| |
Rose
“DEAL’S OFF!” I HELD up my hands, suddenly feeling like a cow as little Ms. Sexy Thang sauntered through the gym in her pink leopard-print tights and too-tight gray tank top, her lustrous mahogany hair caught up in a high ponytail and inches worth of makeup on her flawless face. She was the kind of perfect that only came around every so often, and I instantly had a hate-on for her.
Meanwhile, granny here was wearing black stretchies, a slightly too-large T-shirt—but with really cute Minnie Mouse ears on it and the words Bitch please, kind of my mood today. No makeup, but seriously no one should ever pile it on when getting ready to sweat their tits off. That was just stupid.
I hadn’t felt like a cow when I’d walked up. I’d actually been able to pull on a smaller pair of workout pants this morning and had been mentally congratulating myself until that moment.
I turned, but Daniel with his tigerlike reflexes yanked me back by my elbow, twisting me around and glaring down at me with a no-nonsense look.
His mouth was tight, his dark blue eyes dangerous slits, mentally reminding me that I still owed him for acting like such a raging bitch the other night.
I shook my head. “Dani, this ain’t right. You’re ditching me. I mean, at least I’d feel better if you made me your pet project, but why a stranger?”
“Oh, there are so many reasons I’d have to stand here all day to list them off to you, but you trusted me, Rose. So don’t be a fucking pussy now.”
I flinched, hating when he went all macho on me. But he was right. GD it. Yeah, irony that. I had a potty mouth that could make a sailor blush, but there were some words never said in Casa Adams, and taking the Lord’s name in vain had been one of them.
“Meow.” I curved my fingers at him, swiping at his face.
He rolled his eyes theatrically, but his lips trembled. He was trying not to laugh. Grumping, he yanked me into his arms and gave me a tight hug, causing several sets of eyes to turn toward us in shock.
The people who worked there knew he was gay, but there were a couple of envious looks cast our way, faces so easily readable because I’d seen it a million times before.
But Daniel, unlike Kyle, had never cared about stupid, petty assholes. Kissing the top of my head, he ruffled the tips of my bangs, earning me several hateful glares from the Barbie gym rats.
“You’ll be the death of me someday, Rosie. You know that.”
I snorted, hurting, but trying to cover it up with laughter. ’Cause that’s what I did. Never let ’em see you sweat, Rose. Never let ’em know how much it hurts. A wise man had once told me that, and they were words I lived by.
My smile was forced and Daniel knew it, but he was sweet enough to say nothing about it.
Right then the only thing I wanted to do was turn on my heel and hightail my jiggly bum out of there, but I owed him, and my dumb ass knew it. I was terrified. Terrified of looking fat. Looking out of shape. Looking like a clown as I tried to jog, do jumping jacks, train with the weights.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t done this stuff before, hadn’t sweat my proverbial balls off, all the while dying on the inside as people looked at me struggling. There’d been a time when exercising had come as naturally to me as breathing, but my body was no longer the body I’d once had and probably never would be again.
I had stretch marks. Wider hips. I’d always be a curvy girl, which sucked. But I wanted to be healthy again.
Be happy again.
And dammit, I wasn’t ugly. Just because Kyle had run my self-esteem through the ground, I knew I was better than this. That I wasn’t this fugly monster to be feared. But mental heartaches didn’t necessarily make sense and were often the hardest kinds of wounds to heal.
Daniel rubbed his thumb gently over my elbow, and I knew my bestie could practically hear the words in my head. He was the only one in the world who really got me right now.
Bringing his finger to beneath my jaw, he lifted my chin, forcing my eyes to his. He nodded. An unspoken question. Are you gonna be okay?
Reluctantly, I nodded back. I think so.
He kissed my forehead one more time, as if trying to transfer his strength to me.
I clutched at his shirt. Daniel knew how much this cost me. How much I didn’t want to do this, but I would trust him.
I would always trust him.
Movement caught my eye and his at the same moment. Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, Daniel turned us, holding out his hand.
“Rosie, meet Jackson Moore.”
~*~
Jackson
I GRINNED AT THE WOMAN standing in front of me.
Daniel had come to me that morning, not asking but telling me I was taking on a VIP. He owned the gym, and you never said no to the boss. But I wouldn’t have anyway, because Dani wasn’t exactly known for shuffling clients that way.
The mere fact that he let me know up front she was important was a big deal. I was curious enough to find out why it was he’d decided to hand her off to me when everyone knew that Daniel only took on the best.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when he told me about his good friend Rosie Thorne. The only thing I’d known for certain was that his eyes had taken on a “don’t fuck with me” gleam, and I’d understood that whoever she was, she mattered.
In a world full of bullshit, his Rosie mattered.
Leaning against the check-in desk, I eyed her, appraising her quickly. Five foot seven, give or take an inch, with a thick mop of dark brown hair gathered into a loose bun. Fresh faced and dressed in the fugliest set of clothes that was meant to evoke only one response. Ignore me. Look away. Stay the fuck back.
Considering the lengths she went to try to hide it, the girl actually had a pretty face. High cheekbones. Smooth, pale skin. Button nose with a light smattering of freckles. Almond-shaped eyes with thick, dark lashes and milk-chocolate irises. But it was her lips that drew my gaze. Full, pouty, gorgeous fuck-me lips that I could practically envision sliding down my cock as the sexiest-ass noises spilled off her tongue.
