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As we sat on the couch, I could smell her fruity shampoo. It’s so familiar and brought me back to a time when I was allowed to touch and kiss her. However, her engagement ring—or rather,rock—was the reminder I needed that things can never go back to how they were.
She’ll be married soon and one hundred percent off-limits. My heart pounded in my chest as too many unspoken words and stolen glances lingered between us. It was better that I left before either of us acted on whatever the fuck was bubbling under the surface. I’m sure her fiancé wouldn’t appreciate a convict being in his woman’s house at nearly two in the morning. I’d almost bet money he wouldn’t like me sleeping on her couch, either. So, to avoid any trouble, I got the hell out. I needed some fresh air to clear my head anyway, and she needed to sober up.
The following day, I finally joined the gym and am happy I have a place to go blow off some steam. I hope to make a friend or two outside my sister’s circle and work.
When I was in prison, I worked out as much as I could, but I missed putting on gloves and training people how to box like I did before shit hit the fan. The ring always felt like home. Though this gym doesn’t have one, it has a small area with punching bags that’ll work for now. Those thoughts have me reminiscing about how boxing helped Mason and Liam work through their issues. If it can help them, then it can undoubtedly help me. I want to get back to the life I had before the O’Learys entered it.
It’s Monday morning, and I’ve been on edge all weekend about seeing Gemma today. Instead of dwelling on it, I pour some coffee into a travel mug and change into my workout clothes. I’ll drink it on the way to the gym. When I step outside, I’m surprised it’s not blazing hot yet. I spend an hour working out, then go home, shower, and get ready for work.
Now that my mind is clear, I’m hoping I’ll be able to focus, but it’ll be hard, considering I’ll be around Gemma. She throws me off more than I realized she would.
Just as I’m leaving, Everleigh wakes up and wishes me good luck on my first day. I keep replaying how Gemma begged me to stay over and how she admitted she still worries about me. I think about it while I walk the few blocks to work. I check the time and know Jerry will be happy how punctual I am.
I suck in a few deep breaths as I walk into the waiting area. Gemma is busy on the computer, but when she looks up at me, she blushes, then lowers her eyes and tries to hide her reaction.
She’s embarrassed about being a tipsy hot mess Friday night, but I thought it was kinda adorable. Drunk Gemma is fun and easygoing and not so reserved once the alcohol hits her system. But now, we’re back to where we were when I arrived here on Wednesday last week—awkward tension.
The silence pierces my ears.
Thankfully, Jerry walks in and greets me in his booming fatherly voice. I turn to him and smile as he picks up a donut.
“I have to pull some engines this mornin’, so I thought Gemma could show you around the place and give you a rundown of shop rules. We can meet up after lunch, and I’ll get you started on your first project,” he explains.
“Okay, sounds great.”
Jerry grabs a cup of coffee, then goes back to the garage. Once Gemma and I are alone again, all the air in the room seems to evaporate.
She finishes typing something, then stops and looks at me. “Well, this is the lobby where customers wait, over there is the customer bathroom, and next to it, is the break room and fridge—employees only, though.” Gemma grins, though she tries to hide it.
I chuckle at her smart-ass tone. “Yep. Figured that much out.”
Gemma walks out from behind the counter and takes me into the garage. It’s much smaller than I remember it being. She explains where all the tools are kept, and her dad’s hard rules.
“My dad runs a tight ship. He’s fired people for being lazy and late,” she warns, and I make a mental note, so I don’t disappoint him. “Make sure to clean up after yourself. Messy shop, unhappy Pops.”
After the grand tour, she takes me into the small office that smells like engine oil and Old Spice. She turns and stares at me. At first, she hesitates, then just comes out and says what’s on her mind. Something I know isn’t always easy for her.
“Can we forget about Friday? I’m absolutely humiliated by my behavior.”
I lean my shoulder against the frame of the door and cross my arms over my chest. Smirking, I shake my head. “No way. Forget seeing you down in your underwear, begging me to sleep on your couch? It’s been on repeat in my head all weekend.”
She groans. “When you say it like that, it sounds much worse than what really happened, though, it’s still pretty bad.”
“Whiskey is your kryptonite. But I kinda like that about you, Gemma. You weren’t so uptight.”
“I’mnotuptight, Tyler.”
The way she says my name has me swallowing hard. She’s trying so hard to convince me, but it’s not gonna work.
I grin. “No?” I tuck my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Okay, well maybe we both are. You more than me, though,” I tease.
She glares at me, and I laugh. Gemma grabs a book from the desk, then changes the subject. She sits and flips it open.
“This is the schedule book where we write the appointments. It’s old-school, but Dad prefers not to have to get on the computer for anything, so I save it electronically but also write it in here. If you ever wonder what’s planned for the week, it’s in here.” She taps her finger on the pages. Her handwriting is as meticulous as I remember it.
I lean over and look at the calendar. She tilts her head, aware of how close I am. Though I pretend I don’t notice how her breasts rise and fall with each of her breaths, I do.
“Awesome, seems straightforward,” I say, and my breath brushes against her skin. Goose bumps form on her arms, and I take a step back, needing space. Those old emotions threaten to come to the surface, but I force them away.
