Page 37 of Forced Proximity

I need to sweat. ‘Hey man, I’m going down to the gym,’ I say as I pass Jack sitting in the den.

‘Okay.’

And that’ll be our conversation for the day. I can’t wait until this stalker situation is over and I can go back to having the house to myself.

But … if Jack leaves, so does Doc. Shit. Maybe I don’t want the crazed fan caught quite yet.

Ever since mine and Doc’s time in the gym, the room feels different. Charged, somehow. My gaze travels to the spot on the mat where she straddled me. If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel her ass in my lap, and her strong thighs clenching at my sides. She’d looked so perfect on top of me, her face and body misted with sweat, her lips parted with concentration. My willpower nearly cracked that day. I almost gripped her hips and threw her underneath me.

No matter how delicious that memory is, I don’t want to sexualize her. So, instead of latching on to that image, I hop on the treadmill to erase it. I never want to be that guy. Besides, she hasn’t given a wisp of a hint that I’m anything more than a client. No way I’ll say something and be humiliated.

But a mile into my jog, my chest lifts. I have an idea of how to get closer to Doc.

And, if my calculations are correct, she’s going to love it.

Chapter 17

Lexi

Under the hot sun, I wait for Jack to step out of the house for our debrief.

‘Did you get a new haircut?’ I ask, hiding a smile. ‘Something looks different.’ It doesn’t. I’m pretty sure Jack was born with a military cut.

‘I did spend ninety seconds longer than usual in the shower this morning. Perhaps that’s it.’

As usual, I can’t tell if this is Jack’s version of a joke or he’s serious. I spend the next five minutes letting him know that the security team couldn’t trace the IP address from Zane’s video, but they’ll keep trying. Honestly, at this point it’s looking hopeless. ‘And unless we want to loop in the feds, there’s not much else we can do.’

Jack gives me a sharp nod. ‘I spoke to Anthony around 0900, and he’s still adamantly opposed to incorporating any law enforcement.’

The muscle in my jaw flexes. If this happens again, we’ll need to talk about overruling Justin’s team. Or at bare minimum, letting Justin know what’s happening.

When we’re done with the debrief I head inside, toss my bag on the den chair and glance around the empty space. ‘Justin? I’m here.’

‘In the kitchen!’ his voice calls back.

I shouldn’t smile. I really shouldn’t smile. Never before with any other client have I casually called out across a room that I’ve arrived for my shift. Normally, I’m in the corner, silent. But after Justin waiting for me every day like a labradoodle, this is a natural reaction. Right?

I shove my cell phone in my back pocket, cross the room and … Damn. Justin’s leaning against the counter, crunching into an apple, wearing shorts and a tank. A snug, white, perfectly fitted tank that looks like it’s spraypainted across his defined, chiseled abs. The shadow from his firm shoulders fills in the indent by his biceps, and I swallow. Before this moment, I’ve never seen his bare biceps and perfectly rounded shoulders in person. My God …

Stop looking.

I clear the heat from my throat. ‘You about to work out?’

His hazel eyes dance under the overhead light. ‘Since you kicked my ass on the mats, I thought we needed a fair fight.’ He tosses me a water bottle. ‘One-on-one?’

‘Are you serious?’ My tone might sound nonchalant, but my insides are not even remotely cool. My pulse is already kicking against my neck, and I haven’t even moved yet. God, I miss the game. As physically gifted as Marcus is, he sucks at basketball.

‘Yep.’ A cocky grin grows behind his shadowed stubble. ‘Prepare to be dominated.’

Ooh, I’m gonna wipe that smile off his face. ‘It’s on. Let me eat a protein bar first. You do not get to take advantage of me because of my glucose.’ Okay, okay. I will reluctantly admit it feels good that the pressure is off now I’m no longer keeping my diabetes closeted.

At the court, Justin spins the ball on his finger for an extraordinarily long time. Impressive. But how’s his jump shot? I toss towels and water bottles on a chair and remove my holster and firearm. My heartbeat kicks up. Having a gun is a bit like having a toddler next to a highway – I can never really take away my gaze.

The moderately squishy, blue and white painted sports court feels like home. I dig my toes into the court to get a sense of its grip and catch the tossed ball. Its ribs and tiny bumps immediately shoot energy into my limbs.

Justin is going down.

‘Up to twenty. Call our own fouls. Twos and threes. I’ll start on offense,’ I say, dribbling. ‘Don’t be a dick and cheat.’ Before he can even agree to the game rules, I drive in for a layup.