Anna
Nibbling on the end of my pen—which is a nasty habit, by the way—I stare at my computer screen and try to become inspired by the most current project Kynan has put me in charge of. It’s nothing groundbreaking, and it’s completely what would be expected of the administrative assistant to the man in charge of this company.
And yet, it seems just a little too mundane for me.
Or maybe, that’s not even it.
Maybe it’s because I’m completely distracted by that kiss Malik and I shared three days ago.
Or maybe… it’s because I’m distracted by the fact the kiss was amazing and now Malik is completely avoiding me. Which would ordinarily be difficult for him to do since he’s been riding a desk since his return and it puts him in the same vicinity as me, but he somehow talked Kynan into letting him go with Ladd to New York to prepare for an upcoming security job escorting a foreign dignitary visiting New York City around next month. After scouting out the venues where the VIP will be present, they’ll work up a security plan with that information.
I’ve tried to call him. He doesn’t answer, and he hasn’t called me back.
Tried to text him. He responded, but feigned he was too busy to talk. Said he’d “get up with me” when he returned to Pittsburgh.
I’d think my feelings would be hurt, but they’re not. If there’s one thing that rang true the other night, it’s Malik is completely conflicted about his feelings. I can’t hold that against him. He and I are complicated as hell. The amount of baggage each of us is carrying on this journey is incredibly heavy. I’m not stupid… I know how treacherous this could become for us both, but it’s something we need to talk about.
I can’t do that if he’s avoiding me.
Setting my pen on the desk, I get out of my chair and stretch my back. I take a walk around my small office, trying to get focused, and look out through the glass wall—across the open space of the second floor and past the floating staircase to the offices across the way.
I see Corinne sitting in her office, typing on her laptop.
Haven’t talked to her in a while. Maybe I’ll take a little break to mosey over to say hello. Just a friendly thing.
Nodding hello at several coworkers as I wind my way through a few desks, I saunter over to Corinne’s office and give a light tap on her opened door. When she lifts her gaze, I’m given a welcoming smile.
“Hey,” she says warmly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I step inside, then settle into one of her guest chairs. She shifts her office chair my way, uncrossing and recrossing her legs.
“Just thought I’d stop in to say hello,” I reply vaguely. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”
“I’m good,” she replies with a bob of her head. “Had a quiet Thanksgiving back home in Atlanta. How are you?”
For a second, I consider giving the obligatory “all is good on my end” reply, but then think better of it. Part of Corinne’s job is to keep the Jameson employees mentally healthy, so I should take advantage of it.
“I have a bit of a problem.” I hesitate in case she needs to tell me this isn’t a good time and I need to schedule an appointment, but she just appears alert and interested, so I jump at the opportunity to spill my guts. “I think there’s something romantic happening between Malik and me, but now he’s acting weird about it. He has misgivings, and so do I, but then again, I really don’t. I mean… it’s complicated, right? And his issues aren’t the same as mine, but we’ve been through an event that’s sort of bonded us in a way, and now he’s just wigged out and not speaking to me, and I’d really like to explore that kiss and perhaps—”
“Whoa, wait,” Corinne cuts in over my rambling. “There was a kiss?”
“A short one,” I reply, nodding. “But it was so good. Impactful, but it totally freaked him out. Now he’s avoiding me.”
“Okay,” Corinne says, popping out of her chair. She moves to the door and shuts it, then takes the other guest chair beside me. “I have about half an hour until my next appointment. Back up and start from the beginning.”
I take a deep breath, then spill all about what’s happened between Malik and me over the last few weeks since he returned. She listens patiently without interrupting.
When I finish, I add, “I can’t explain it, but we have a bond. It’s more than friendship… deeper. And there’s obviously attraction, but I think he’s afraid to take it farther.”
“Put Malik aside,” Corinne says bluntly. “Because you truly don’t know what he’s feeling, so you can’t speak for him. Tell me what you want. What you feel.”
That sets me back on my heels a bit. I’ve been so concerned about how Malik is taking everything I hadn’t bothered to assess my own thoughts on the matter. I mean… I generally know what I feel, but is it healthy?
