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I take her offered hand. Despite her pink cheeks, her fingertips are cold.
‘Off the record, you looked unbelievable out there.’
I see the flicker of a smile before she puts her pout back in place. ‘There’s no room for compliments in business, Adams.’
She struts off, as well as she can in figure skates, and my lips curl as I watch her walk away.
‘Brooks! Let’s play! Get your skates on,’ Kit shouts.
‘Coming.’
17
BROOKS
Day 3
‘You’re late,’ Izzy says, moving the breakfast shake she has already made along her kitchen counter toward me. The easygoing, happy Izzy from the skating rink is gone.
She’s wearing one of those T-shirts and tiny shorts again. The skin of my neck heats.
‘Sorry, I had a few e-mails to deal with.’
I lie through my teeth. In reality, I woke before my 6a.m. alarm but when I woke, my member was as hard as steel. I don’t remember the specifics but Izzy showed me a damn good time during the night. That rich-girl attitude didn’t make an appearance. I spent twenty minutes willing myself back to the dream version of the woman in front of me. It didn’t work. Seemingly my conscious is smarter than my subconscious.
I rustle up an omelet for her and we sit next to each other on stools to eat. Or, in my case, drink breakfast. I seriously can’t wait until I’m allowed to eat real food again. I can feel my body shedding muscle and pounds. It’s killing me.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask, wondering if she’s struggling as much as I am.
‘Fat. Incredibly fat. It’s starting to make me feel… never mind.’
‘Go on.’
She stares down at the omelet she’s pushing around her plate. ‘Ugly.’
‘Ugly? Are you joking right now? Izzy, you couldn’t look ugly.’ The words seem to leave my mouth without my synapses firing messages. Yet, I don’t try to qualify the statement. It’s true. With the exception of the first day we met, she hardly ever wears makeup. She’s in sports gear most of the time. And I’ve never met a more naturally stunning woman in my life.
She exhales heavily. ‘I understand what you say, you know, about me putting on some muscle. I just find it hard.’ She looks at me, as if she’s wondering whether to continue. We don’t exactly do heart-to-hearts. For some reason, she decides to talk. ‘I went to an all-girls private school. You’re probably thinking lesbian activity, right?’
‘I swear I wasn’t until you put that into my mind. Now, yes, I confess I have a few questions about the shower cubicles.’
She pushes my shoulder roughly, but her forlorn look changes to a smile. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was bitchy and pretentious. It was a constant competition to be the best at everything. Academics. Sports, of the right variety, like polo and dressage. The way you dressed and did your hair. Your weight.
‘Half of it was the parents. If they had the smartest, prettiest, slimmest daughter, they somehow had elevated social status. Being skinny became something that I had to do, not for me, but to please my mother. It’s hard for me to change that mindset. I mean, I love feeling clean but I wish I could eat out without feeling guilty. I want to drink alcohol sometimes. God, I’ve lost so many friends, or at least people I used to think were friends, because I’m just no fun any more.’
I don’t know why but I feel compelled to touch her. I drop my hand to her thigh.
‘We’ll work on it together.’ She looks down at my hand and I realize it is touching her bare skin. Energy powers into my fingertips and courses through each vein and capillary in my body. I pull my hand away. That’s dangerous ground. ‘Your sense of humor failure, I mean.’
She hits me harder this time. ‘Bugger off!’
* * *
I’m spotting for my PT client as he does bench presses. We’ve upped his weight today and he’s feeling the increase as he grunts and barks his way through each lift. He’s doing well. The problem is, I’m not. It’s past lunch and I’m still surviving on this morning’s shake. My hands are trembling, my arms are weak, and I’m wondering whether I’d be any use to this man if he were to get in trouble.
I’m damn annoyed!
This whole damn PR stunt is making me put my own health on the line, but worse than that, it’s making me take risks with my clients. One of my other trainers, Leon, is doing his own workout on the multi-gym.
