by Tara Sivec
“That was one time, and no one told me you shouldn’t eat an entire pot brownie at once. Fuck off.”
My eyes dart over her shoulder to the clock with the Army insignia in the center of it that’s hanging on the wall above the door leading out into the gym.
“You’re nervous,” Blake suddenly states.
I look away from the clock to see her staring down at my leg. Which is currently bouncing up and down. With a growl, I press my hand against my thigh to make it stop.
“Don’t—”
“Make a big thing out of this,” Blake interrupts me, finishing my sentence with a roll of her eyes. “Eat shit, little brother. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve met the women you’ve dated before. You never once got all heart-eyes and nervous leg flutters over any of them. You really like this one. And she’s not interested.” She lets out a loud, boisterous laugh, holding her hand against her stomach as she continues to cackle.
“I don’t see why this is so funny to you. And she’s interested, believe me.”
“It’s funny, because she’s not falling all over you like every other woman you’ve come in contact with since you hit puberty and got all pretty and shit.” Blake continues to laugh as she points at my face. “You’re going to have to work for this one. I like this woman already.”
“Don’t get too attached just yet. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. She can’t be this perfect,” I tell her, waiting for her laughter to die down before I continue. “But she didn’t ask me about my knee. She didn’t even look at it. Didn’t care. Not in a bitchy way. In a ‘it’s none of my business’ way. And she told me I was an asshole when she got her first good look around the gym. She didn’t tell me I was a hero; she didn’t go on and on about how good of a person I am. She called me an asshole.”
There’s nothing but the sound of the ticking clock in the room as Blake processes what I just said. She knows why this is a big thing for me. She knows better than anyone. I stay silent as she clears her throat, pushing back her emotions.
“Well, you are an asshole. It’s good her judgement isn’t clouded because of… all that,” Blake says with a wave of her hand in my direction.
When I hear the ding of a bell, indicating someone just walked through the front door, I jump up from my seat so fast the office chair goes flying back and slams into the desk.
This just makes Blake laugh loudly all over again, adding a head shake as she jogs over to the door, opening it a crack and peeking out.
“Daaamn. She really does have a great ass. Don’t tell my wife I said that,” Blake whispers back to me over her shoulder.
With a sigh, I pull my shit together and walk over to the door, shoving Blake out of the way. Opening up the door the rest of the way, I step out of the office, my feet jerking to a stop as soon as I get my first look at Ember again after four days.
Christ. I am such a pussy.
Her back is to me, and of course my eyes go right to her ass. She’s wearing a pair of red, skintight, athletic leggings, and the way those things curve around the swell of her ass makes my dick swell in my jogger pants. With a white tank top that shows off a little muscle definition in her deltoids and biceps, I jump to full-blown hard-on mode, knowing that as much as she says she hates gyms and working out, she definitely keeps in shape one way or another.
It’s not like I’m a health nut, or have this crazy workout regime, or set up those fucking meal plans for people. I like fast food. I never order diet, fat-free, calorie-free, taste-free, joy-free anything. But working out, and helping other people work out, is my job. It’s the biggest part of my life. My dick knows this. And my dick sure as fuck appreciates Ember’s fit little body, even as she turns around and I see the front of her white tank top has red lettering that says Did you say exercise? I thought you said extra fries.
With all that blonde hair up in a high ponytail on her head, Ember’s eyes finally meet mine across the room. Just like the other day at Starbucks, I feel like someone punched me in the goddamn chest when she looks at me. While I’m standing here with a hard-on, and probably some kind of wild look on my face, Ember crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me.
“Interested, huh? I think not.” Blake laughs from right behind me, looking over my shoulder at Ember’s less than interested expression.
Goodbye, hard-on.
I respect any woman who has no interest in me, and I back off. Regardless of what Blake said, this is not the first time a woman told me she didn’t have any interest. Sure, it doesn’t happen very often, but it happens. I’m not one of those douchebags who thinks “no” will turn to “yes” if I just keep bugging the shit out of her and wear her down. But I saw Ember’s interest. I saw her lick her bottom lip while I stared at her mouth. I felt her shiver when I pressed my hand against the small of her back. And when the glare on Ember’s face across the room disappears as her eyes continue to stay locked on mine, I watch her swallow. And lick that bottom lip of hers.
I can’t stop the grin that lifts the corner of my mouth as I slide my hands into the front pockets of my joggers and walk toward her. Stopping when I’m a few inches away from her, I keep my hands in my pockets as I stare down at her, afraid that if I pull them out I’m going to want to grab onto her hips and yank that hot body of hers against mine.
“Glad to see you followed instructions on the comfortable clothes, Tink,” I tell her, my eyes trailing down the front of her body and back up to her face.
I watch her try to suppress a shudder, and it just makes my smile grow.
Not interested, my ass.
“Are you blushing, Ember?” I tease in a low voice. “My, my. Such behavior in front of your boss. I’m going to have to mark this on your employee file.”
She huffs in the most adorable way, any trace of interest immediately erased from her face.
“Piss off. It’s hot in here. You really do need donors so you can get some decent air conditioning,” she replies in a haughty voice.