The picture was so intensely visceral that I jerked, shoving off the desk with a stern shake of my head.
What the actual fuck had that been?
She blinked, dark eyes going hooded as she flinched, and I realized one thing right off the bat. This woman had zero self-esteem. Like none whatsoever. Literally before my eyes, she was shrinking down into herself. But even as she did it, she laughed, the sound naturally throaty. Shaking her head, she ran twitching fingers over the back of her head, her nerves evident.
“Jackson, huh?” she asked, and her voice was sensual in a way I’d not expected. There was a husky Southern twang there, different from what was typical in Tennessee, more dirty South, reminding me of a velvety piece of hot caramel. Sweet. Decadent.
I felt like I’d just been kicked in the nuts, my nostrils flared, and my skin suddenly broke out in a violent wash of goose bumps.
And then the mental pictures were hammering at my skull again as I imagined her on her knees, nothing around us but darkness as she spoke to me with that fucking delicious voice of hers before going down on me, long and deep. Sucking me raw.
The image was so real that I coughed, skin feeling suddenly hot and clammy.
I grunted a yes. I hoped. Wasn’t exactly sure what that sound had been coming out of me. I was twitchy and weirded out by my sudden X-rated fantasies of this shy field mouse.
“So should I call you Jack or just Jackie?”
And though I knew she wanted to die, knew she wanted a hole to open up and take her with it, her milk-chocolate eyes were dancing as if she knew a joke I didn’t, turning her from something almost forgettable to something way more. She was trying to pretend my reaction hadn’t flayed her to the bone. Trying too hard, affecting an air of “I don’t care,” but it was bullshit and I saw through it.
“Just Jackson.” My voice came out harsher than I’d intended it to, and her smile slipped just a little. I grunted, trying to rattle those grossly inappropriate thoughts from my head. What the hell was wrong with me today? I’d just finished working Alana, five foot nine of luscious sex on legs with bouncing tits that could make even a saint go bad, flirting for the past damn hour, growing hard with each little provocative bounce she gave. She was always doing that. She got off on it. It was harmless fun. That was all.
That was what this was.
I was primed. Ready for it. It could have been anyone. Anything.
I felt Daniel’s slicing stare, curiosity mingling with you’d-better-treat-her-right, and I nodded, telling him not to worry. I was good. I was right as fucking rain.
In here I was a professional. Didn’t matter if the sexiest pair of lips I’d ever seen were currently tilted up into a nervous question mark.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I took her hand, shaking it twice. Up. Down. Down. Up.
Soft hands. But not sweaty. God, I hated clammy hands. Her skin felt like petals. And suddenly I found myself fighting the urge to slide my thumb over her knuckles, around her wrist, just to see if she was as soft everywhere else.
The hell was this?
I grunted, dropping her hand like I’d been burned. Which obviously she noticed, fingers curling tight to her leg. But I’d needed to stop touching her before I did something stupid. I was irritated with myself. My dry spell might have been longer than I’d have liked, but shit.
Daniel dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder. Grip firm, almost demanding. “You got this?” he asked, a silken thread of warning in his words.
He’d noticed my reaction. Seen what it’d done to her. I swallowed hard, hating the sudden and rapid beating of my heart.
Get your shit together, Moore. I clenched my jaw and nodded.
“Yup. Got it. Rose, come with me.” I turned on my heel, walking to my office. Door was staying open. I jogged a little ways ahead of her, needing some distance, some room.
I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on with me, but I was gonna get myself under control. Rose Thorne wasn’t my type.
She was too short. To low on self-esteem. I was six foot three and dated women more my height. Taller. Athletic.
Yeah, that made me a shallow prick. I knew it, and I hated myself for it. But I was in my final year of getting a business degree. I had goals. Aspirations. That’s why out of high school I’d joined the Army. To get that college money. Always focused on the next step in life.
My dream was to franchise my own gym. Sure, there’d been a few bumps along the way, but I’d remained singular in my pursuit of what I wanted.
That’s why I loved what I did. Why I was good at what I did. Because I cared.
Right?
So why did I feel like such a fucking low-life loser for immediately noticing the baggy clothes, the frizzy hair? I’d never thought I was shallow. Never realized I even could be.
I would have said it was impossible for me to be “that guy.”
I was the fucking loser at parties always steamrolling guys for saying douchey things when someone walked past who didn’t look like she’d just stepped off the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
Shoving those thoughts away, I was determined to get through this and not make her feel any more uncomfortable than I already had. For better or worse, this girl was important to the boss, and I was going to do right by her for his sake.
I sat at my desk, yanking out a new personal file with more force than necessary. Her movements were cautious as she sat across from me, crossing her legs, showing off a dainty pair of ankles.
Fuck me. It was all I could do to swallow my groan. Those gorgeous lips of hers pursed, making my cock twitch, fill with a sudden rush of blood as I imagined those lips working me. Sweat broke out on my forehead.
I was a dick. Because my body and my brain, they didn’t agree. I was becoming the kind of douche I’d always hated. The one noticing a girl who didn’t fit the mainstream definition of beauty and fighting like hell to try to deny it.