Paradise in Progress

7. Chapter Seven

Chapter seven

Kennedy

“He’s the absolute worst. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to finish this project. He called me Podunk. Basically, I’m completely insignificant because I grew up in a small town,” I whine to my sister as I walk down the busy Manhattan sidewalks.

“You have two options,” my sister, Olivia, suggests from the other end of the phone.

“And what are those options, Liv?”

“You can either hike up your big girl panties and show him that being from a small town doesn’t make you less than him. Sure, we didn’t have luxury cars and designer clothes, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t as smart as him.” She pauses, and I’m waiting for what could be her other suggestion, since that one sounds like the right choice. “Or you could bang his brains out.”

“Olivia!” I practically scream, garnering looks from passersby. “I am not going to ‘ bang his brains out .’”

“Why not?” She barks out a laugh on the other end of the line. “It might do you some good. Plus, all that tension and animosity between the two of you would lead to some explosive sex. ”

“He’s the enemy, Liv. I’m not secretly pining for him.” I pull open the door to my gym, and I’m hit with the sound of clinking weights and the smell of bleach cleaners. “I’m at the gym. Talk to you later?”

“I’m not saying you’re pining for him, by the way. I’m just saying, a little romp in the sheets might not be a bad thing,” she says. “But we can discuss this later. Have a good workout class.”

She ends the call before I have a chance to argue. Staring down at the blank screen, I shake my head in disbelief. I make my way to the women’s locker room, where I quickly change into an asymmetrical navy longline sports bra and matching leggings. Strapping my shoes on my feet, I grab my water bottle before I lock my locker and head to the workout studio.

The lights are dim as I walk in, and a popular pop song plays through the speakers. Making my way down the line of cycling bikes, I find an empty one in the middle of the room. I’m not a fan of being in the front, but I also don’t enjoy being in the back. Others funnel in, and bikes are quickly occupied, leaving only a few empty. I’m in the middle of doing a few breathing exercises when a familiar tingle rolls over my spine and my senses are consumed with cedar and citrus.

Glancing to my left, I’m met with amber eyes and a familiar smirk that shows off that damn dimple. “Firecracker,” his deep voice rumbles through my body.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss. As much as I need this workout, I need to be away from Tristan more.

My phone call and cycle class were supposed to be enough to get the stunt Tristan pulled out of my mind. During our meeting, I tried like hell to avoid looking at him and letting him affect me. I kept my focus on Xander, but Tristan wouldn’t shut the fuck up. He kept interrupting my ideas and trying to shut down everything I suggested with his passive-aggressive banter. It’s like it’s in his job description to make my life a living hell. And here he is, after office hours, when it’s my time .

He turns his head, looking to his left and behind him, before turning back to me. “I thought this was a cycling studio.”

Clenching my jaw, I mentally cross my fingers that the scream threatening to explode from me stays in until I’m home and my face is buried in a pillow. I lean forward to unclip my feet from the pedals, but before I can even touch them, the music changes, and the instructor comes running in.

“What’s up, Cycle Craze?” Her loud, energetic voice comes through the speakers, and I realize that I’m too late to leave the class. Besides, Kenzie is my favorite instructor, and I really don’t want to miss out on a chance to take her class. She’s become popular over the last couple of weeks, and while I’m excited for her, it means her classes book up quicker.

With one last drink, I toss my water bottle down and focus on Kenzie. She’s chugging an iced coffee as she adjusts her headset.

“Try to keep up, Firecracker.”

Glaring at my nemesis on the bike beside me, Tristan tilts his head back and forth, cracking the muscles in his neck. Kenzie switches her music on, and a hip-hop song plays through the speakers, instantly putting me in the mood to climb these hills she’ll no doubt force us to endure in tonight’s class.

My legs are screaming at me as Kenzie encourages us to push our cadence from one hundred to one-hundred-ten while increasing our resistance by five. Sweat rolls down my face, down my cleavage and back, no doubt casting this navy workout set in a darker shade. Typically, I try to stay at the cadence and resistance the instructor calls out, but there are some days when my legs refuse to cooperate.

