Page 83 of The Overtime Persuasive

Until this morning, when Liam needed somewhere to go—and chose me.

And I know better than most that being chosen once doesn’t mean someone will stay. However, I don’t know what scares me more—that Liam might not choose me again, or how badly I want him to.

CHAPTER 19

LIAM

I’ve been trying to sweat one sentence out of my head for the last forty-five minutes, but it isn’t working.

I drive the weighted sled across the turf, turn, and push it back toward the starting line. My legs burn. Sweat runs down my spine, and the bruise along my cheek throbs in time with my pulse.

Still, Eva’s voice follows me.

The gym smells like rubber and metal, but for half a second, my lungs fill with coffee and old paper. Her fingers settle at the back of my neck again, light and careful, and I feel her breath ghost over my lips as clearly as if I were still standing between the shelves at Side B.

Then comes her voice.

You don’t know how to let people get close without measuring yourself against them.

I reach the line and let go of the sled. She’s wrong.

I grab my water bottle from the floor and take a long drink. The plastic crackles beneath my grip, and my palm remembers the warmth of her hand holding mine when I tried to pull away.

This is the problem with Eva. She says something in that gentle, sweet, practical way of hers while standing close enough to make the words impossible to separate from the way she touched me. Then she leaves me alone with them while they start opening locked doors inside my head.

The gym is nearly empty this late in the afternoon. One trainer works with a client near the racks, and two guys run drills on the far side of the turf. Music plays through the speakers, loud enough to fill the converted warehouse without covering the metallic clang of weights hitting their rests.

I invested in this place two years ago when the owner expanded. At the time, it made sense financially. A stable local business, a facility I already used during the off-season, and unlimited access whenever I wanted to train without someone filming me from the next machine.

Right now, unlimited access means no one stops me from adding another plate to the sled.

I lean into the handles. The metal bites into my palms as I push once, twice, and her voice slips into the rhythm of my breathing.

Let people get close.

Her fingers tighten around mine.

Without measuring yourself against them.

“Not true,” I mutter, and thankfully the sled does not respond.

I don’t compete with everyone, that’s where she’s wrong. I don’t compete with Ty. Or Owen. Campbell is our captain, and I’ve never wanted to take that from him. Sawyer and I give each other a hard time, but that’s friendship. No scorekeeping involved. Mostly.

Lucy and I have competed since before either of us understood what winning meant, but that’s different. We’re twins. Normal sibling behavior.

Then there’s Tripp. Tripp is competitive with everyone. He announces what he wants. He turns drills into contests. He walked into our locker room and put himself forward for an A before he knew where we kept the extra tape.

I reach the end of the turf and turn the sled again.

Tripp has spent years getting beneath my skin because he enjoys it. He moved into Eva’s building, then he came off the bench and joined my fight when no one asked him to.

The sled slows, and I push harder.

Tripp didn’t choose the apartment because of me. He needed somewhere to live.

He didn’t join the Dominion to compete with me. He was traded here.

And, he wants an A because he believes he can lead the team, not because he wants to rip one off my jersey.