by Azzi, Gina
Even if I did want him to kiss me. Even if his callous comment about having me writhe beneath him hit its mark. Even if he’s right.
I won’t admit it again.
6
Eli
“I don’t want to work out on the beach tomorrow. Change it to indoors,” I toss over my shoulder to Zoe as I run my hand through my sweaty hair. The sun dipped low on the horizon over an hour ago, but the heat is still beating down on us and I’m over feeling like I’m in a constant sauna. Especially when I’m running through the freaking gauntlets Zoe sets up every day.
I’m not sure if it’s her anger or part of my actual program, but she’s been masterminding savage workouts that would have amped me up for a challenge a month ago. Now I just feel irritated, frustrated that she seems to be flipping me more shit on top of everything else.
I hear her sharp inhale and know she’s trying to calm down before responding to me. The fact that I can still rile her up tips the corners of my mouth as a hum of satisfaction courses through me.
That’s right, baby. You can push me away all you want but I’m too deep under your skin for you to completely erase me.
The realization shouldn’t be as gratifying as it is.
“You hear me?” I call back again in response to her non-answer.
“Anything else, your majesty?”
Grinning, I face her, taking a few steps back. “That’s got a nice ring to it, Violet.”
“Screw off, Holt.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me, babe.”
“I love it when you leave me in peace,” she mumbles, bending to retrieve some of the weights I used. My gaze zeroes in on her ass and I swallow, a wave of longing washing through me. I yearn to reach out and palm each globe, knead it with my fingers.
After our last workout, I had to take a cold shower and relieve my own goddamn blue balls. Not putting myself through that shit again. Not even for how much I want Zoe.
She struggles to lift one of the plates, her mouth pressing into a firm line, her shoulders rigid. A small grunt escapes her lips as she tries to move the weight.
Frowning, I watch her for a beat, my amusement morphing into concern as her back strains.
I stride toward her and pluck the weighted plate from her hand. “Here.”
“I don’t need your help,” she spits, her face flushing.
“Looks like you do,” I retort. Why does she always have to have such a goddamn attitude? Why can’t she ever just thank me and bat her fucking eyelashes like every other girl I know?
Because then she’d be like every other girl I know.
Ignoring me, Zoe retrieves the lighter plates and stacks them neatly for the crew to haul inside. I drop the heavy plate next to the pile and rock back on my heels.
She’s thinner than she was two weeks ago, her shoulders curving inwards. Her skin is paler too, which makes no sense as we’re literally on a tropical island. I frown, concern overshadowing all my frustration as I peer at her. Did she always have dark half-moons stamped beneath her eyes?
Is she upset about us? No, that doesn’t make any sense. She ended it.
Is it because of Natalie’s presence here and the time I’ve been spending with her?
“Stop staring at me.” Her voice is hard and cold, her back straightening.
“You look like shit,” I remark, not even caring how harsh my words are.
She flinches. I fight back another grin.
I can worry about her all I want, but there’s no chance in hell I’ll tell her. Not when I can have more fun messing with her.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she says softly, almost like an afterthought.
“Too hot and bothered, desperate for other pursuits?” I question, falling into step beside her as we trek back to the hotel.
“Nope, I’ve got that part under control,” she snaps back with a glare.
The defiance in her expression would be cute under normal circumstances. Coupled with her words, though, my jealousy spikes and anger beads in my veins. My hands curl into fists that I shove into my pockets to keep her from seeing. I turn away, glaring at a palm tree as I regulate my breathing. I hate thinking about her with another man. With anyone other than me.
“Coulda called if you were feeling lonely,” I toss out, narrowing my eyes at her, desperate for more information on her late-night endeavors.
“Not lonely enough,” she smirks, tipping her chin at me. “Later, Holt.” She starts to veer off the path toward another hotel entrance. I feel the thread between us pull taut.
“Don’t forget, indoors tomorrow,” I call to her back, hoping she’ll turn around and flip me off, or argue, or react to me at all. Instead, she just lifts her hand in the air and waves, indicating she heard me.
I watch her walk away, her frame receding as she nears the hotel. With each step she takes, my anger lessens and my desire increases. Why can’t I just let her go? Why am I trying to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore?
Was it even there in the first place?
* * *
Rain pings against the big windows in the gym. Cloudy skies and swaying palm trees meet my eyes as I sit on a bench and wait for Zoe.
Checking my Apple Watch, I note that she’s five, no, six minutes late. My body tightens as my irritation surges.
What the hell is wrong with her?
I know we ended things, but that doesn’t mean she can slack on the job. She’s the one who wants to keep things strictly professional. How the hell is tardiness professional?
“Sorry I’m late.” She hurries through the door, her hoodie pulled over her head. It’s soaked with rain.
“Busy with your other pursuits?” I ask, irritability heavy in my tone.
“Got held up with something.”
“Or someone.”
The space between us crackles, always alive with a current of energy that threatens to fuel a thousand suns or short-circuit and pitch us into total darkness.