Today feels like one of those days, but I’ll be damned if I let Tristan Nelson outride me. Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I see that he’s just as saturated in sweat as I am. I’ll never understand how these instructors can not only ride the hell out of their bikes, but they do it while freaking talking during the whole class. Kenzie has been belting out the lyrics to the rap songs she’s selected on her playlist while dancing along. I’m barely able to breathe, and here she is, exerting even more energy. She’s seriously such a badass.

“Keep crushing it, Craze!” she encourages from the front of the room. “Ten more seconds, and we’ll start our descent.”

Thank God!

Very slowly, Kenzie calls out for us to lower the resistance as we recover.

The music changes to a slower-paced song as Kenzie reaches for her water bottle and the rest of the class follows her lead. There’s no question when I unclip from this bike that my legs are going to be Jell-O, and I’m going to have to try my hardest to stay upright. I knew coming to Cycle Craze would be the distraction I needed from Nelson’s, even though Tristan is beside me. I used his presence as motivation, but at some point during our ride, I completely forgot he was there and let my mind escape. Kenzie’s motivational stories and high energy led me on a journey and, suddenly, thoughts of designs and permits were no longer at the forefront of my mind.

“Before we end class, I want everyone up out of the saddle with their left leg in the back. Let’s stretch out those muscles we worked. Don’t forget to head out to the main room, or even the small space between bikes, and do a longer stretch. Today’s ride was tough, but we’re tougher for it.”

Following her lead, I lean forward, allowing the calf muscles down to my Achilles to stretch out. Switching sides, we all sigh in relief. “Great work today, everyone. Let’s take a deep inhale and remember stronger rides today—exhale—lead to unstoppable victories tomorrow! Have a great rest of your night!”

And with those final remarks, we follow her instructions on how to unclip our shoes and dismount our bikes.

“Nice work, Firecracker,” Tristan’s exasperated voice says. He gathers a towel, swiping it down his face. His stupid, perfect face doesn't even look like he just spent the last forty-five minutes in a cycle class.

Reaching for my water bottle, I take a long pull as the cold liquid slides down my throat. “Keep up good enough for you?”

He smirks. “Surprisingly, yeah, you did.”

With an eye roll and shake of the head, I take a step away from the bike and feel my body sway. Strong arms catch me. “You okay, Ken?”

My eyes blink rapidly as I focus on his voice. “Ye-yeah, I’m fine. Just a little light-headed.”

“Have you eaten anything recently?” His deep tone is full of concern as I shake my head, and he steers me to the side of the room. “Here, sit down for a second.”

My body feels too weak to protest, and I hate that he gets to witness my weakness, especially after how hard I worked in this class. People pass us, and I don’t miss their curious glances.

Kenzie makes her way over to where I’m sitting, and I watch as she drops down until we are at eye level. “Hey, you doing okay? ”

“Yeah,” I answer weakly. “I think I overdid it.”

“I’ll grab you a power bar. That should help get your sugar levels back up. Do you have someone who can come get you? We’d hate to have you passing out on your way home.”

“I’ll be fine–”

I’m quickly cut off by the thorn in my side. “I’ve got her.”

Huffing an exasperated sigh, I start to object, but his dark gaze slices through me. “Let me do this for you, Ken.”

“Oh my gosh, you have the sweetest boyfriend,” Kenzie coos as she stands.

“He’s not my boyf…” My words trail off as I realize that Kenzie is no longer standing beside us in her mission to find me a power bar to eat.

My face heats, and I tuck my head, refusing to look at the all-encompassing, hypnotizing eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Firecracker.”

Kenzie returns with a peanut butter and chocolate chip power bar, which I quickly scarf down. Turns out, working out when all you’ve eaten is a grilled chicken Caesar salad isn’t enough nutrients for a high-intensity cycle class. Once Kenzie is reassured that I will be fine and I do have someone to help me get home, she leaves us sitting alone in a dark, quiet room. The animosity that normally swirls around us is gone, but in its wake is something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Tristan straightens and his six-foot-three frame towers over me. Sparing him a glance, I look up at him from under my lashes and watch as his chest inflates with a deep breath. Heat glimmers in his eyes as he stares down at me. For a brief moment, my mind flashes, wondering if this is the same look he would give me if I were in front of him…on my knees…taking him in my mouth.