I take another cleansing breath so I can focus. “Okay… I feel something for Malik. A lot of things, actually. Empathy for what he’s been through. Respect for the same thing. We both lost something in Syria, so we have a bond because of it. While I’m not sure exactly of the why of it, I can tell you it’s incredibly deep. Almost metaphysical. Additionally, I’m attracted to him as a woman is attracted to a man, in a way that has nothing to do with anything that happened in Syria. But I feel guilty about it, because my husband died only six months ago, which makes me feel shallow and disloyal. It makes me think I should just take the easy way out by maintaining nothing but a friendship with Malik, but it’s hard when I know he is at least attracted to me in the same way. Plus… add that he has some misgivings or doubts, same as I do. Is this even a place we should consider going?”
Corinne nods thoughtfully, seeming to consider my words. “It is a lot on you right now. Malik, too. You’ve both experienced trauma and grief, and you’re still processing those emotions. Ideally, it’s not the best time to act on romantic feelings, which can get garbled up with the other emotions.”
An overwhelming sensation of disappointment hits me, and I drop my gaze down to my lap.
“I can see it bothers you,” Corinne murmurs. “Which is certainly telling. But I said ‘ideally’ it’s not the best time to act on those types of feelings. Doesn’t mean it’s a hard-and-fast rule.”
I jerk my head up. “So I should go for it? Or at least confront the possibility of a relationship with Malik?”
“I didn’t say that,” she replies carefully. “It just means there are no rules. But there are perils you need to be aware of. You also need to have an understanding that starting a relationship with Malik, given what you two have been through, could potentially be difficult to navigate.”
What she says makes sense, but it doesn’t address my most pressing concern. I can hear the pleading in my tone when I ask, “But is it wrong? Am I being disloyal to Jimmy by feeling attraction to Malik?”
“Did Jimmy ask you to never get married or be happy again if he died?” she counters.
“We never talked about it,” I admit.
“Well, do you think he’d want you to stay single forever—to stay true to him?” she presses.
The answer comes to me immediately. “No. He’d want me to be happy, no matter what that happiness looked like.”
“There you go,” she says, waving a hand. “If Malik makes you happy—and Jimmy would have wanted that for you no matter what—it seems to me it can’t be wrong.”
Seems fairly straightforward. I sink back into the chair, mulling it over, but I quickly realize that’s only half the formula. “Still doesn’t mean Malik is okay with any of this.”
“That’s something you’ll only figure out by talking about it with him,” she replies with a pointed look.
I sigh. “If he would quit avoiding me, I would. It’s hard to talk to him when he’s jetting off to New York.”
Grinning, Corinne rises from her chair. “He’s back.”
“What?” I exclaim, popping up.
“I was upstairs about an hour ago, and he was just getting back. Said he was going to grab a workout before hopping in the shower.”
I pivot to stare at the floating staircase that leads upward. If he’s still in the gym, I could potentially corner him… force him to discuss this with me.
“Be prepared,” Corinne warns. I turn to give her my attention, the hair on the nape of my neck rising at the tone of her voice. “He may not be able to get past his concerns the way you have. If not, you need to be accepting of that.”
I swallow hard past the lump of foreboding clogging my throat. “Understood.”
I’d never do anything to make this harder on Malik. But I don’t want him to ignore this, either. Better to rip the bandage off, then staunch the flow of blood thereafter.
“Thanks, Corinne,” I say, moving toward the door. “I think I’ll go up to see if I can have a talk with him now.”
“Good luck,” she replies.
♦
The fourth-floor gym has been a haven for me over the last several months. I’ve always been into working out, even as early as high school where I played volleyball and ran track. My dedication to fitness is how I knew I’d be a good soldier, and why I wasn’t intimidated by joining the Army. The Jameson gym is how I got the baby weight off after Avery was born, and I still use the facilities whenever I get the chance. For the most part, my workouts have to be done at home because of Avery, but whenever I have extra time, I can be found at the gym—either running on a treadmill or doing strength training with weights.
The facility is huge, taking up half the fourth floor, and it has every conceivable piece of equipment anyone could ever want, including a half-court basketball area. It’s why I don’t see Malik immediately when I walk in. It’s midafternoon and fairly deserted, since most people prefer early morning or after work to hit the gym.
