“Shit, I’d pay all day long,” the taller guy says. He looks like a surfer. “Hey, I’m D’Artagnan.”
The smaller one of the three only smiles. “You guys leave her alone. Sorry, miss.”
I can’t think, talk, or move. I go to cover my stomach, but then my gaze gets locked with Owen’s, and I know for a fact that he has absolutely no intention at all of leaving me alone. He licks his lips, and with the swagger of Ryan Reynolds, he winks at me.
He then gets up with no effort and struts toward me. I’m surprised he isn’t as toned as I assumed he was. He is fluffy. He has a little bit of a stomach and even stretch marks, which is totally unexpected. My mouth is dry, and my heart is pounding so hard, I doubt I could hear him if he tried to talk to me.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he goes to the weights, grabbing some thirty-fives and holding them out to me. I put down my water and stare at him. “I can’t do that.”
“You can,” he insists, and I take them, though he doesn’t give me much choice. He comes behind my bench, crouching down a bit, and I just look at him. “Come on, you can do it. I’m going to spot you.”
Spot me? As in, touch me? When we’re both a sweaty mess and you look that good?
Yeah, no big deal.
I feel as if I’m swallowing sand as I struggle to get the weights up, but then he helps, getting me in the perfect form. His touch is warm and kind. I feel safe as his hands wrap around my wrists, and I know he has me. Owen guides my arms up and down, and it’s hard to focus on what I’m doing when I’m watching him watch me. Somehow, though, I’m lifting it, and I’m proud to say, I’m doing all the work. He is there for reassurance, and I’m so impressed by myself when we get to ten.
Together.
He takes the weights from my hands, setting them down beside me.
I meet his gaze in the mirror when he says, “Told ya.”
I shrug. “I guess you were right.”
“Yup,” he says, winking at me again, and I bite down on my lip, squeezing my thighs together. I know he notices it, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Um… Well, er, thanks?”
He grins. “No problem. How many sets you got left?”
“That was the last one.”
“Awesome. What’s next?”
“Treadmill.”
“Don’t do too much cardio,” he advises, putting my weights away.
I stand up, giving him a look. “Um, cardio burns fat.”
“Yes, but weight lifting is better for it. It’s slower but more beneficial in the end. I’ll send you an article on it— Oh, wait,” he says, holding my gaze. “I can’t because you wouldn’t give my brother the go-ahead to give me your number.”
I press my lips together. “Well, I think it’s kinda pathetic you have to get your brother to get my number.”
His eyes dance with mine. “Well, I wouldn’t have to do that if you hadn’t blown me off last night.”
“Well, I didn’t blow you off.”
“Well, you did.”
“Well, I feel I wasn’t there with you. We just ended up in the same place. So, there is no way I could have blown you off.”
“Well, I feel we were there together the moment we shared those pickles.”
My eyes widen. “I never shared with you! You stole my pickles!”
“And you stole my sauce!”
I gasp audibly, which makes him chuckle, a low and dirty sound. “You lie! You basically forced me to eat it!”
When he grins, my heart dances in my chest. “I knew you wanted my sauce.”
Oh sweet Jesus. “I didn’t want any such thing.”
He nods slowly. “You did,” he says, leaning in. “But can I tell you what I want?”
Our eyes lock as I swallow hard. “I don’t think I want to know.”
His eyes brighten. “Oh, you do.”
“Doubtful.”
“You do.” His lips curve, and my kitty cries for him. “I want your number, Pax.”
I knew I didn’t want to know. My gaze is locked with his, and I know if I give it to him, I’m giving in to whatever game he wants to play. If I don’t give it to him, then I may regret it for the rest of my life.
“For what?” I ask to give myself more time to figure out what the hell I’m doing.
He taunts, running his hands down his chest and then to his hips. Not that I watch or that I’m drooling.
Much.
I wipe my mouth as he says, “For some texts. Maybe some calls. But definitely FaceTimes.” I fight back a grin as he moves in closer, and I can smell the sweat on his body mixed with that spicy, woodsy smell. He turns his hat to the back, his eyes on full display as he looks down at me, meaning nothing but business.
And maybe some naughty fun.
Or maybe I want the fun?
“Because you’ll need my guidance when you’re lifting, and if I can’t be here, we can FaceTime.”
“How thoughtful.”
“Exactly,” he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Also, if I don’t get to see that gorgeous face of yours when I’m on the road, I may play like shit. And you don’t want that on your conscience. Do you?” He moves in even closer, and I can feel the pure heat radiating off his big body. His eyes promise all kinds of things that I am not even the slightest bit ready for. With the most serious and thoughtful look, he asks, “You wouldn’t want me to suck, Paxy? On the ice, I mean.”
Oh. My. God.
I’m so screwed.
Chapter Thirteen
Owen
* * *
I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t kiss Angie again until she knows she’s hot as fuck.
But as I stand here, grinning at her, my cock is harder than a barbell, and I’m finding that my promise was the dumbest thing I’ve ever decided in my life. And I’ve promised some pretty stupid shit. Like when I promised Evan all my candy from Halloween if he did my chores. That was dumb. Or when I promised Quinn endless rides the summer before I left for the IceCats. Really dumb since the kid only goes to the library. Who still goes to the library? I was bored out of my mind. Or when I promised Posey I wouldn’t tell Shelli that Posey told Aiden that Shelli farted all the time. I did tell him, and then Posey kicked my ass because Shelli kicked hers. In all reality, one would think I’d learned my lesson about making promises.
I haven’t.
And I will kiss Angie tonight.
Not now, though. I’ve got to keep working my magic on her.
Angie’s lips part as she looks up at me. Even being a taller girl, she’s still shorter than me, and while this may make me sound like a complete asshole pervert—hell, call me whatever—holy shit, her tits look fantastic in that bra. I almost dropped a three-hundred-pound weight on my face when she took off her shirt. No, I shouldn’t have been watching her, and no, I wouldn’t mind dying that way. I am stoked she took my advice. I am proud of her too. She’s way stronger than she realizes, and maybe instead of promising not to kiss her, I can promise to help her learn her strength.
Shit, if she keeps looking at me through those long lashes and thick-rimmed glasses, I’ll promise her anything.