TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9
The apartment felt small, the walls closing in on her as Jaime lay in bed with no reason to get up. It had been years since she’d lacked a reason to launch from bed on a weekday morning.
Yet now, nothing.
And if she were honest, her reaction inside the elevator yesterday had freaked her out.
Would she sense Dane everywhere with something as simple as a scent serving as a trigger?
She might not be strong enough to handle that.
Just thinking those words made anger boil inside her.
She didn’t want her world to shrink to the space of her apartment while she waited to see what would happen with the ethics charges.
She threw back the covers and slid her feet into slippers before heading into the living space. She grabbed the remote on her way past the TV and turned it on as she took the fifteen steps to the galley kitchen.
Simba stretched from his perch on the tiny shabby chic table and then moved to the edge and stuck out a paw toward her as if he wanted to bat her nose.
“Hey, buddy.” She grabbed his paw and pulled him next to her. Her hand ran along his soft spine, and he nuzzled her fingers.
“Wish you could keep me company while I work out.” Having Caroline as a roommate, even temporarily, highlighted how isolated she’d become. A run on a treadmill in the building’s fitness center would help her manage her stress and boredom.
Jaime was fifteen minutes into a workout when the door opened and Captain America walked in. She stumbled on the belt and then steadied herself on the arms of the machine, praying he hadn’t noticed.
He headed toward the weights, then caught her gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
She tried to keep her voice steady and her posture erect as he changed course and stepped onto the treadmill next to hers. “I thought when your dog attacked my cat, you’d figure out I live here.”
“It wasn’t an attack, Jaime.” He turned on the machine and got it moving at a quick clip.
He grinned at her as his legs ate up the treadmill’s speed. He wasn’t that much taller than her five foot nine—probably just over six feet—but he sure made it look easier than it felt to her. There had been a time exercise outdoors had been her salvation. She blew a strand of hair that had slipped from her headband. Of course, he had to come in when she was unshowered and on the verge of doing more than glistening.
Not that she cared.
She pushed the speed up a few ticks. Now she was at a fast walk but not quite a jog, as he loped along. She glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He looked comfortable and ready to settle in for a long run.
Guess she might as well make conversation. “How often are you here?”
“I run at least five times a week. Do it here if it’s not nice enough to run outside.”
That explained the Captain America physique.
“Mind if I turn on the TV?” he asked, not sounding at all out of breath.
“Sure.” She wouldn’t stay much longer, not when his presence pushed her off balance. He didn’t need to know how short her time had been. Next time she’d bring a magazine to cover the control panel. And monstrous headphones so she could slip them on and look unavailable. Just in case.
He clicked to a news station, and she tried to ignore it. The last thing she needed was talking heads yapping about nothing.
This was ridiculous.
No man, in person or on the screen, was going to deter her from her plan.
She bumped the pace up.
She might be on hiatus, but her life was far from over. And she was not going to let her concerns about this man whom she barely knew change what little she could accomplish for the day. She could use this leave to focus on her fitness and help Savannah with Tiffany’s case. In fact, she should knock out the material Savannah had asked for. She smiled. That would give her day needed purpose.
The treadmill belt picked up speed, and she jogged to keep up. She glanced at Chandler’s readout. How could he go so much faster than she was and make it look easy? Long legs were unfair. That’s all there was to it.
She glanced at the TV, where two men in suits relaxed while ogling a pretty blonde in a too-short skirt reading some prepared script for a local morning show. Video of several men in military uniforms rolled, and Jaime’s steps hitched. She flailed for the handles and double-timed her pace.
“Turn it up.” She didn’t want to know, but then she saw her uncle’s face. Or was it just someone who looked like him? She shuddered but wanted to know what they were saying.
“What?” Chandler clicked a few buttons, and words popped up on the screen.
“I need to hear what they’re saying.”
He clicked a few more buttons, but the story had ended by the time she could understand what they were talking about.
“That what you need?”
“Never mind. You can turn it down now.” It wasn’t his fault the story was over. But as her hands trembled on the treadmill’s handlebars, she wished she could deep breathe her way out of the building tension.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”
“All the time.” Yet few knew that being tightly in control was what held her life together. Because as appealing as Chandler Bolton might be from a distance, she knew that up close he would find her lacking.
What was happening between her ears? He really wanted to know, because the signals she sent were crazy. A mix of come-hither and stay-thee-far-away.
As he watched, she hit the stop button on the treadmill and slowed down before hopping to the side.
He hadn’t seen her in the workout room before; she seemed unfamiliar with the equipment. And why was she leaving so soon . . . Did she want to get away from him that much?
It wasn’t Aslan, since the dog was upstairs in the apartment. And Chandler knew he wasn’t misreading her cautious interest. He wanted to know what was behind that hesitation, because he didn’t think it was directed at him. Their interactions had been insufficient for her to decide he wasn’t worth the effort.
His phone vibrated, and he glanced at the screen. Rianna? Why was his ex contacting him? He hadn’t spoken with her since the divorce was finalized a year ago.
He shrugged. His gaze drifted back to Jaime, who had stepped off the treadmill on the side farthest from him.
“Answer your phone,” she said. “I’m leaving anyway.”
“No need.” Not when he had someone more interesting standing in front of him. Rianna represented his past. Could Jaime be his future?
The thought ricocheted through him with the force of an IED. He felt exposed in a way he didn’t like.
He frowned, then leaned forward to play with his phone, anything to break the direction of his thoughts. He upped the speed on the treadmill until his legs were pumping at about his capacity. This was what he needed. A pounding so intense it forced his focus to stay on the treadmill.
“You okay?” There was something like concern on her face as Jaime watched him.
“It’s not every day you get a call from your ex-wife.”
Her expression turned to confusion. “You’re married?”
“Ex-wife. Not anymore.” The words hurt, but not like they used to. “Let’s just say while I was stationed overseas my wife decided she was too lonely to wait.”
“I’m . . . sorry that happened.”
“Not your fault.” He tried to keep the words light.
“But I can hate you came home to that.”
There was something healing in her words and the way she acknowledged the pain of his experience. “Thank you.”
This time it was her phone that buzzed. She glanced at it, and the color drained from her face.
“My turn to ask if you’re okay.”
“I will be, but I need to get to court. Enjoy your workout.” She pivoted and hurried toward the door with a quick look over her shoulder.
He shouldn’t have mentioned his divorce, not now. That would always be part of his story, but maybe it wasn’t wise to lead with it. Oh well, he couldn’t unsay it.
He upped his intensity level to the crazy level and then kept it there for fifteen more minutes . . . as if he could sweat her from his system.