall to the closet.
“Take whatever you want. You can shower and change in there.” I gesture at the bathroom.
She dubiously eyes the closet and then the bathroom.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “While you do that, I’ll take the dog for a walk.”
Is that relief on her face? It seems a little like disappointment.
“I’ll ring the doorbell when we’re done,” I continue.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Don’t mention it.” I head over to the kitchen, where Sir Ems is already done and looking at me with an expression that says he could go for seconds. And thirds.
“How about we take a walk?” I offer.
This keyword makes him almost as happy as the promise of food. He trots over to the shoe rack, grabs his leash, and drags it over to me, his tail wagging approaching the speed of a helicopter blade.
“All right,” I say. “We’ll be back soon.”
I close the door and do my best not to picture Kendall stripping by my closet.
Or naked in my shower.
Or—
Fuck me.
This is going to be one very uncomfortable walk.