Be a good boy, or you’re out.
So much fucking pressure.
Even rock bottom sounds pretty tempting about now, and I’ll enjoy the ride on the way down, so I’m about thirty seconds away from picking up my phone and calling my dealer. My beloved snow never gave me an ultimatum.
Shaking it off, I do another set of weighted squats before the “Imperial March” fromStar Warsblasts out of my phone. Papá’s calling, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
“Sí, Papá?” I’ve barely spoken the words before he launches into conversation. As with almost all of his conversations, it’s one sided.
As he’s telling me that he’s asked Coach Bales to provide weekly reports to him about my entire life, I let my gaze wander around the gym. If I was a morning person, I could get used to this. It’s peaceful, and I don’t have to wait for any of the machines to become free.
Granted, my boys aren’t here to keep me entertained through the muscle burn, but I admit, sometimes I prefer the quiet.
Papá is still ranting in my ear as my eyes land on the pink haired pixie from the restaurant. My dick twitches, reminding me of an alternative outlet to hitting up my dealer for an 8-ball or two. She seems to be everywhere.
I have to admit, despite the nerd thing she has going on, I’m disappointed she didn’t join Séb and me in the alley the other night. I run my tongue along my teeth as I take her in. I don’t know what it is about clever girls, but they always see right through my cocky bullshit and dismiss me right out of the gate.
Because of the pretty boy I am, I’m not deemed intelligent enough for the smart folk, so I tend to keep my distance. This girl is probably like them, too bright for little old me. But there’s something about her.
Her gait on the treadmill is flawless. Her ass and tits jiggle and bounce with each step. Her pink hair is tied up out of her face for a change so I can take in her high cheekbone, her sharp jaw, and the scars she seems to always be covering up by hiding behind her hair.
Is that why she hits the gym so early? So she can run without hiding her face behind sweaty hair? I don’t get what the big deal is. She’s fucking stunning. Maybe that’s why people stare at her: not because of her scars, but because her beauty renders them speechless. She’s caught my attention damn near every time I’ve seen her. A part of me is drawn to her.
And I don’t just mean my dick.
“Are you listening to me, boy?” Papá’s Spanish breaks through my creeper behavior. I’ve never watched a woman at the gym before, but her rhythmic steps pounding on the treadmill keeps my attention and somehow eases the tension that has been holding my neck hostage for the past couple hours.
“Sí, Papá. Lo sé.” Good grades. No trouble. No drugs. Yadda, yadda. I shouldn’t imbibe at all; I try not to. But I do still have the occasional beer. I know my limits and what I can handle, and as long as I stay away from the hard stuff, I can convince myself it’s not an issue.
On days like today, when Coach and Papá are both riding my ass, it’s so very tempting to hit up a bar as soon as it opens. They say money can’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell can buy fake IDs, booze and blow, and sometimes that’s the same thing.
I rub the back of my neck, reciting the serenity prayer over and over while Papá yammers in my ear. Falling off the wagon would give both him and Coach even more ammo to hound me. And I’m nothing if not stubborn. Some days I swear it’s my obstinance alone that keeps me on the fucking wagon.
Instead, I nod. Except, he can’t see me, so I provide Papá with the answers he wants to hear.Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags fucking full, sir, to get him the fuck off the phone so I can move on with my day.
The pixie enigma is running on the treadmill. Perhaps I need to run, too. Maybe I need to find my big boy panties and talk to the woman who keeps captivating me solely by existing.
Right as I’m about to step onto the treadmill two down from hers, she hits the button to stop her belt from running. Dammit, I missed my window.
I give her an easy grin, but she tugs her hair tie free, shakes her hair loose around her face, and looks straight through me as though I don’t exist.
Huh. Maybe she already thinks I’m not good enough for her.
She’s not wrong. But I want her. Her perfectly pouty lips, the curve of her ass as it’s hugged by the bright leggings she’s wearing, the playful color of her hair... everything about her says she’s down for a good time.
So why is she looking at me like she wants to bury me alive?
CHAPTER5
Eloise
“Hola.” The guy from the taco place grins at me. If this place wasn’t already lit up by harsh fluorescent lights, his smile would do the trick. It could power the whole city. But I fell once before for a guy with a pretty smile, and I might only be nineteen, but I’m not a complete idiot.
Ignoring him, I sweep my towel from the floor at my feet, patting down the beads of sweat trickling down my face. The temptation to keep going with my cardio is fierce. I hate what comes next. My physical therapist told me I need to work on building the strength in my muscles, and that means pain. No one believes me when I tell them I have a pain in my arm, they think it’s all in my head. But it’s there, and it hurts like fire charging from my neck to my fingertips.
If the pain isn’t real, then why do I need to work on strengthening my arm?
“It’s rude not to say hi back when someone says hi to you.”
