Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Nicholas
This is ridiculous, even for me.
I rub a hand over my face, adjusting my sunglasses as if they’re somehow going to hide the fact that I’ve been parked here like a total creep for what, an hour?
With my shades on, hiding in plain sight in my Porsche down the street from Fitness First like some lovesick fool, I already went inside once and strolled through the gym, pretending to scope out the equipment while searching for her. It was pointless. She wasn’t there. But instead of leaving, I circled back, waiting in my car.
For what, exactly? A glimpse of her? A chance to strike up a conversation that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot?
Pathetic.
Part of me knows I should go back to the hotel, back to the monotony of my life. But something stops me from leaving this parking lot.
The memory of her keeps me here.
It’s not just the way she looked, although, God, she’s beautiful. It’s the way she didn’t try to butter me up or play me. She didn’t look at me like everyone else with that calculated glint in their eyes, already weighing how much of me they can take before I notice. Instead, she looked at me like I was just… me . Not Nicholas Harrington. Not the heir to the Harrington empire. Just Nico.
I’ve never craved anything more.
She left an impression, and I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.
People think they know who I am before they even speak to me, or at least they assume what I’m supposed to be— the Nicholas Harrington, the good son, perfectly groomed to uphold the family legacy.
I think I just puked a little in my mouth.
My mother doesn’t just want me involved in the business, the lifestyle—she demands it. She never cared that business school wasn’t my thing. I couldn’t keep up and didn’t want to. But she pulled her strings to make sure I passed, covering for my ineptitude. And the worst part? She knows I’m no business prodigy, no shark in the making. She knows and reminds me every chance she gets.
She practically laughed in my face the one time I told her what I actually wanted to do with my life. She called it a waste of good blood .
And maybe she’s right. Maybe the only thing I’m meant to be is some placeholder in her empire, disappointing her quietly and dutifully for the rest of my life. Still, I imagine it sometimes. I dream about running a shop similar to the one I’ve parked in front of, with sunflowers and bundles of lilacs filling the windows. It’s small, nothing special, really. The people inside look calm, at peace, as if they’re doing what they actually want to be doing. No obligations, no gilded bars.
The gym door swings open, and my pulse ticks up, but it’s not her. Some guy in a hoodie steps out, and I exhale slowly, gripping the steering wheel. I’m acting like an idiot. She’s probably forgotten about me, written me off as just another rich asshole.
It’s then I realize my newfound fascination is because she’s nothing like the people I usually meet. People who smile too wide and speak too carefully, always angling for something—money, power, access. People like me, who’ve spent their lives wrapped in gold chains, doing what’s expected because stepping out of line means losing everything.
She didn’t have any of that. No pretenses, no hidden agenda. Just sass, sharp wit, and a spark of something I can’t name but don’t want to stop chasing.
In this city, everything’s a facade. Every handshake, every smile, every so-called friendly glance is tainted with an ulterior motive. Even the people closest to me, hell, especially them, are just as fake as the bright lights plastered over the Strip.
But her… I don’t know. It’s as though she’s immune to the pull of it all. Something is real behind her eyes and the sass, some spark that pulls me in without even trying.
A sedan with an Uber decal on the windshield pulls up, and the girl I’ve been obsessing over since she left my sight steps out, looking effortlessly stunning, even in workout gear, which shouldn’t be allowed to look that good. There’s something about the way she moves, those green eyes and the long, dark hair framing a face so beautiful she almost feels unreal. Angelic . She’s something out of a dream, and damn if a simple glimpse of her doesn’t make my heart race a little faster.
But an Uber? That doesn’t sit right. I know for a fact that Koen has at least six cars in his garage. Why would that dickhead let her get an Uber to get around?
The thought irritates me more than it should. I have no reason to care, no claim to her, but dammit, I do. She’s already lodged herself in my brain, and there’s no shaking her loose.
Even thinking Koen’s name has my teeth grinding together and that usual pang of irritation and hurt twisting in my chest.
My only real friend. Or he was, until he flipped like all the others, becoming another name on the list of people I thought I could trust.
And he’s apparently her family.
Shit.
I shove the disappointment down deep where it belongs, the same with him. I shouldn’t care. But hell, some things get under the skin and stay there for years, whether I want them to or not.
I grab my gym bag, tossing my sunglasses onto the passenger seat before stepping out of the car. My heart pounds as I walk toward the building, more nervous than I’ve been in years. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. However, the way she made me feel like I wasn’t drowning for the first time in forever is worth risking a little humiliation.
Taking my time, I stop to pay for a workout, ignoring the confused look of the receptionist who saw me come in the first time, and head into the changing rooms. Since I didn’t make it to this point when I came in earlier, I quickly change, my pulse ticking faster than I’d care to admit as I return to the workout area.
Spotting Rosie in the weight section, headphones on, focused entirely on the weights in front of her, I almost hesitate. She appears so at ease and in her element. What if I ruin this for her? What if she comes here to have some fucking peace and quiet, and I’m here to talk her up like a creep?
