Chapter 6
Chelsea
“Hey, roomie. You’ve got the place to yourself tonight.”
Samantha found me in the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth.
Foamy toothpaste frothed the corners of my mouth.
My hair was in a ratty ponytail and the seven times too large sweatshirt I’d snagged from one of eight completely full boxes because I’d yet to make the time to unpack was a reminder my look was one huge mess.
And Samantha’s?
It was barely after eleven in the morning and she had glitter paint on her cheeks, the lighting in the bathroom highlighting carefully crafted stars.
After spitting, I grabbed a towel since she was lingering in the doorway, eager for me to ask why. “Where are you going?” In bell-bottomed jeans and a bright red peasant shirt with ruffles, her hair as if fresh from a beach romp, she had a gypsy vibe on the cloudy day.
Tomorrow she could be a wildly sensual model. The next day after that, a metal rocker. Meanwhile, I’d still be dressed in my favorite team’s jerseys and sweatpants. At least her hair was still purple. Tomorrow would be different.
“A bachelorette party in Portland. A girlfriend of mine found her Prince Charming. There is no way I’m driving back after tequila and male strippers.”
“Don’t they usually occur on the weekends?”
“The couple can’t wait to be married. They’re flying off to Jamaica so this is the only time I’ll get to see her. Anyway, you’ve got the condo to yourself. Maybe you can pick up a sexy male and show him around the place.”
“Very funny. I’ll be working until six. Then I need to practice.”
“That’s right. You have a performance coming up. Right?” Samantha leaned against the doorjamb, folding her arms. She was much more interested in my dance career than anyone in my family.
“A few days. No biggie.”
Every expression I’d seen on Samantha rivaled the one before. She could bear such emotion with little more than her eyes. When she pursed or twisted her lips, I could imagine she could wrap a guy around her little finger in seconds. “Isn’t dancing everything you’ve ever wanted to do?”
“Yeah, but you learn to live with disappointment.” I grabbed my eyeliner, still able to see her reflection in the mirror. I moved the tip of the pencil under one eye, realizing she was still staring at me. “What?”
“If you’re anything like what I remember, you’re amazing. You have to believe in yourself.”
At least her almost somber tone shifted into her more typical happy-go-lucky persona. She could certainly light up any dark room. I’d been told I was Debbie Downer. “It’s called living in the real world and realizing dreams might not always come true.”
“You gave yourself a year. Right?”
I’d told her very little about my plans for the future, but she had the memory of an elephant.
I’d need to be very careful what I allowed to slip around her.
“A promise made to myself.” My promise was simple.
If I wasn’t asked to audition for a major dance company or perhaps for Broadway, fat chance in hell, then I’d buckle down and find a lucrative job that would pay the bills and provide security for my future.
Or I’d be forced to face my father and his determination to find me a husband. Just another corporate merger that would add dollar signs to his already padded bank account.
She squeezed my arm. “You mean a promise made to your father. Right?” There was something practically evil about her wink.
“Are you going to shove that in my face forever?”
“Until something juicier comes along.” Her laugh filled the small space. “Why don’t you live a little tonight. Grab a drink. Sniff a hot guy.”
I almost dropped my mascara. “Sniff?”
Even the shrug of her shoulders was playful.
“You can tell everything you need to know about how insanely amazing a man will be in bed by his scent. Cedarwood and spice, a hint of citrus and even a touch of the deep, dark forest and he’ll be wild in bed, dominating exactly as all women love.
But…” She pointed her finger into the air.
“If he smells like he just stepped out of a polo match, you know his dick will barely get hard.”
How could I not break into a fit of giggles?
“How about basic body odor?” I pinched my nose and turned around to face her.
“Well,” she said with even more suggestive drama. If that was possible with her. “It’s going to depend on what he was doing. From swinging an ax, hot. From putting out a raging fire. Sizzling. From hard-bodied construction work. I’d said on fire, baby.”
“What about playing sports?”
This time her shrug was noncommittal. “Depends on the sport. Golf? Sorry, boys. Not remotely sexy. Football? Eh, maybe.”
“And hockey?” Maybe I was curious as to her take. Or maybe I’d had difficulty getting the sexy swimmer’s face or his sculpted body out of my mind. Her smile was far too salacious.