What?! This is Tristan. The bane of my existence.

Shaking my head, his eyes flicker back to his usual shade of hazel where his eyes look more green and gold, rather than the darkness which was staring down at me. Was he thinking the same thing I was?

He reaches for my hand, but I refuse to take it as I push up from the ground, slowly, with my water bottle and keys in my hand. “Let me grab my things, and I’ll meet you out front.”

With a terse nod, we funnel out of the room and go our separate ways. I need space and room to breathe.

A few minutes later, I'm walking out of the locker room and heading to the front when I hear his deep, throaty laugh. Turning my head, I watch as the receptionist shamelessly flirts with Tristan, and he returns the gestures. There’s that ice-cold bucket of water I needed to remind myself that he’s my rival, not my friend. And definitely not the guy I should be imagining dirty, hot, explosive sex with. I blame Olivia for putting the idea in my mind.

Deciding not to interrupt him, I push through the glass doors and start walking. To punish myself even more, I spare a glance back inside the building. The receptionist is passing a note to Tristan, no doubt with her number on it, but he’s not looking at her. No, his face is marred in a scowl as he storms away from the desk, eating up the space between the desk and the front door. Turning on my toes, I move at a brisk pace and hope to get away from him. I’m feeling much better, so I don’t need him anymore.

“Kennedy!” he calls, and the seriousness of his tone has my feet faltering. He’s behind me in seconds, grabbing my elbow in a gentle but firm grip. Spinning me around, I'm met with a flurry of emotions. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Home,” I snap, hands clutching the straps on my gym bag.

“Okay,” he draws out, eyes searching mine. “My car is over here.”

“I’m fine, Tristan. Thanks for everything back there, but I’m fine.”

His hands fly to his hair, where he pushes them through dark locks. “Why are you so impossible? Get your ass in the car and let me make sure you’re okay. For once in your life, just trust me and let me take you home.”

I thought wrong, because the light-headedness comes back with full force as I nod reluctantly. His shoulders physically relax as he turns toward his car. Quickening my pace, I fall in line beside him. He mumbles something that sounds a lot like “ you’re insufferable, woman, ” and I can’t help my small chuckle.

If I'm insufferable, he’s incorrigible.

Twenty minutes later, after giving his driver my address, the sleek black BMW parks in front of my hideous brown townhouse. The sight is ridiculous on this block. Pushing open the door, I thank Tristan’s driver before exiting the vehicle and walking up the few steps to my front porch.

“Firecracker.”

Clutching my chest, startled, I drop my keys as I turn around. “Shit, Tristan.”

“You weren’t even going to thank me?” He sounds hurt, and for some irrational reason, I hate that.

My eyes scan the street, and the unmistakable car is no longer there. “Where’s your car? ”

His feet carry him closer, and I watch on bated breath as he lowers himself to pick up my keys. “I sent him home.”

“But why aren’t you in the car?”

Is it hot out here? Why does my voice sound so breathy? What is happening right now?

“Because I’m not leaving you alone.”

Chest heaving, I reach for the keys in his outstretched hand, jumping as our fingers brush. Did I fall and hit my head?

Hoping it was a weird fluke, I glimpse and find a small smirk on his face as he stares at his feet. Turning around, I insert my key and twist it to unlock the beat-up white door. I'm met with silence when I step across the threshold. Lana must be working late tonight, which means I'm alone with Tristan in our townhouse, my emotions all out of whack, with the lingering embarrassment and memory of his gentle touch muddling my mind even more.

The door clicks closed behind me and my heart races. “Dinner will be here in about ten minutes.”

“What?”

“I ordered dinner in the car on our way here. I’m not leaving until I know you’ve eaten and you’re not going to pass out.”

“Tristan, this is ridiculous.” I roll my eyes and feel my body sway, but keep it together so he can get the hell out of here. “I’m twenty-five years old. I can take care of myself.” My hands land on my hips as my frustrations pour out.

