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His eyes bore into mine. He waits. And waits. And waits.
My skin starts buzzing. I'm not sure why, but there's something thrilling about waiting for him.
When he speaks, his voice is firm, but not demanding. "You get the idea?"
"I'm starting to."
"What else are you curious about?"
"Everything."
His pupils dilate. Something sparks in his expression. This desire deep inside him. It's only there for a second, then he's back to a poker face.
"Keep reading. You'll get it." He picks up his glass and takes the last sip. "You thinking about doing this with someone, Kay?"
"Sort of."
"Make sure it's someone you can trust." He moves into the kitchen and leaves his empty glass in the sink. "You can get pretty deep into it. None of it's wrong, but some of it's dangerous." His brow furrows. It's like he's fighting himself. "If you're not sure about anything, ask me. I'm not an expert. But I'll figure shit out for you."
I nod. "I trust them."
He stares back at me, staring at my expression. It's like he's trying to figure out who I'm talking about.
It's like he knows it's him.
Chapter Fifteen
Brendon
My Friday morning leg routine fails to bring clarity. I'm still easy to bait. I'm still giving in to all my thoughts of Kay. To her bull
shit about asking Dean to order her around.
Fuck, it's like she can see into my head.
How the hell does she know exactly how I want her?
It wakes up every single muscle in my body. It's a hell of a lot more effective than squats or deadlifts. Nothing gets my blood pumping like she does.
I finish my last set and wipe off the squat rack. This is a nice place. The kind of place my mom would have gone. If it had been here when she was.
She spent half her time staying beautiful or keeping the house beautiful. It worked. Everyone mentioned her looks. Jo, the beautiful, perfect homemaker. She had the same dark hair as me and Em. The same dark eyes.
The same good looks, I guess. Dad was tall, but he wasn't typically handsome.
She always talked about the importance of fitness. Always tried to get me to sign up for some sport. Soccer. Little League. Jr. Lifeguards. Surf Camp. Summer league swim team. Then the high school one. I did it freshman year. Right before I hit that team sports are bullshit; all organizations are bullshit phase.
That was the moment she gave up on me—the day I quit swim team. I still remember all the disappointment in her eyes. The way her knife slapped across the cutting board as she diced chicken. She'd never say she was pissed off. She'd just look at me like I was a failure and recite something about my future.
Would she be proud of my fixation of getting bigger and stronger?
Maybe.
It's hard to imagine Mom proud. Even if it's easy to imagine her on the stationary bike in some two-hundred-dollar outfit.
I toss my towel in the hamper on the way out the door. Yeah, it's that kind of gym. It costs a fortune. But it's the only thing that clears my head, besides work and sex.
Besides premium coffee beans and good whiskey, it's my only indulgence.