Then she glances up, catching sight of me out of the corner of her eye, and everything else falls away. Her smile lights up the room, and just like that, the world feels a little less heavy.
“Hey,” she greets, pulling her headphones around her neck.
I clear my throat, scrambling for something to say, and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, “Would you rather have to wear wet socks for a year or have everything you eat taste like protein powder forever?”
Her laugh is quiet but genuine, and the sound goes straight to my chest, like a spark catching kindling. “Who says I’m not into protein powder?” she counters teasingly, and there’s a spark in her green eyes that makes it hard to remember why I felt so ridiculous sitting in my car like a stalker. “You work out here too?”
“From time to time,” I lie smoothly.
“Right.” Her gaze flicks over me, assessing me like she’s trying to decide if I’m full of shit. “Let me guess, your gym just happens to be full today?”
Fuck. Busted. “I just like to go here when the hotel gym’s overrun with tourists. Only I’ve never seen you here.”
“I’m usually here in the mornings.” She adjusts her grip on the weights, focusing on her hands.
“Why don’t you train at the gym in the mansion?”
She glances back up at me with a bit of surprise, as if she didn’t expect me to know there’s one. But that fucking mansion was my second home once. “I’m not living with them.”
That’s… strange.
“Why not?”
“Mostly because I’m independent,” she says with a smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “And I don’t want to be stuck in that big-ass house.” She hesitates for a moment, then adds, “And, well… Sylus.”
“Sylus?” I don’t know him, but I know he integrated with the Lanes after my time. I always assumed he was as full of himself as them.
“Yep.” She says it as if it’s obvious.
“Is he bothering you?” My words come out sharper than I intended, and she picks up on it, raising an amused eyebrow at me.
“I can handle him, don’t worry.” Her tone is light, but there’s definitely something about her that makes me think she can handle herself.
Like she has to.
Why do you have to, Rosie?
I nod, even as jealousy prickles under my skin. She’s got guys swarming around her, no doubt about it. And here I am, another one of them, trying to get her attention.
Trying to shake off the thought, I steer us back to something less vulnerable. “So… how was the rest of the party? I didn’t see you after they called you back.”
She rolls her eyes. “The twins decided they wanted to go to Celeste. I told them ditching their own party was rude as hell, but…” She shrugs, giving me a look that says it all. “They’re self-absorbed assholes.”
My hands ball into fists. That’s what I thought. They up and vanished. I’d thought about bailing, too, but stayed, hoping she’d turn up again. But nope, she was gone, too, and every minute after was torture. I don’t know why it bothered me so damn much. Without her, the room felt emptier than it had a right to be with that many people in it.
Every instinct I’ve honed over years of navigating shallow, transactional relationships screams at me to back off, to protect myself. But there’s this other part of me, a quieter, more desperate part, that doesn’t want to let go and wants to believe she’s as real as she seems.
Because if she’s real, maybe I can be too .
“On that, we can agree.” I smile, crossing my arms. “They’re… a lot.”
“A lot ?” Her lips quirk upward. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”
“Hey, I’m trying to be diplomatic here,” I joke, chasing that rush of excitement I get from talking with her as I move behind her. “Do you need a spotter?”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “Actually, yeah. I’ve been wanting to add more weight, but every time I picture it, I see myself… crumbling.”
“I’ve got you,” I assure her, doing my best to sound steady as I step into position. She sets up her first squat, and everything stays focused on the assignment except my eyes.
They have a mind of their own.
Jesus. That ass.
I quickly snap my gaze up in time to catch her smiling at me in the mirror, and my mouth goes dry.
Yep, I’ve been caught.
“I… uh…” I stammer, feeling heat crawl up my neck. “Just, you know, making sure your form’s good.”
She chuckles. A low, knowing sound. “Sure you are.”
Idiot, I scold myself, scrambling for some dignity as she struggles through her set. “Might be easier if you adjust your stance a bit,” I suggest, half-expecting her to brush me off. “I can help… if you’re up for it.”
It comes out awkward, and I instantly remember Sylus telling her he’d show her the ropes, which had earned him an eye roll. And here I am, practically doing the same thing. Idiot, indeed.
Only she doesn’t roll her eyes as she lifts the weights to secure the bar. I automatically move to help as she replies, “I’d love some help if you actually know what you’re doing.”
“Weightlifting and parkour are my only real talents,” I share, feeling the blush fade a little as I find my footing again.
“Parkour?” Her eyes go wide, interested. “Like, the rooftop-jumping, wall-scaling kind of parkour?”
“Not exactly the movie version,” I explain, chuckling as I rub the back of my neck. “But close. It’s more about moving through obstacles with control, but yeah, sometimes rooftops are involved.”
She crosses her arms as she leans back against the rack, giving me a once-over that goes straight to my core. “I always thought that was something people did in movies.”
I huff a laugh. “I’m not half as cool as you’re making me sound.”
