Chapter 2
TWO
PIP
I love my work friends, I do, but when the full moon crazy hits and the squeals are on the up, I ninja the fuck out. I’m so not a woo girl!
I prefer functionality to mere sickly existence after a big night out. This is why most of my friends would now be home nursing hangovers while I’m heading out the door to jog to the gym.
I’m not sure what social category I fit into.
I’m a bit of an awkward turtle and not a massive party person.
The one time I was caught singing to myself while prepping a CT room has now been hailed as a party trick to drag out of me by my colleagues.
I seldom do it; large scenes of people—and the attention—just aren’t for me.
Buzzing in the gym door, I’m pleasantly surprised to find the gym empty. Usually, my friend Viv would be here, but I’m convinced she’s recently found a horizontal version of cardio elsewhere.
I’m in my own world, listening to music in my headset and panting out tunes while doing a circuit when movement catches me off guard in my periphery. I startle and rip my headset off, clasping at my chest.
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is deep and smooth, with an edge of amusement.
Him. My devastatingly attractive savior from last night. Something about his tone unsettles me. Like it belongs in a darker room, whispered against naked skin. He owns his menace like a badge of honor. My stomach coils tight. I’m a moth, and he’s the flame.
“It’s okay,” I manage, throat dry. “I thought I was alone here.”
He tilts his head, watching me too closely. “You’re not.”
I feel my cheeks burn with the flush I try to contain as I bite my bottom lip with an awkward smile. My gaze follows the interwoven lacing of veins traveling down his arms to his hands. I cock my head, noticing the freshly cracked, bruised, and inflamed knuckles now gripping the weights.
“Rough night?” I ask, nodding toward his hands.
He follows my eyeline. “It’s nothing.”
I purse my lips but don’t push the subject.
Instead, I acquiesce myself to the far end of the gym to continue my circuit, sweat in peace, and ogle unabashedly from afar.
He’s a little over six feet tall, with sculpted muscles weaving, cording, and curving across the entirety of his tanned body.
Beginning at his Achilles tendon, they map a rugged terrain all the way up to the trapezius muscles of his neck.
His back is broad across the shoulders, tampering at his waist, and an intricate sleeve tattoo adorns his left arm.
Jesus, was this guy a Roman gladiator in a previous life?
If that wasn’t enough to put us mere mortals to shame, his chocolate-brown hair is clipped short and effortlessly finger-combed back to perfection. His five o'clock shadow frames his plump lips, casting a perfect shade across his chiseled jawline.
What struck me the most last night was the intensity of his green-hazel eyes. His spicy cedar scent burned that image into my head for all eternity.
As I’m finishing my last rep of back squats, he casually walks behind me. I briefly feel his chest press into my back as he takes the weight, grabbing the bar from my hands.
“Thank you,” is all I manage to get out.
He says nothing. His gaze rakes over my body, making me feel naked in front of him. Every sweep of his eyes feels like a caress on my skin. Then… that gorgeous man licks his lips and smiles, sending a shiver down my body.
Damn this shameless man.
We’ve had a few more awkward run-ins in the gym. I do my best to keep my distance, but I catch him watching me. Instead of taking his eyes away from me when caught, his eyes darken.
My mind is clouded with lust. Turning me into a wanton woman!
###
I’m packing up when he moves for the exit. On impulse, I pivot, pulse spiking, and step into his path outside.
“Hey, do you want to grab a coffee?” I ask, feeling my cheeks burn. “As thanks for last night?”
“Just coffee?”
I look at him with wide eyes. “What else would you like to do?”
I nervously fidget as he studies me with a fire in his gaze. I press my thighs together because fuck… one look from this guy is an instant panty dropper. He’s beautiful!
He sharply exhales like I’ve asked him for something impossible. “You don’t want that.”
“Want what?”
“Me.”
“I think I can handle more than coffee,” I challenge.
He shrugs me off with a laugh. “No… no, you couldn’t.”
There it is. Rejection. Dammit.
I nod, feeling bummed and willing the growing pit in my stomach to swallow me whole.
“I’ll see you around, Pippa.” He grins, getting in his truck.
As he drives off, I groan. The atrophy of any remaining confidence residing within me is blown away with the golden leaves in the autumn breeze, only to fall in a discarded, crumpled heap on the ground.
Maybe I couldn’t handle him. But what if I want him to handle me?