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“You must work out a lot.”
The words fly out of my mouth and my hand reaches up and squeezes his bicep before I can even think about what I’m doing.
Oh my God, what am I doing? That’s like asking him if he comes here often or something else equally stupid. And why can’t I stop squeezing his muscle? Holy hell it’s a nice muscle. Very firm. I bet the rest of his body is just like this.
Focus, Cynthia. Ask him what he thought about the text you sent. And for God’s sake, let go of his arm!
“So, I was just wondering . . . ,” I start again, trailing off when he flexes the muscle of his arm under my hand. “I . . . um . . . if you got . . .”
“Well, if it isn’t PJ Charming.”
My hand finally jerks away from PJ’s muscle and my head turns to look up at the voice that just greeted him.
Mistake number one.
I suddenly feel very frumpy and very sweaty. The woman standing in front of us is nothing short of a blond bombshell. She’s got on red shorts, even smaller than mine, with a matching red sports bra that barely contains her ginormous boobs. Boobs that are not covered in sweat. She looks like the type of woman who could pull off a very lovely sex kitten pose if she dropped something between those puppies, instead of shoving her hand down in there like she was digging for gold while biting her lip and grunting in annoyance. She’d probably rub her hands all over herself and moan.
“Hello, Melissa, it’s nice to see you again.” PJ smiles up at her but makes no move to stand up and greet her, which should make me feel happy, but doesn’t.
“It’s been a while. Too long, in fact.”
Melissa reaches out and runs one red-painted fingernail over PJ’s chest and down the muscular arm I just had my hand on, and I have to bite back a growl of annoyance. She’s touching him and looking at him in a way that screams “I’ve seen you naked and we should do it again.”
While Melissa continues fondling PJ with her talonlike fingernail, I quietly compare myself to her.
Mistake number two.
Her long blond hair isn’t a sweaty, disgusting mess stuck to her cheeks. It’s perfectly styled with big, bouncy curls, and her makeup is flawless. Her big, pouty lips are covered in bright red lipstick, the same color as the outfit she’s wearing. Her legs are ten miles long with the perfect amount of muscle definition, and judging by the abs on this chick, she clearly works out a lot more than I do.
“Give me a call. We should get together soon. I’ve missed you.”
Not even looking in my direction once, she winks at PJ before turning and walking away. And it’s more than a little annoying that PJ and I are both staring at her ass as she goes. She’s got a killer ass, and I hate her. I bet her ass doesn’t jiggle when she’s on the StairMaster. Stupid Melissa and her stupid, perfect ass.
No wonder PJ never returned my text. I sent him a ridiculous picture of my underwear. Why the hell would he reply to that when he could have a living, breathing Barbie? And going by the words she said to him, he’s already had her. And will have her again soon. Shit, even I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to sleep with her if she propositioned me.
With a sigh, PJ pushes himself up from the bench.
“Time to hit the free weights.”
Seriously? That’s it? He’s not even going to acknowledge the chick who just waltzed up here and practically screwed him with her eyes right in front of me? I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or anything, but a little common curtesy would be nice.
“So, was that one of your dancers or something?”
That woman had stripper written all over her.
“No. I don’t shit where I eat. And I don’t date strippers,” is his only gruff reply as he turns away from me and heads over to the far corner of the room, where the pile of handheld weights are.
Super. Just super.
Mistake number ten thousand.
Maybe I’m not a stripper at his club, but I’m still planning on being a stripper, and it looks like PJ will not be shitting anywhere near me anytime soon.
I realize how dumb that sounds as soon as I think it, but I don’t care. If that’s the type of woman PJ usually goes for, I am barking up the wrong damn hot-guy tree.
Chapter 21: Jazz Hands
I stand in the middle of an empty Charming’s, nervously watching PJ pull a chair away from one of the tables and take a seat, folding his hands in his lap as he sits there staring at me, all calm and quiet and broody, which just makes me panic even more.
