AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ahh, yes, I just love reliving romantic trauma. Please, continue.”
Ignoring my dripping sarcasm, Mara forged ahead uninhibited. “He’s not some innocent little doe, El. Maybe, you use this opportunity to show him what he’s missing out on. Maybe one last shoot out is exactly what you need to get him out of your system.” She flashed a cheeky little wink, adding, “Or…what he needs to get into it.”
SEVEN
ELORA
Mara’s husband, Tony, returned with their littles, and I stepped out to give them privacy as baby Nate started to cry, prompting Mara to whip out a breast like that was the answer to any infant ailment. Surprised—but also slightly relieved—to return to an empty room, I snuck over to my suitcase to change into my gym gear, then whisked my hair into a top knot. There was nothing like a hard run and a heavy lift to clear my head, and if Mara and I were going to walk away with this endorsement, it needed to be positively crystalline.
Eyes on the prize, I laced my shoes and headed out of the room and down the hallway, popping in my earbuds as the elevator lit up, and belched out a swarm of tipsy resort-goers. Did everyone in Vegas just perpetually reek of alcohol, tobacco, and something vaguely smog-like? When the last straggler was gone, I stepped inside, stretching my neck, arms and legs on the way down. I could do this. I’d always been one to conquer a challenge. And Broderick would be happy for my success because he’d see the impact, just like I’d support his if he took home the check. The man would bless so many kids if he poured these kinds of resources into our tiny town.
Stronger by The Score came on by the time I hit the first floor, and I found myself matching the beat with my footfalls as my body stretched just a little taller. A good sweat was all I needed. At least, that’s what I was convincing myself of right up until I stepped into the gym and was rooted to the spot.
The glorious, long pace, the shredded biceps glistening in sweat, the splotchy tank clinging to pecs any straight woman would want to lick. God help me. Broderick had always run like it was effortless—a glide, rather than stride. Blue headphones rested over his tight curls, his jaw was set, shoulders back and defined legs gobbling up the track. I watched for a heartbeat as those arms pumped—did I mention the man was mouthwateringly vascular, because dear baby Jesus in a manger—as some distant part of my brain came online and demanded I gather enough dignity to get the hell out of there.
A throat cleared and I startled, blinking and ducking my head as I stepped aside to allow an irritated looking blonde into the room. She made a beeline for the Stairmaster, and I glanced back just as Broderick’s footwork stumbled in an uncharacteristic falter. He jerked his hands up to the controller, rapidly tapping the down arrow to slow his admirable pace to a hurried walk, slipping the headset down around his neck as his eyes tracked me in the mirror.
“Pix, you alright?”
“Y-yeah,” I said awkwardly, clearing my throat to excuse the stammer as I begged the floor to swallow me whole. Smiling stiffly, I skipped onto the treadmill beside him and cursed whoever decided the hotel only needed two. “Just clearing my head. You know, getting in the zone.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” Awesome. Twenty-four hours in and losing intelligence at an alarming rate. “Sorry, didn’t mean to throw you off your game.”
“You didn’t,” he argued, shaking his head as he pursed his lips. The blonde eyed us skeptically and I nearly burst out laughing when Broderick’s forced smile mirrored mine nearly identically. Had anyone ever been more awkward in the history of the word ‘awkward?’ I didn’t think so.
Irritated with myself, I said, “Oh, good. Please commence running.”
“Alright,” he said, slowly shifting his headphones back into place.
Of course, he was fucking down here. It was one of the things I loved about the man—we shared a long list of compulsively healthy coping mechanisms. Exercise for stress being one of them. But leaving now would be more ridiculous than just doing what I came here to do, so I activated my machine and then tapped my watch as it slowly crept to life, the smell of rubber thick in the air.
I started the workout tracker and then tried to focus on the metrics on my screen, but deep brown eyes locked on mine in the mirror, a gentle curl to his lips as he watched me pick up the pace. When I scowled at him, he chuckled, shook his head, and focused on his virtual screen—a mountain path, naturally.
The slowly increasing cadence of his feet on the belt beat through the music in my buds, and I huffed, forcing myself to complete the warmup before increasing my pace until I knew I’d be scrambling to keep up.
This. This is what I loved about running. The freedom—or illusion of it, in the case of an indoor gym—the roar of my blood through veins begging for an escape, the burn of muscles. Running silenced the outside world and ceaseless chatter of my mind, forcing me to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. A hell of an accomplishment for a mind so often stretched over multiple topics and goals at once.
Out of my periphery, I saw Broderick increase his speed, sweat glimmering across the glorious tendons in his forearms. Increasing my own pace, I gauged how hard my body was working, glancing at my heart rate, relieved to see that despite the aching in my chest, it was still solidly below that eighty percent mark.
We ran like that for at least the length of a song before I decided to slow down and catch my breath in preparation for another interval. But he pushed himself faster, and before I processed what I was doing, I ramped up my speed too.
Dammit the man made me stupid. Feet soaring, lungs screaming, muscles protesting, I lengthened my stride, feeling the stretch of my calves as they fought to push me farther with each step. A mature, self-respecting business coach with a six-figure book deal should be beyond petty competition. Alas. Broderick Allen reduced me to teenage levels of stupidity. Which is why, against all better judgment, I matched his next increase, taking my much shorter legs to a full god damn sprint.
I was going to die on a treadmill. Like a frantic, oversized hamster launched off the back of the track, dying in a head-on collision with the free weight rack. Oh god, what a humiliating way to go. Max would never stop laughing. I would trip on a shoelace, and die of concussion by fallen free weight, but they’d inevitably label it faulty footwear, and Max would follow me out, victim of cardiac arrest via aggressive laughter.
To the utter relief of my wailing lungs, we both passed the mile mark and eased to a walk before stepping off the machines. He gathered his water as I walked in a slow, tight circle, bringing my heart rate down before turning for the free weights I was still grateful not to die beneath, and grabbing the twenty-fives before claiming a mat.
Broderick
Why was she wearing that? Why. In God’s name. Was she wearing that? Yeah, the leggings were high-waisted, but skintight, leaving nothing to the imagination, and the strappy sports bra was so fitted it lifted her perfect tits until they kissed in the middle. No. I hadn’t meant to notice. But fuck, she was gorgeous, and no straight, red-blooded male could see that much skin on a woman that drove him mad, and not want to reach out and touch it. Jameson would promptly beat me to a pulp if he knew half the images running through my head.
She was doing a drill we called the ‘slow death’ in the gym back home—essentially kneeling to the ground before rotating the opposite hip to step back up, with the weights cradled at her shoulders. The tight lines of her abs flexed, lean little muscles taut with effort, her brow set in concentration. El was the kind of fierce most men only read about but never have the terrifying pleasure of encountering.
Her brow winged up, eyes locked on mine in the mirror, but before I could look away, she mouthed something that had me dropping my headphones back around my neck and panting, “What?”
She breathed a laugh before quipping, “You catching flies over there?”