“Oh, if anything, it makes you less cool.” She smirks, giving me a playful look. “Wasn’t parkour in trend, what, ten years ago?”
Her words hit a little harder than I expect, and the old sting of my high school days when my quirks made me a target surfaces. I push it down, raising an eyebrow to match her teasing. “Is that so?”
She tilts her head, studying me a moment longer, then her expression softens, the teasing slipping into something more genuine. “Yeah, but honestly? I’m done with cool. I’d rather be uncool with you.”
Her words settle over me, unexpected and warm, and the corner of my mouth curves up. I shift a little closer, the air around us suddenly charged. She looks up, catching my gaze, and I hold it for a beat longer than is casual, feeling my pulse quicken.
I don’t know how she does it—finds exactly the right words and gets behind the armor I’ve spent years building up. But as I watch her grin, a spark of warmth spreading through me, I know I don’t mind at all.
When she turns back and resumes her squats, I watch her form, stepping in to guide her stance when necessary. She starts to flag, the bar slowing an inch too soon, so I lean in and encourage her, “Keep going. You’re stronger than you think.”
She glances up, her eyes sparking with amusement. “You know, you sound like you’re about to start a motivational fitness channel.”
“Only if you’re my first subscriber.” I relax marginally, glad that the earlier awkwardness has faded.
She lets out a laugh, followed by a few deep, slightly labored breaths. “All right, Mr. Parkour. Tell me… why weights? Isn’t all that jumping and climbing around enough of a workout?”
I rest a hand under the barbell for support, giving her a breather. “Strength training helps with control,” I explain. “When you’re in midair, your muscles need to know what to do. One wrong move, and…” I snap my fingers, mimicking a fall. “It’s like everything’s connected. Balance, strength, finesse… it all has to be there.”
“Finesse, huh?” She smiles, clearly amused. “You make parkour sound like an art form.”
“It is,” I reply simply. Our eyes meet, and I feel the pull of honesty. “It teaches you things. How to trust yourself or push limits without crossing them. There’s more to it than looking cool on rooftops.”
She nods slowly, something in my words seeming to strike a chord with her, but then she shakes her head, and it’s gone. “All right, I’m so done.”
I laugh, stepping in to help her guide the barbell back onto the rack. She turns to me, still breathing a bit heavily, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. The faintest hint of jellybeans and sweat hits me, and it’s a strangely intoxicating mix.
“I think you’re turning me into a parkour convert. ”
“First lesson’s free.” I hand her the towel she’d hung on the rack earlier. “After that, you owe me a coffee.”
She takes the towel, dabbing her neck. Her delicate, beautiful neck. “Oh, I see how it is. You lure me into your workout routine, then hit me up for a caffeine payment.”
“Not just any coffee,” I correct. “Best spot in the city.”
She squints at me. “You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?”
Not at all.
What the fuck am I even doing?
“Maybe.” I shrug as if my heart isn’t racing. “Or maybe I like the idea of coffee with you. Either way, you’re the one with the bill. Don’t tell me the magic twin s don’t pay you well.”
She grins. “All right.”
Fuck yes!
Cool, Nico, keep it cool.
“I, uh… I train kids in parkour,” I start, clearing my throat a bit too late to be natural. “Every Wednesday afternoon at two at Sunset Park.”
She blinks, looking genuinely surprised. “You do?”
“Yeah.” I run a hand over the back of my neck, looking down at my sneakers.
Koen and I used to go to parkour classes as teens. Then, things changed, and I stopped going. Years later, when I couldn’t shake the itch for it, I found out they’d stopped offering the classes. So, I started teaching them myself. It started with a couple of kids at first, but now there’s a whole little crew.
And it’s the one thing that keeps me tethered to reality, something even my mother has no clue about. I keep it separate. Pure.
Private.
And yet here I am, inviting her to it .
“Give me your number?” she says, that shy smile again slipping onto her face. “Just in case I get lost finding the place.”
Damn, that smile.
“Of course,” I say, fumbling for my phone, trying not to look as ridiculously pleased as I feel. We exchange numbers, and as I type her name into my contacts, there’s a flutter in my chest. Something feels right about this, even if I don’t entirely understand it yet.
After she saves my number, I watch her slip her phone back into her bag, the thrill of it all still buzzing in my veins.
“See you Wednesday,” she whispers and heads off toward the treadmills, presumably to finish her workout.
Like an idiot, I watch her for a moment longer, but then I force myself to look away, grabbing my water bottle and taking a long drink.
What am I doing?
The question repeats over and over just as it did during our entire encounter. I’ve never lingered around anyone like this or cared if someone noticed me or not.
But Rosie is genuine in a way that makes me want to keep peeling back her layers, figuring out what makes her laugh or why she doesn’t play by the same rules as everyone else in this city.
Maybe that’s what I’m chasing. Something that isn’t for sale dressed up in expectations or tainted with ulterior motives.
Maybe, for once, it’s something, someone just for me.