“Good afternoon,” I say, setting the clipboard aside. “Are you looking for something to help you unwind or something to make your worries disappear?”
She laughs, a little too hard. “I’m looking for something relaxing… or distracting.” Her perfectly arched eyebrow lifts suggestively. “You got anything for that?”
I know that bold, flirty tone. It’s an open invitation capped off with a sultry smile. Normally, I’d lean right in and match it beat for beat. I’d toss her a wink and throw in a line that could lead somewhere eventful. But today, her boldness lands flat.
I offer a polite smile and gesture to the tablet. “Why don’t you check out our menu and see what catches your interest.”
She pouts, clearly not used to being redirected. Her gaze lingers on me. “If you change your mind…” She slides a card across the counter like a challenge.
God knows I love a challenge, but I don’t pick it up. Instead, I raise a hand, signaling to John, one of my employees, who just finished up with another customer. “John, can you help this customer out?”
Judging by his grin, he likes what he sees. “I’d be happy to.”
“Thanks.” I grab my clipboard from the counter and head to the back room.
Once I’m behind the door, I stare blankly at the inventory on the shelves. The containers are lined up in perfect order, labeled and organized by distributor, but none of it’s registering. My brain is somewhere else entirely.
It’s not like me to turn down attention. I don’t exactly run from a good time. Hell, I’ve spent most of my adult life running straight toward it.
But lately, that excited spark isn’t there. Because my mind keeps circling back to one person. Ginger .
The woman I’ve known forever. The one who knows how I like my coffee and how to roast me in front of our friends without missing a beat. The one who’s always been safely out of reach and off-limits.
Until recently, that is.
The other night, when we were tangled up in Christmas lights, I swear something shifted between us. There had been a flicker in her green eyes and a pause in her breath that made me think I’m not the only one feeling things changing between us.
I shake my head and scrub a hand over my face. I’m entering dangerous territory here even entertaining such thoughts. She’s not—could never be—some meaningless fling. She’s the one woman I’ve spent years keeping safely tucked inside the “no hooking up” box.
And now, she’s the only one I can’t stop thinking about.
Chest burning and arms trembling, I finish my final rep and rack the bar with a satisfying clank.
“Man, you’re getting soft,” Reed says, stepping out from behind the bench with a grin. “That bar took a nap on your sternum.”
“Bullshit, old man,” I shoot back, sitting up and wiping sweat off my forehead. “I’m pacing myself.”
Reed snorts. “Pacing’s what you do in a marathon. Lifting’s supposed to hurt.”
I stand so he can take his turn. Moving behind him, I brace my hands loosely under the bar in case he needs my help. Not that he ever has. The clang of weights, muffled bass-heavy music, and the occasional grunt fill the air. It’s a familiar cacophony of sounds to us both. We try to make it to the gym after work as many nights as possible.
“So,” he says between reps, “are you gonna tell me what’s up, or am I supposed to keep pretending everything’s normal?”
I laugh. “When have you ever thought I was normal?”
“Okay then, weirder than usual.” He grunts as he pushes the bar up. “You’ve been distracted. You turned down Erin the other night,” he mentions, referring to a regular at this gym. “And bad decisions are pretty much the only kind she makes.”
“Maybe I’m trying to be a better person.”
He racks the bar and sits up, turning toward me. “Are you being serious?”
I nod. “I don’t know what’s changed, but I’m not into it all lately.”
“Into what?” he presses, making me elaborate.
“The chasing, the hookups, and repeating the cycle all over again. It suddenly feels depressing and empty.”
“Maybe you’re finally growing up.” Reed studies me, but not in a mocking or judgmental way. “Or maybe this is about Ginger. Is it?”