She has no idea that when she gives me attitude it’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“Yo, bitch tits! I got the baby oil for you to rub all over yourself that you requested, and I picked up your Speedo thong from the dry cleaners,” Blake announces, coming up to stand next to me.
Ember tries to smother a laugh as I let out a sigh.
“Blake, this is Ember. Ember, this is Blake, my annoying sister who doesn’t understand boundaries. And may or may not have seen our emails,” I mutter apologetically.
“Eh, my best friend read them as well. You’ll be happy to know that she too thinks you are unexceptional.” Ember shrugs.
“Are my ears deceiving me? Do we have another inductee into the Baker Ain’t Shit Fan Club?”
We all turn as Rachel walks up to my sister, wrapping her arm around her waist and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Not one, but two new members, my love. It’s like all our dreams are finally coming true,” Blake says is a dreamy voice, clasping her hands together under her chin.
“All right, fuck off. Both of you,” I grumble, turning away from their amused smiles to look back at Ember. “Ember, this is Rachel, my equally annoying sister-in-law, and Blake’s wife.”
With her arm still securely around Blake’s waist, Rachel holds her free hand out toward Ember. Who just stands there with her arms still crossed in front of her, looking back and forth between my sister and her wife.
A sick feeling starts to form in the pit of my stomach the longer Rachel continues to stand there with her hand outstretched and Ember doesn’t take it.
“Oh, come on,” Ember mutters, a look of irritation on her face as she keeps looking back and forth between Blake and Rachel. “This just isn’t right.”
Son of a bitch. This is it. This is the other goddamn shoe dropping.
Ember sweeps her arm between them, making a little annoyed, growling sound under her breath, while I try to steady my breathing and not lose my shit all over the pla
ce that I found her one fucking flaw.
“Seriously, all this… I can’t,” Ember says with a shake of her head while I try not to throw up. “Two ridiculously hot people should not be together. It defies the laws of nature. One person in a coupledom should always be slightly hotter than the other. It’s science.”
The breath I was holding comes out of me in a whoosh, and I let out a relieved laugh when Blake and Rachel practically throw down with each other trying to get to Ember first so they can hug her, the three of them wrapped up in some kind of three-way, girly hug filled with giggles. When the hug finally breaks apart, after all three of them have exchanged phone numbers and make plans to go to lunch, I just stand there staring at Ember. The woman who continues to surprise me. She moves away from Blake and Rachel when they start talking about their dinner plans, to come over and stand in front of me.
“So, in the interest of science and all, which one of us is hotter?” I ask her.
“We’re not in a coupledom. That’s a stupid question,” she says with an eye roll. “But it’s obviously me. Have you seen my ass?”
“He has your ass saved on his phone!” Blake shouts from a few feet away.
“Wow. I am so going to HR about this.” Ember sighs with a shake of her head, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.
“Rachel is definitely the hotter one, by the way!” I shout back to my sister.
Rachel lets out a cheer, throwing her hands up in the air, while Blake gives me the finger.
“We should probably get to work. You know, keep this professional and all,” I remind Ember with a serious expression on my face.
“Yep, absolutely. Professional. I am a professional, here to do a job.” She nods, her eyes staring right at my mouth.
Challenge accepted.
CHAPTER 11
Ember
I Don’t Think That Means What You Think it Does
I am immune to his hot jock charms, I am immune to his jot jock charms…
“Did you really think you could kick my ass if I got out of hand when you met me at Starbucks?” Baker asks, referring to the threat I made to him in the email when I agreed to meet him, his thumb lazily rubbing circles around the inside of my wrist.
I glance up at him through my eyelashes, not wanting to tip my head up even more; otherwise, I’ll be tempted to look at his damn mouth again. When he said we were going to get to work, I thought that would give me a chance to put some much needed distance between us.
Like, him here in Chicago and me in Indonesia.
Baker’s hand is gently wrapped around my wrist, and he holds it up between us as he takes his sweet old time winding a blue hand-wrap around my knuckles, palm, and wrist. We’ve been standing in a far corner of the gym for the last few minutes while he quietly wraps my hands, standing so close I can feel the heat from his body and smell his soapy skin. When I realize he’s done wrapping me up and still hasn’t let go of my hand between us, or stopped that maddening rubbing of his thumb over the inside of my wrist that no one ever told me was a goddamn erogenous zone, I yank my hand out of his hold and finally answer his question.
“I may be small, but I’m scrappy. Don’t test me,” I tell him, making two fists and banging my knuckles together in front of me. “I thought you said we wouldn’t be alone at the gym tonight.”
Looking back over my shoulder, I search for Blake and Rachel and see no sign of them. I have no idea when they disappeared after Baker grabbed my hand and pulled me over to this corner of the gym. I was too busy trying to act like it was totally normal that he laced his fingers through mine and held my hand like we’d done it a million times before. The bitch of it was, it felt like we’d done it a million times before.
“Blake is in the office finishing up some paperwork, and Rachel is doing some updates on the website for me before they pick up their daughter from Rachel’s mom’s house and grab dinner,” Baker explains as he moves to stand behind a heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. “Don’t worry. If you get too handsy and I need to scream, they’re close enough to hear it and come save me.”
