Chapter Twenty-Three
Joslyn
It’s Friday night, and I’ve been reviewing the budget for hours.
I’m at the point where all the numbers are fuzzy smudges.
I close my tired eyes and look around for a distraction.
It’s almost nine, far past the end of the work day.
Time to call it a night, even though going home is the last thing I feel like doing.
I’m so restless and edgy. And horny. Incredibly horny.
Which is new for me, so I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.
My wandering eyes catch a glimpse of my pale pink gym bag.
I didn’t get a chance to work out at lunch today.
That’s what I need—a good, hard workout.
I save my files and shut down my laptop.
I’ll come back for that and my briefcase later.
For now, exercise is the perfect distraction.
Abby’s with Lily tonight since I knew I’d be working late, so I have plenty of time to get in a nice long run.
The gym is empty when I arrive, and the lights are off. I let out a blissful sigh, thrilled to have the whole room to myself. My mood lifts as I head toward the locker room to change.
I’m in love with the new women’s locker room.
It was one of Jacob’s first improvements once we’d gained control.
He’s a thoughtful guy and knows I like to work out during the day.
He’s also heard me mention a time or two how shocked I was that we didn’t already have one. The Robertson brothers strike again.
We have quite a number of female employees, yet they haven’t been allowed to use the facilities or have a designated area to change and shower. In contrast, the men have had access to the player facilities.
When Jacob had it built, I designed and decorated it with all the bells and whistles the men’s locker room possesses, with a few additional feminine touches of my own.
It’s kitted out with a fully loaded sauna, large lockers, separate changing rooms, high-end toiletries, fresh, fluffy white towels, and built-in hair dryers.
It’s an oasis, exactly like I envisioned it.
Free pads and tampons, anyone? Take that, Kurt, you asshole. I win.
I change quickly, eager to start my workout.
I love cardio. I struggle with strength training, so only self-discipline keeps me consistent, but I’m all about the cardio.
Treadmill, elliptical, stationary bike—it doesn’t matter.
I’m addicted to that cardio high, and I know it.
It’s my go-to for stress relief and the only control I’ve had in a life where I often felt powerless to control anything.
I’m not sure I would have survived my marriage without it.
Yes! This is what I need, definitely not sex. Nope, there’s no need for sex when I can run off all this energy. I’ve lived just fine without it for years and certainly don’t need it now.
I’m such a liar.
We’re currently replacing most of the equipment.
However, a few items, including a couple of treadmills, an elliptical, and some free weights, are still available for the current staff, which is primarily comprised of administrative personnel.
The entire gym is being renovated before the season starts, and it’s long overdue.
I head towards the treadmill while I choose a playlist and connect to the gym speakers. Exercise is always better with music.
As I begin my usual warm-up pace, my muscles loosen and relax, and my muscle memory takes over. My mood ramps up automatically with the opening riff from Disturbed’s “The Vengeful One.”
My guilty pleasure is heavy rock bands. I’m a die-hard Disturbed fan.
I love how music can make you feel seen even when you’re alone and scared.
I’ve gotten through some of the most challenging times of my life with the help of music.
When you’re so full of anger and sorrow that you feel like you might explode if it doesn’t come out, but you literally are unable to express it, sometimes music is the only way.
I get it, though, I don’t seem very much like a heavy rock kind of person.
It seems so different from the perfectly coiffed and groomed part of me that everyone sees, or rather, that I let them see.
There’s a whole other side to me that is just beginning to see the light of day.
The real me is as angsty as an Evanescence song and twice as emotional. However, that has never been safe in my world, so I don’t show it. Not when my husband was alive or now as the owner of an NHL team. Even when I wish I could.
I love how an angsty song can hit you in the feels. Those are the kind of songs that get you immersed in the music. It’s so freeing because with headphones, it’s so private. It can all be going on in your head, yet no one but you can hear it.
My music soothes that hidden part of me—the part that yearns.
The part that craves more than just “okay” and “fine.” The part of me that Kurt never saw.
My refuge, my hiding place, where no matter how much he hurt or humiliated me, I never let him touch it.
I shiver slightly from all the toxic memories.
Don’t go there. That’s the past, and it’s over. He’s dead, and he can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now.
I increase my speed until I’m running flat out as the song changes again.
Lizzy Hale’s voice fills the gym with the soulful sound of “I Miss the Misery.” I press the volume up on my phone without slowing my pace.
I let the music drown out all the noise in my head and run.
I run like I can outpace all these terrifying new feelings for Damon, my insecurities about this job, and my fear of failure.
I run until I can’t feel anything but the endorphins kicking in.
I run until the high lets me leave everything behind and simply exist.
Disturbed’s version of “Sound of Silence” brings me back to reality, and I glance down at my smartwatch, which is tracking my progress on my running app.
I’ve run for forty-five minutes, so I slow my pace and start my cool-down.
I designed my playlist specifically to match the rhythm of my run for a reason, so that I can get lost in my run. It’s incredibly cathartic.
Fitness apps are fantastic. They help me keep track of everything: my exercise, what I eat, and my step count.
Give me an app with that little checklist of accomplishments, and I’m all over it.
That dopamine hit of satisfaction that comes from checking something off your to-do list is one of my favorite motivators.
My breathing evens out as I slow to a walk.
By the time the first strains of Teddy Swims “Lose Control” pulse through the speakers, I’m through my cool down.
I love this song, so I just stand on the sides of the equipment and listen for a few minutes as the soulful rhythm slithers along my skin.
It throbs through my body as it reignites my libido with a vengeance.
Aaaannnd I’m thinking about Damon again. Damn it!
About that kiss, my hands on him, and his hands on me. What would it feel like to have his tongue follow his hands? My clit throbs, and I’m suddenly damp between my legs, aching for him in a way I never knew was possible. My body’s as tight as a bowstring, singing with need.
I stretch to dispel the tension, but the sensual movement just increases the ache.
The treadmill stops, but I don’t even notice.
It doesn’t matter. I’m lost in the sultry beat of the music.
Closing my eyes, I run my hands down over my chest, lingering on my breasts, fingers running lightly over my hard nipples, losing myself to my imagination and wishing it was his touch.