His hands raise in defense. “I’m just making sure my competition doesn’t croak on me. What’s the fun in that?”

Clenching my hands into fists, I let out a very unattractive growl. “You drive me crazy. ”

“That makes two of us,” he mutters as his gaze wanders, taking in the townhouse.

I found this townhouse on a whim.

Built in 1899, the 1,000 square foot two-story unit was newly remodeled with affordable rent. I couldn’t pass it up and, luckily, Lana was looking for a place to live, which made the decision so much easier. While I could have afforded the rent on my own, there’s an added sense of financial security by having a roommate–and it helps that your roommate is your bestie. Living in New York is expensive. I realized that real quick in college, but it’s worth it when my dreams get to come true.

I watch in fascination as the man who has everything he could ever desire takes in my humble space. The front door opens into our kitchen with white shaker cabinets and gray granite countertops. A long, rustic farmhouse table runs the length of the cabinets where it sits atop a neutral oriental rug. The shades complement the distressed brown shade of our table and the gray hues on the counters.

The space is spotless, since my obsessive mind won’t let me go to sleep or leave for work with anything out on the counters. Past the kitchen is a tiny living space with a cream-colored sectional and a few houseplants along the edge of the room. Across from the couch is a TV mounted on the wall with a skinny cabinet underneath it. Lana’s door is a frosted glass sliding door on one of the walls in the living room.

“Nice place.” There’s an air of comfort around Tristan as he makes his way deeper into the house, as if he’s been here a million times before plopping down on our couch .

“Make yourself at home…I guess.” I gesture to the couch and watch as his large frame envelops the space. Tristan looks comical in our tiny townhouse.

Turning toward the refrigerator, I pull out a cold bottle of water and then reach for a packet of electrolytes. Hopefully, the added electrolytes will help with whatever issue caused me to get so light-headed after our workout.

Leaning against the counter, the lemon lime-flavored water slides down my throat as I stare at the man in the next room.

Is this what it’s like to have a boyfriend?

A husband?

Someone to come home to at the end of a long workday?

Growing up, I was never one of those girls that wished for Prince Charming and their happily ever after. For me, life has always been about studying for the next big exam that will allow me the opportunity to fight for my dream. I’ve always wanted to put my career first. Even now that I’m living in New York with my dream job, there’s always something else I’m striving for. The next big project or proving my worth in corporate America where so many still believe women should be at home raising their children.

And there’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. My mom left her job to stay home with us when Olivia was born. By having her home, she was able to spend more time with us to focus on our developmental needs while providing a stable and loving home. She worked hard, and anyone who thinks staying at home with children is easier has never done it. It’s a lonely and thankless job that left her exhausted while rewarded at the same time .

As much as I admired my mom, I never wanted to end up in her shoes. A tiny seed was planted in my brain at a young age, telling me I was strong, brave, and could conquer the world. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

I take a seat opposite Tristan, tucking my legs underneath me, making sure I leave as much space between us as humanly possible. No accidental touches with the enemy, I remind myself, as I bring the water bottle to my lips and savor the taste of the lemon-lime mixture.

Hearing him chuckle, my head whips in his direction, casting him a long glare. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing…just that you’re terrified to touch me. Afraid you’ll fall in love with me with only one touch?”

“As if,” I scoff, turning my attention back to the television. “You know, I could’ve just taken an Uber. Or, you know, you could leave now. I’m fine.”

“And risk you dying and me being the prime suspect? Hell no.”

“You’re right.”

His body twists in my direction as he stretches his arm across the back of the couch, fingertips nearly brushing my shoulder. I cower closer in my corner as he huffs a breath. “Right about what?”

“You’ll be prime suspect. I have a hidden folder that says if I go missing, Tristan Nelson did it.”

A booming roar of laughter explodes from him, vibrating off the walls. “You fucking would.”

“I know I would because I did.” I fold my arms across my chest, frustrated that he’s invaded my space with no sign of leaving. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the television .

The food he ordered better arrive quickly because playing domestication with him is my worst nightmare.