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A knock at the door has my eyes tearing off the dark navy and white of the Dynamo logo. Looking over at the door, I arch an eyebrow at the sight of Mike Hill, one of my boot camp trainers. He is very much not dressed for the class he is scheduled to run in twenty minutes.
“Mike. What’s up?” My eyes trail over his jean and sweater-clad form. “Air conditioning on the fritz in your studio?”
He frowns, something flickering in his eyes that has me alert, straightening, and turning to face him properly. Mike’s unflappable, but right now, he very much looksflapped.
“Something’s come up with my old man. I need to get to Tacoma.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Shit timing, I know.”
“Is it something serious?”
“He’s had a stroke. Mom’s at the hospital with him now.”
“Fuck. What are you still doing here? Get on the road now.”
Relief washes over Mike’s face. He scratches at his head, running his nails over the skin exposed by his dark cornrows.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back. I have classes.”
“I’ll cover them. Get going.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Get out of here.”
“You’re the best boss ever. You know that?”
“I have my moments.”
I wave Mike off as he hurries away. Turning, I pull up his class schedule, running my eye over the class list. Two names stick out. Artie and Holly Rampwood. Shit. I need to bring my A-game.
Mike’s a phenomenal trainer. He’s dripping with charm and charisma. I’m better at running a punishing schedule. I have made grown men puke, and I have smiled about it. I don’t know if I can run a boot camp class like Mike, but I will have to try. Canceling this one isn’t an option.
Chapter 2
JIMMY
Groaning, I kick the door shut behind me, striding into my Pioneer Square condo. The lights are all on – which they weren’t when I left this morning – so I frown, making my way along the brick-walled hallway and into my high-ceilinged industrial open-plan living area.
My eyes land on the polished concrete breakfast bar. There is an empty whiskey bottle next to an expensive pair of headphones and a Seahawks baseball cap. The living area on the other side of the kitchen is unoccupied, so they must be upstairs.
Dropping my keys and wallet, I jog up the metal staircase, through the mezzanine office overlooking my living area, and up the second staircase. The two bedrooms are to the left of the landing, but I go right.
Through the windows above the sectional lounge, I can see them out on the deck overlooking Elliott Bay.
“Jimmy!” Alfie calls to me as I step out into the cool evening air, raising his hand and waving.
“Boys,” I grunt at them, snatching the beer Trey offers me with a smirk. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“You work too hard. We thought we’d bring the party to you,” Trey laughs, kicking his feet up on the sun lounger and making himself comfortable. Mo raises his hands, shaking his head at me.
“Hey. This wasn’t my idea. I just answered the group text.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I knock Trey’s feet off the end of the sun lounger, dropping onto it.
“Why aren’t I in the group text?”
