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He shakes his head and mumbles something about working out.
I puzzle over this as he walks slowly toward the living area. He opens a door that looks like a closet door, situated between the kitchen and the living room, and disappears into it.
I eat slowly.
Should I ask him about football? Should I tell him what I saw? And what I read? I want to know the answers to my questions, but do I really have to have them? He’s clearly in a shitty mood. I don’t want to make things worse. Although of course, I want to know.
I finish eating, clean and wash my plate, and when he’s still not back, I can’t help myself. I follow him through the door, which leads down to a basement.
At the bottom of the stairs, I find a nice home gym, and Kellan running on a treadmill, pouring sweat.
He glances at me, then straight ahead. I’m not sure if I should feel irritated by how he’s acting, or sorry for him. I go with sorry. If I knew him even just a little better, I would ask what’s up. As it is, I stick my hands in the pockets of my robe and stand there feeling like some awkward stalker.
“This is really nice down here. I guess this is how you stay in shape for soccer.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you guys have a game in a few days?”
“Yeah.” His gaze flicks to mine, and I see effort on his face. He’s trying to be... not an ass. Which I appreciate, even as I wonder why he has to try so hard. “You a fan?” he asks. His voice is rough, the words slightly panted.
My throat tightens with the secret I’m keeping—about his past. “I’m a fan of how you look in your uniform,” I say slyly.
“Is that right?” He slows his pace.
I nod as the air around us starts to prickle. “I used to appreciate you as eye candy even though I thought you were a jerk.”
“And now?” He steps off the treadmill and closes the distance between us with three steps. He seems so tall. He looks very serious, considering we’re teasing.
“Now I don’t know.” My heart gives a long, unsteady beat. “You seem... really hard to read. I don’t know what I think of you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, folding his arms. Any emotions I might have seen on his face are locked away now. “Tonight, we’ll be going somewhere. It will be a chance for me to show you another aspect of our business.”
“Are you getting a shipment or something?”
“You’ll see.”
I nod, and when silence spreads between us, I can’t stop myself from prying. “So what about last night? What did you have to do?”
“It was nothing,” he says softly.
Sweat rolls down his temple. I put my finger on his shirt, where it’s stuck to the middle of his chest. “Do you do this every day?” I step slightly closer as I ask.
He nods.
I stroke his chest, then ease my hand away. “How long do you run?”
“I try to do aerobic shit for at least ninety minutes.”
“Holy hell. Ninety minutes? You’re like, training,” I say, stepping a little bit away.
He raises his brows.
I take another small step back, establishing a safe distance between the two of us. Then I take a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”
He plucks a towel off a weight machine and wipes his forehead, not quite meeting my eyes as he says, “You have that ability.”
“Will you promise not to be growly about it?”
