Chapter Ten
Xavier
The Next Day
I should answer. Except, I don’t. Instead, I hit the Do Not Disturb button and push through the gym doors like I didn’t already decide to keep things simple. Like I didn’t already draw that line. The bell jingles behind me.
The bell jingles behind me.
As usual, she’s behind the front desk, pen tucked behind her ear, fingers moving over the keyboard. Her gaze meets mine. A flash of awareness or surprise sweeps over her features, but it’s gone before I can even be sure it was there. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I step up to the counter, but I don’t lean this time. Keep a little space. Better that way. “You good?”
I ignore the need to explain why I left last night. An alarm tripped on a site across town that couldn’t wait until morning. But if I explain what pulled me away, she might ask why I didn’t come back. And that’s not an answer I’m willing to explore.
She huffs a breath. “Define good.”
“No structural damage. No ceilings collapsing.” That gets another flicker of something. This time I catch the emotion. Irritation.
“I didn’t go past the line.”
“Didn’t think you would.” I did. Not because she can’t follow directions. Or because I don’t trust her. It’s because she pushes. There’s a difference. Or maybe she likes to push me. “How’d it go?”
“Still standing.” She taps the end of her pen on the desk. “So I’m calling it a win.”
“Standing is good”
Everything around her is normal. Routine. Safe. Except I’m standing here again, having the same conversation I told myself not to start.
This is how it goes. You show up once. Then again. Then it turns into something you didn’t mean to build.
I take a step back. “With each cut. Keep them small. Check before you go any further.”
“I know. Despite my jump-first personality, I appreciate what you’re saying.” Her lips twitch upward as if she wants to be irritated but can’t find the energy. “And I don’t want my ceiling in the middle of my kitchen floor.”
“Good.” A beat passes. Not awkward. Just there. Familiar in a way it shouldn’t be. I should walk away. I don’t. And that’s the problem.
“You heading out after this?”
“Yeah.” I should’ve gone before I even stopped. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
“Try not to injure yourself.”
“I’ll do my best.” I stride toward the leg press. Just another guy starting his routine. Nothing more. Nothing to read into. Nothing that crosses a line I already told myself I wasn’t going near.