“If you’d ask my brothers, they’d tell you hockey is the hottest reason for sweat slickening their rugged bodies ever thought of. For me, it’s a great big not a chance in hell. You forget. I lived in a house with sweaty bodies, sweaty jerseys. And smelly socks.”
“Well, then maybe I’d stay safe with a pencil pusher.”
“Bor-ring. On a scale of one to ten, a three.”
“Now we’re rating hot guys?”
Her grin was infectious. “Why not? I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, chick. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Have fun!”
She slipped from view and I returned to finishing my makeup. When her face was suddenly plastered next to mine, both staring into the mirror, I jumped. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“No!” I said too quickly. “Why would you think that?”
“A hockey player?”
My eyeroll could be considered legendary. “Not a chance in hell. Go drool over a bunch of strippers.” I had two decent reasons to stay away from hockey players. I couldn’t lie that they could be sexy, but they had too many strikes against them.
Including being unable to keep their dicks in their pants.
* * *
As I walked by the huge purple clock in the main function room, I checked the time.
At least the shift at the gym was short.
I’d take an hour to myself in one of two dance studios then grab a treat for dinner.
Maybe a frozen supreme pizza along with a carton of strawberry ice cream.
Perfect. Along with binge watching something on the CW. I hadn’t done that in a while.
I really should take the time to unpack.
Maybe. Maybe not.
There was just enough time left for one last swing through the facility. My signature duffle strapped across my body, several bottles of water nestled inside, I set off. The afterwork crowd had started to arrive, eager beavers ready to grab their favorite piece of equipment.
I waved to a couple of regulars, noticing a local baseball hero had made an appearance. “Nice to see you again, Camden.”
As soon as he heard my voice, he lifted his head, lifting his arm at the same time. I’d remained several yards away on purpose, a little game we’d played since I’d started working at the gym. I grabbed a plastic bottle, pretending as if I was winding it up and letting it fly.
The hard snap was followed by several members clapping.
“Not bad,” Camden said. “You’ve been practicing.”
The applause began to die down. Except for one person. There were no mirrors in the room, only a bank of windows and the late afternoon sun, even covered by a row of blinds, created enough of a glare I couldn’t recognize who thought my pitch was worth a teaspoon of salt.
“Every girl needs a hobby.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Maybe you should try out for the team.”
“Not a chance.” Why was someone else still clapping? I spun toward the sound just as a group of guys moved past whoever had just stopped applauding.
By the time they cleared the area, the offensive clapper had already turned away, providing me with an ample view of his back nestled in a tight muscle shirt.
Tall, at least six foot four with shoulders threatening any doorway, his shaggy dark hair curled across the base of his neck.
My eyes traveled over the rest of him from every inch of his sculpted arms to his rounded butt that created a perfect curve in his gym shorts.
Even his massive thighs screamed of hours spent with leg presses.
Or maybe just good old-fashioned hard work just like Samantha had mentioned before.
Hmmm… The eye candy was surreal. I was about to turn away when the clapper stopped to talk to someone, providing me with a profile view.
Wait a minute. The swimmer? Without paying any attention to my body’s reaction, I inched closer.
Whatever the conversation, he was animated, both hands moving through the air and his entire buff body working the discussion. When I dared take another step closer, all involuntarily of course, his body stiffened and damn it, he glanced to the side and directly at me.
There was nowhere to hide.
A slight tip of his head was followed by a knowing smile, even a nod as his gaze way too slowly fell to my tennis shoes.
Shit. This could be considered encouraging him. With a tiny smile and nothing more, I slipped away and into another room, taking a deep breath as I did. He was truly a beautiful man, although my guess was he’d find being called anything so remotely feminine beneath him.
Maybe he was right, but handsome just didn’t do his rugged features justice.
On the scale Samantha had developed, the man was a solid ten. But I had no intention of sharing that information with anyone. Doing so would go against every belief. Every promise.
So nope, I wasn’t going to fall prey to my delirious fantasies no matter how high he’d surfaced on the scale.
I went about my business, taking a few minutes to talk to the incoming manager before continuing my casual stroll.
Part of my role was also to interfere with any conflicts before they started, much like a referee.
That’s why when I walked into the main weight room, I always prepared myself for whatever I’d find.