Finally hearing the clank of metal from where the power racks are located, I head that way. I have to wind through a few rows of stationary bikes, stair climbers, and treadmills before I see him doing chest presses.
He’s flat on his back, pumping heavy stacks of plates. Not wanting to disturb his concentration, I move in a bit closer, but I remain out of his periphery. When he’s finished and has the barbell racked, he sits up to straddle the bench.
Malik doesn’t see me right away. Instead, he twists to the left to grab a towel. I take a moment to appreciate the unfettered view of his body, which I’m not ashamed in the least to admit I find attractive. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gym shorts. He’s lean, which is an improvement over emaciated. The muscles of his bare chest are starting to build up again, and there’s beautiful definition in his shoulders and biceps. There’s a thin sheen of sweat over his body, but he only uses the towel to mop his face.
When it falls away, he sees me, and his entire body goes still.
I close the distance between us. The closer I get, the more alarmed his expression becomes. I guess he knows I’m here to discuss what happened in my apartment the other night.
Malik rises from the bench, dropping the towel. I come to a stop just a few feet away from him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies hesitantly.
“You’re back.”
“Just a few hours ago,” he says, then lamely adds, “I was going to come see you—”
I hold my hand up to stop him because his intentions, or lack thereof, are unimportant to me. I’d thought to come in here and demand we sit down to have a meaningful discussion about what’s going on between us.
But, to be honest, everything in my gut straight up to my heart is telling me that talking might not be the right course right now. We’re in a gym—seemingly alone since I didn’t spot anyone else—and Malik is half-naked and looking incredibly hot.
Sometimes… words can be overrated.
I step into him, my hands settling on his damp chest. The muscles under my fingers leap, and a low rumble emits from within him. Slowly, I drag my gaze up until my eyes lock on his, which are darkened, confused, and a little feral.
Purposefully, I slide my hands up.
Over his collarbones, then along the sides of his neck.
Fingertips touching the damp ends of his hair, thumbs along his jaw. My gaze narrows on his mouth, and there’s no way he can mistake my intent.
I pull him down to me… or attempt to since he resists.
Letting my eyes drift up, I feel my heart squeeze when I see the conflict on his face. Never have I seen someone want something so much, yet the clear refusal to go there is obvious.
Stroking my thumbs along his stubble, I murmur, “Trust me, Malik.”
Immediately, I feel the tension in his neck release as he does exactly as I request.
He trusts me.
I rise onto my tiptoes, exert the tiniest amount of pressure with my hands, and draw Malik’s mouth down to mine.
At first touch—his lips against mine—I know within my heart of hearts there is nothing wrong with this. It’s an exploratory meeting of our mouths, soft and hesitant.
Hopeful.
Malik’s breath stutters… a shaky exhale into my mouth.
The last bit of control he’s giving up.
His arms come up, knocking mine out of the way, then it’s his hands on my face.
Holding me in place as his head tilts and he deepens the kiss. I feel it all the way down to my soul. Now, I can do nothing but grip onto his shoulders and hang on for the ride, my life suddenly turned into a roller coaster of emotion.
Then, a noise penetrates through the fog of lust… voices.
Two men, laughing about something, near the front of the gym.
Malik and I spring apart from each other as if we’d been shocked with a current. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Saint and Cruce walking in with gym bags in their hands. They don’t see us as they head toward the basketball court.
I turn back to Malik, dismayed to see a thin veil of unease creep back into his expression. How he can have doubts after that kiss is beyond me…
I guess now is the time to actually use my words.
Well, not “now”. We have work to finish out for the day.
Reaching out, I grab his hand and give it a quick squeeze. “Will you come over for dinner tonight so we can talk? I think it would help.”
“Help what?” he asks… his voice cracking.
“You to be okay with this,” I reply gently with another squeeze to his hand. “I want you to know I’m okay with this. I want you to be, too. I think we have something, Malik, but we need to talk, okay?”
He merely gives me a nod with so much emotion written all over his face. Fear, doubt and yet… there’s one thing I decide I’ll hold on to… hope.