He wraps his arms around the bag and leans to the side just so he can shoot that damn smirk in my direction.
I want to be annoyed with him, but I can’t. I enjoy getting under his skin just as much as he seems to enjoy doing it to me. And I really enjoy that he likes it when I’m honest. Even when me being honest means I blurt out everything I’m thinking, like when he introduced me to his sister and her wife. Blake with her wavy, pink hair, high cheekbones, pouty lips, and bright blue eyes the same color as Baker’s, and Rachel with her shiny, poker-straight black hair hanging sleek around her face and shoulders, with a beautiful olive complexion, and stunning hazel eyes.
I was annoyed by their hotness equality, and I let that shit just fly right out of my mouth, without even thinking about how it would sound. Baker looked like he was about two seconds away from either flipping over a table, or puking up everything he’d eaten in the last week, until I explained myself. Seeing how fiercely protective he is over his sister and her wife, and watching him get so pissed off that someone might not approve of who they are, just added another item to the “Reasons Why Baker is so Annoyingly Special” column.
Seeing you in person for the first time, being in the same room with you, listening to you laugh, standing close to you, and watching your face when you put me in my place took my goddamn breath away.
Nope. Not going to think about what he put in his last email. No way in hell.
“All right, let’s see how scrappy you are.”
Baker smacks the side of the hundred-pound, black leather Everlast heavy bag with one hand, pulling me out of my thoughts as I step right up in front of it.
“Just a reminder, I started recording right when we walked over here,” I tell Baker, pointing to the small, metal table a foot away from us, where I placed my phone next to a bowl filled with rolls of multicolored hand wraps and a few pairs of scissors. “Let’s keep this professional, buddy. There’s no telling what that transcriptionist will do. I hear she’s a wild card.”
Baker just shakes his head at me in amusement, bracing himself as I pull my arm back and let my fist fly against the heavy bag.
“My four-year-old niece hits harder than that. Did you forget to eat your Wheaties today?” Baker snorts from behind the bag.
I narrow my eyes at him, pulling my arm back again and throwing it forward as hard as I can.
“Stop. Please. You’re so scrappy and strong,” Baker says in a bored, monotone voice.
“Eat a dick,” I mutter. “I thought the whole point of this exercise was that you were going to show me how it’s done, so I can get a little insight on what you do here and we can talk about it for the interview.”
Baker drops his arms from around the bag and moves out from behind it.
“You want me to show you how it’s done?” he asks.
“That is the point of me being here,” I reply sarcastically.
He grins at me and closes the distance between us. All of a sudden, I know exactly what it’s like to watch the devil walking toward you. This man has got sin in his eyes, and he wants to bring me over to the dark side.
Baker once again stands right in front of me, grabbing one of my wrapped hands and pulling it up between us.
“There are lots of ways to make a fist, but this is the easiest one that will prevent you from breaking anything in your hand. Start with curling your fingers into your palm then wrapping your thumb around the first knuckle of your ring finger,” he tells me, speaking in a low voice as he helps me position my hand the right way, doing the same with my other fist.
When both of my hands are back up in front of my face in the correct way, he nods and then slowly walks around me. Baker’s chest brushes against my arm as he goes until he’s standing behind me. I have to remember how to breathe when leans his body in closer to me, his chest pressing right up against my back. He places his palm on the side of my bare shoulder, s
lowly dragging it down the length of my arm until he can wrap his hand around my bent elbow. He does the same thing with my other arm until his muscular ones are practically wrapped completely around me as he helps me hold my fists up in front of me.
“When you’re getting ready to throw a punch,” he starts explaining again, “your forearms need to stay vertical, with your elbows tucked into the side of your body.”
With his hands still wrapped around my elbows, he brings them in closer until they’re pressed into my sides. I swallow thickly as he trails his hands off my elbows, down my sides, and rests them on my hips.
“Are you a righty or a lefty?” Baker asks, bending his head down and speaking right against my ear.
“Yes.”
I curse under my breath when I not only hear him chuckle, I feel the rumble of it through his chest and against my back.
“Shut up. Righty. And can we speed this skill class up a little? You’re wasting precious interview time.”
Dragging in some much needed air, I let it out slowly and remind myself Baker is my boss, he’s just an annoying hot, douchebag jock, and this is a job. I am at work. It’s definitely not professional to orgasm at work. With your boss. Whose hands are still pressed against your hips.
I really shouldn’t have spent the last year and a half not having sex.
“Almost finished. Just one last thing,” Baker says, his right hand moving from my hip and his palm sliding a few inches down and around until it’s resting on my upper thigh.
It takes a lot of willpower not to moan, but I power through like a goddamn professional.
With a little pressure from his hand, he forces my right leg to take a step back.
“Now that the leg of your dominant side is back at about a thirty-degree angle, just square your hips off toward the target.”
Both of his hands are back on my hips, and he angles my upper body more toward the heavy bag. When he drops his hands and I lose the heat of his body as he walks away from me, I really want to be relieved I have my personal space back. But I’m not. And that’s not good.