“It’s leg day,” she ignores me, pulling her hood down and walking over to the barbell weight rack. “Lots of dead lifts, squats, and some weighted sled at the end.”
I quickly get to work. The exercises are hard, the weights feel heavy, and I’m grateful for the tough workout because it effectively blocks out all thoughts of her.
After finishing my last rep over an hour later, I place the weight down and sit on a bench, tipping back a bottle of water.
“You’re getting stronger,” she comments.
I nod, cap the bottle, and glance up at her. Zoe’s hair is pulled back into a high ponytail with wispy strands escaping around her face. Her eyes are warm but guarded, though tiredness clings to them like a newly minted sorority girl in a wet T-shirt contest.
“You deserve all the credit.”
“I’m not looking for credit.”
I smirk. “Then what are you looking for?”
Zoe sighs, throwing her hands in the air the way she does when she’s frustrated. “I was just commenting. You’re getting stronger. Jesus, does everything have to have a motive with you?”
“Not everything.” I glide my hand behind her thigh before I can stop myself.
Zoe freezes, her legs going ramrod straight as she stands in front of me. I hang my head, squeezing the back of her knee.
She gasps, her breathing increasing as she stands as still as a statue. I keep my hand on her leg, unable to let her go, unable to form words.
What the hell am I doing?
“I can’t do this again,” she whispers, her words shaky as she pulls free of my hold. I hear the zipper on her hoodie catch as she turns away.
By the time I look up, her hood shadows her eyes and her fingers are tucked into the long sleeves. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Holt.”
I swallow thickly as she walks away, memorizing the sway of her hips, the coconut scent of her hair, the roundness of her perfect ass. I hate myself for showing her just how badly I still want her.
*
* *
“He’ll be here any minute.” Natalie says, nervously wringing her hands as she paces in front of the couch.
“Relax, Nat. Pour yourself a drink.”
She glares at me.
I chuckle, settling back in my chair and crossing one foot over my other knee. “How do you want this to go again?”
“I’m going to tell him the truth. I’m going to tell him everything.”
“And you need me for…?”
“In case I get stuck,” she tosses her hands up, shooting me a look. “Or, if Gray has questions.”
The elevator dings and I get to my feet, clapping my hands together. “It’s showtime.”
Fear widens Natalie’s eyes, and she fiddles with her hair.
“It’s going to be fine, Nat.”
“What if it’s not?”
“It will be.” I reach out, squeezing one of her hands with mine. “Trust me.”
“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’ve rekindled your romance or some shit like that.” Gray’s tone is harsh as he steps into the foyer.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Natalie rushes to explain, shooting me a pleading glance as she approaches Gray and guides him to the living room.
Snorting, I make my way to the bar and pour two tumblers of Scotch. “Definitely not that,” I hand one to Gray and sit back down on the chair.
What a shitshow. The fact that I’m in my living room with Gray and Natalie would be comical if it didn’t feel so damn important.
Gray’s eyes narrow at me, then at Natalie, before he downs his Scotch. “Just tell me whatever it is.”
Natalie’s more jittery than I’ve ever seen her. She keeps fisting the material of her summer dress. Her eyes drink Gray in like it may be the last time she’ll ever see him. She constantly touches the sweeping bangs that slant over her forehead.
“Tell him, Natalie,” I urge, my impatience flaring. Why did I agree to be part of this?
I glance between Natalie and Gray again. It stings like a bitch. Their love for each other is so damn obvious, and watching their interactions is a painful reminder that, even divorced, they have what Natalie and I never had, even when I thought we did.
But with Zoe…
No, don’t go there. You’re here to try to make things right. For Natalie. For Gray. For their baby.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration rolling through me. Why the hell does it have to be so hard? Everyone else seems to be a perfect puzzle piece, effortlessly linking with their partner to create something beautiful. And I’m over here, a damn corner piece. With half of me incapable of connecting with anyone, my odds at engaging in a real relationship are severely diminished.
Natalie clears her throat. She leans forward, perching on the edge of the couch and reaching over the coffee table to grasp one of Gray’s hands. “Gray, I need you to hear me out without freaking out, okay?”
Gray’s breathing ticks up a notch as his face pales. “You’re okay, Nat. Aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes I’m fine,” she assures him, her smile tight. “It’s just, well… remember a few months ago when you and I had dinner at that Mexican restaurant in L.A. and then we —”
“Spare me the details, Natalie,” I interject.
Gray never tears his eyes from her. “I remember, Nat.”
Natalie inhales deeply, her hand visibly squeezing his fingers. “I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Gray’s mouth drops open, his eyes wide with shock. In the next instant, they narrow and turn on me so quickly, I raise a hand to halt the barrage of words on the tip of his tongue.
“It’s yours, Preston,” I say, shooting Natalie a look to make her fix this misunderstanding before it explodes.
“The baby is ours, Gray,” she whispers. I don’t miss the wonder that colors his blue eyes before they find Natalie again.
“Ours?” He sounds half-dazed. As much as I want to roll my eyes, I can’t.
A grin crosses his face and he looks like the happiest man I’ve ever seen. The way a guy who receives the news that he’s going to be a father should look.
