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He nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Do I make you nervous, Blake?”
“Do you want to make me nervous?” I make a conscious effort to keep my voice level as I ask the question, but it still comes out coarse.
“Do you always answer a question with another question?”
I give up. “Okay, yes, you make me nervous. Happy?” And now I sound unreasonably shrill.
He winks. “Can’t say I’m not.” With one long draw from his straw, he finishes his smoothie. “Who should I hand my coupon to?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “This one’s on me.”
“Thank you for the smoothie and for the workout, then. I’ll see you around.”
He’s leaving? Just like that. He got me to admit he makes me nervous and then he just ups and leaves? Is this just a game for him? A way to prove he can one-up me? Is he interested in me or just in winning?
MGM stands up, confirming that yep, he’s going. The move, unfortunately, brings him several inches closer. Alarm bells go off in all my internal systems, but for a moment I can’t help but stare into his dark-brown eyes as if hypnotized.
At least until he winks at me again. “Admiring my pretty face?” he whispers.
I frown. “No, worrying about what lurks behind the prettiness.” I can’t read this man and it’s unsettling.
“Only good things, I promise.”
He makes to go again, but some perverse instinct prompts me to reach out and grab his arm. My fingers curl over solid granite biceps, earning me another searing electric shock.
For a moment we both stare at my hand resting on his arm, then his gaze moves up to meet mine, and it’s a second electric shock.
I let him go. “Take a long bath tonight, Gabriel.” My voice comes out an octave lower than normal. “Your muscles will thank you.”
He nods and moves on toward the locker rooms without another word. And I swear I don’t even notice how pleasantly those shorts stretch on his round behind.
* * *
Later that evening, I’m lying on my couch eating a bowl of Reese’s Puffs with milk and not enjoying the sweet treat as much as I should. Sunday nights are eat-whatever-I-want nights, and since I didn’t feel like cooking and I’m out of toffee popcorn, peanut butter corn puffs it is.
I surf Netflix shows, find nothing I want to watch, turn off the TV, drop the remote on the coffee table, and release a puff of air.
What’s the matter with me?
What or who? the devil on my shoulder asks.
I snort.
Okay. What kind of man goes to the trouble of taking an entire ballet class to then just order a smoothie and leave?
What sort of behavior is that?
I stuff my mouth with another huge spoonful of Reese’s Puffs, hoping the deliciousness will melt my sour mood away. But the sugar rush is disappointing. I’ve already picked off the buttery puffs, and that’s why I’ve had to add the milk.
Sometimes it sucks to live alone. I know it’s what adults do, and what many New Yorkers dream of being able to afford. But at times, I miss the old days when I was living with five other girls, all of us working on our businesses. We were a community, what I imagine a college sorority would be like. But then not all of my roommates’ businesses took off like mine; when I started making so much more money than them, I could tell some of them started resenting me. Plus, I wanted the big apartment in Manhattan, proof that I’d made it. So now here I am, alone in a glass box.
On a whim, I grab my phone to text Marissa. But the screen lights up with a text from an unknown number. Then another. And another.
I open the chat with a beating heart.
From Unknown Number
I wanted to let you know again how much I appreciated today’s class
