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I glared at him, mystified by his daftness. “I’m giving up because you’re a lying jackass.”
“Maybe. But you still have a shitload to learn from me.”
Yeah, he’d hit me where it hurt. We both knew his instruction was invaluable. To refuse it would be downright stupid.
So, call me an idiot.
“Bite me, Moreau,” I said, shaking off his grip. “Nice shiner, by the way. Aren’t you a little old to be getting into bar fights? Or is that a way you try to recapture your youth?”
His expression fell and he started skating backward. “Call me when you get that stick up your ass removed.”
“Yeah, you’re the first one I’ll call.”
That’s pretty much how the next few days went. Any time we were in close quarters, one of us snipped at the other.
The only unfortunate thing was that Beau hadn’t gotten any less good looking. His tan was darker and now that I knew how his muscles—and his lips—not only looked but felt—being near him was torture.
Heck, being away from him wasn’t much better. Every night I had to use a vibrator from my prized collection as I touched myself. Mostly to fantasies of what might have happened if that hot tub were in a private backyard with just the two of us.
How I could hate someone—yet want him so badly, I ached—I’d never understand. Gosh, I was messed up.
He steered clear of me, even when we were outside by the pool. Other than the odd glare, he didn’t look my way. Needless to say, the social media posts about us came to a dead, grinding halt.
Our new coaches had arrived and that took up more time with introductions and meetings. Eliza and I seemed to click, and I loved how she organized our practices and training.
Both coaches had moved into the building with us.
So far so good.
Even Beau and his beasts had managed to stay out of trouble since their last bar fight.
It was now Friday night and Angelique and Marcel had invited me over for supper at their place. I was excited to visit with them and catch up finally.
I loved my teammates, but getting away, even if only for a few hours, would be much appreciated.
The idea of leaving and not having to worry about bumping into Beau sounded even better.
I stepped out of my apartment and locked the door. As I went down the stairs, I heard another door slam. Looking up, I noticed Beau was leaving as well. Great.
He wore a white dress shirt and dark pants. The thought of where he’d be going on a Friday evening gave me a stomachache.
Probably off to some bar.
Not something I wanted to entertain in my brain right now. Nothing could derail my good mood—other than seeing Beau Moreau dressed up for a night of—whatever.
He glanced over at me but didn’t say a word. Unfortunately, we both ended up at the iron gates at the same time. Beau unhooked the latch, then motioned to me to go first. When I hesitated, he said, “Ladies, first.”
As I walked by him, I could smell his spicy aftershave or cologne and it made my head swim. I wanted to lean into him and take a longer inhale. His eyes traveled the length of me, and he said, “You look very pretty tonight, Gigi. Who’s the unlucky guy? I feel like I should talk to him first and warn him.”
“Get stuffed, Moreau,” I snapped at him before he laughed and turned toward the parking lot where his smexy, black, shiny Jeep that I wanted to rub my body all over was parked.
It was almost as hot as he was.
Speaking of hot, the memory of us in the hot tub—and me telling him I thought he was hot—slammed into my head. Dammit. Why had I admitted that to him? Talk about showing all your cards.
Whatever.
I headed toward the bus stop at the front of the building and took my phone out. The bus should be here soon. Angelique and Marcel’s house wasn’t that far away. Twenty minutes, max.