My stomach twists and I look away, hating myself for being jealous of a man for having kids. Because, what kind of a dick does that make me?
Maybe Zoe’s right. I really am an asshole.
“Wait. Why is he here?” Gray asks suddenly, his eyes swinging to me again.
“I didn’t know how you’d take the news. And I-I wanted to be honest with you. About my past.”
The color drains from Gray’s face again. “Oh, no. You guys don’t already have a child, do you?”
“Jesus.” I scrub my hand over my face and rise to my feet. “Natalie, you are fucking this up big time. Listen, Gray, Natalie and I were together for a long time. During that time, I thought we were going to get married and have children.”
His eyebrows dart up into his hairline.
I continue, unperturbed, beyond desperate to get this over with. “But Natalie didn’t feel the same way. Anyway, she did become pregnant and ended up deciding to have an abortion. But she didn’t tell me until afterwards, which, I’m sure you can understand, put a great deal of pressure on our relationship and we broke up. I’ve recently learned that your and Natalie’s inability to reproduce—”
“Stop sounding so clinical,” Natalie hisses.
“A child added a massive amount of pressure to your marriage. Natalie changed, you missed the woman you married, and now you’re divorced.”
“You’re actually not helping, Eli,” Gray frowns.
“The point is, Natalie felt guilty. After she had an abortion, she struggled. Big time. With depression. With addiction. Vodka, mainly.”
Gray turns back to Natalie, his expression softening.
“She didn’t know how to handle her own guilt, how to confide in you about everything she was feeling. So she drank. And then, she would call me and sob.”
“What the hell?” Gray stands, staring at me.
I lift a hand. “And I would listen to her. Try to comfort her. Even though we never, ever, hooked up after we broke up, I still worried about her. ”
He tips his neck in a nod.
“Once you guys divorced, her partying increased.”
“Nat?” Gray relocates to the couch, taking Natalie’s hand in his.
“I should have told you,” I continue “I should have reached out and told you what was going on, but I had no idea why you guys divorced. Natalie recently told me it was because of the pressures relating to infertility. How she felt guilty and at fault for not getting pregnant, attributing it to some karma shit from ending her previous pregnancy.”
Gray wraps his arm around his ex-wife. “Oh, Natalie.”
I set my jaw as I move into the homestretch. “She wants you to fully understand how sorry she is for putting you through whatever she put you through and for not being honest with you. She invited me to be here for this incredibly uncomfortable conversation in case you didn’t believe her. In short, Natalie loves you. She’s in love with you, she wants to have a family and a future with you, all in a way she never did with me. Ever.”
Gray’s mouth drops open and Natalie sighs.
“And she wants you to know just how grateful she is to be pregnant with your baby. Now, I will leave my own penthouse so you two can chat about what your future may look like as a couple, or co-parents, or whatever the hell it is you decide to do. Feel free to call me Dr. Fucking Phil.” I nod to them and stride to the elevator, relieved the doors open immediately after I press the button.
The moment the doors close behind me, I sag against the wall. “That was fucking awkward,” I mumble to myself. Because it was.
But it was also kind of beautiful. The way Gray softened toward Natalie, his expression tender. The longing in her gaze when she glanced at him.
Natalie and Gray are going to have a baby. And I’ll still be the fatherless man no woman wants to build a future with.
When the elevator doors open into the lobby
, I stride out, beelining for the bar. I step up, leaning my elbows on top of the bar and lift my hand for the bartender. He meets my eyes and gives me nod.
Before I can order a drink, Zoe turns and pauses, her wine glass halfway to her lips.
Zoe’s here. Of course she is.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing around to see who she’s with.
“Just waiting for Harlow,” she explains, sipping her wine. Her eyes narrow as she tilts her head, studying me.
“Girl’s Night?” I scoff, dropping my gaze so she can’t read my expression.
Zoe shrugs. “You want to join us?” she asks, offering me an olive branch.
Maybe on a different day, I would be mature enough to accept it. After all, Zoe and I still work together. I clearly still care about her, am affected by her, want her so badly my fingers clench into fists and my chest aches.
After witnessing the scene between Natalie and Gray in my penthouse, however, I don’t have the energy to interact with another girl I thought I could have forever with.
“No.” I shake my head, rapping my knuckles against the bar. “Have a good night, Zoe,” I throw over my shoulder as I escape to the beach.
The day I’m having, I hope I don’t get struck by lightning.
7
Zoe
“Nice work today, Hollywood.” I toss Eli a water bottle as he finishes the last circuit.
He catches it easily, nods his thanks, and guzzles it down.
He’s dressed in basketball shorts and an old T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and the sides shredded to reveal his rippling twelve-pack. Sweat drips down his skin, and I have the insane urge to lick it off.
Fine, not so insane.
I blink, averting my gaze as the tortured sex god ignores me.
“See you tomorrow at 6PM?” I confirm, my fingers running over the hem of my shirt. Will he even respond?
Why won’t he look at me? What happened to common courtesy and a baseline friendship?