I smile. I knew I was going to like her. “Deal.”
I follow her over to the weight machines, noticing how her toned calf muscles flex whenever she takes a step. I think back to what Mason said about people like me not being athletes. Trick is obviously an athlete, and she’s way more outrageous than I am. Why did he even say what he did? Was it just to get a rise out of me?
I forget about anything and everything as she pushes my body to limits I didn’t even know existed before. I’m certain my muscles will be excruciatingly sore tomorrow, but I’ve got to suck it up, I’ve already agreed to come back for more.
I start to question my sanity when Trick says we’re done with weights for the day. She points in the direction of the treadmills lining the back wall with scores of televisions hanging just beyond them. “I’ve already programmed number nine for you. Just push the ‘start’ button when you hop on. No more than five miles today. I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”
I raise my eyebrows at her and she laughs. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a great massage staff here. The bosses said whatever you want, you get. Perks of knowing the owners, I guess.” She winks at me and then nudges me off towards the treadmills.
I curse myself for leaving my iPod in my bag, but at this point, I don’t feel I can walk the extra steps to retrieve it. I question my capability to do even five miles, which would be a piece of cake on any other day.
I’m glad they have televisions, but it looks like each bank of four machines shares one of them. I just hope some wanker doesn’t already have it on The Weather Channel or something.
As I walk down the aisle in search of number nine, I realize almost all of the few dozen treadmills are taken. I wonder what these people do that allows them to ditch work well before noon. Most patrons are men, executives probably, or maybe salesmen, based on the fact that they’re all chatting away on their Bluetooth devices. I’m relieved they all seem too busy to gawk at me.
I arrive at my designated station, a large, sleek, industrial-sized treadmill that looks more complicated than most cars. I step on and press the big green ‘start’ button. The belt starts whirling around, slowly working its way up to a good walking pace of 4 mph. This allows me time to take in my surroundings.
To my left is an older woman struggling to run at a mere 5 mph, sweat pouring off her brow and her middle bouncing up and down with each labored breath. I have to hand it to her for being here. I’ll bet if she keeps it up, she’ll lose the spare tire in no time.
In front of me is the large television that serves my pod of treadmills. I roll my eyes at the programming. Typical for a gym, I guess. It’s on ESPN Sports Center. My hand wanders to the keypad on my machine that controls the television. I switch channels until I find something worth watching. It appears to be a program about medieval castles in the Scottish countryside, but I don’t have my earbuds to plug in, so all I can do is admire the beauty and long to return to my gypsy lifestyle with Charlie.
“Do you mind?” a low, winded, inherently masculine voice speaks from my right, startling me. “I was watching ESPN. First come, first served, you know.”
My eyes close ever-so-briefly at the voice. Then I almost trip over my own feet as the speed of my treadmill rapidly increases to a steady running pace. I don’t have to look. Even as winded as he sounds, I’d know his voice anywhere.
I will myself not to turn and look at him. I can tell by looking in the mirror that he is shirtless. And sweaty. And very, very muscular.
I berate myself. Why do I even care about that?
I concede his point and use the keypad to return to the previous channel, hoping it will mollify him and keep his attention so that he won’t feel the need to talk to me.
“Thanks, Piper.” His fingers touch the controls of his treadmill, slowing his breakneck pace to match mine.
I nod and try to feign interest in his show, willing time to go faster so I can hit the showers and run hot water over my screaming muscles.
Minutes go by in silence. He’s no longer watching ESPN. He’s watching me. I can feel his stare burning into my flesh until I can’t stand it anymore. “What?” I bite, giving him a brief glance.
“Nothing . . . geez.” He holds his hands out, palms up and gives me a shrug with his broad shoulders, one of which his earbuds are now draped over. “I guess I thought you might be a little grateful, that’s all. I mean, Trick is kind of awesome, right?”
“What, you think I owe you something now, is that it?” I contemplate stopping the treadmill and ending this whole stupid shenanigan. “Because if that’s the case, I’ll leave right now. I don’t owe anyone anything. Ever.”
He looks taken aback. “No, Piper. You don’t owe me anything. Except maybe a ‘thank-you.’ You know, some people do things out of kindness and not selfishness.”
“Not in my experience,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow and soften. “Well, you’ve obviously had the wrong experiences then.”
If he only knew.
“Obviously.” I yearn for my earbuds to drown out his voice. To drown out the world so I can do what I do best.
Mason’s treadmill beeps and then slows, ending his program. The sense of relief that overtakes my body is palpable. It’s short-lived, however, because he doesn’t disembark from it right away. Instead, he stares at me, his curious eyes being drawn to the small tattoo behind my ear. I don’t feel comfortable with the way he’s studying it. I reach up and pull my hair from the band, releasing it so it falls around my shoulders to conceal that private part of me.
He looks dejected. “See you later, Piper.” He grabs his towel from the handlebars, throwing it over a shoulder.
In the mirror behind the televisions, I watch him walk away. His blue running shorts are wet with sweat, causing them to mold and stick to the globes of his ass. His broad back takes up more real estate than two normal-sized men put together. His muscles ripple as he stretches his neck from side to side, his frame tapering off to a slim and fit waist. My eyes then travel down to his calves. They are chiseled muscle, toned and tight, even when he stops walking to speak with someone.
“Nice, huh?”
I startle at the feminine voice and then realize I’ve been caught staring by the woman on the treadmill next to me who has slowed to a walk.
I shake myself out of whatever world I was in and answer her. “I guess. If you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Honey, who isn’t into that sort of thing?” She pins me with her thoughtful stare in the mirror. “Oh, unless you’re gay. I know that’s the ‘in’ thing these days with you young kids. Doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, my niece is gay.” She smiles. “Hey, she’s about your age—”
“No, ma’am, I’m not gay,” I cut her off. Why do people keep saying that? “I’m just not interested, that’s all.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she says. “He’s a nice boy, young Mr. Lawrence. And a mighty fine football player, too.” She wipes her brow with a towel. “He sure is focused, that one. In all the times I’ve seen him run on the treadmill, I’ve never once seen him remove his earbuds.” She winks at me. “Until today.”
“He’s a friend of the family,” I tell her.
She nods with a smile. “Oh. I guess that explains it then. Well, enjoy your run.”
“Thanks.” In the mirror, I watch her walk away until she passes Mason, who is now talking to Trick. His eyes catch mine and he smiles. I immediately shift my gaze back to the television while I finger the keypad until I find the medieval castles once more.
After my five miles, I head back to the locker room only to find Mason still talking with Trick. I try to sneak by, but they’re blocking my path. Mason shoves his bottle of water at me. “It looks like you need this.”
I eye it with disdain. “I have my own. Thanks.”
“Whatever.” He proceeds to down the rest of it and then tosses it into a nearby trash bin. “So, you really think you can beat my time in the marathon?�
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I glance over at Trick, who is watching our exchange. Her eyes widen and she nods at me, giving me a healthy dose of self-confidence.
“Yeah. I think I can beat your time.”
“Care to make a friendly wager on it?” he asks.
I think of my meager bank account compared to what must be his monumental one. I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, come on.” He nudges me with his sweaty elbow and something strange happens to my insides. “If you’re so sure you’ll win, what does it even matter?”
“Aren’t you rich enough already, Mason? I don’t know why you would want to win fifty bucks from me—which, by the way, is probably more than I can afford.”
“I’m not talking about money, Piper. That I take very seriously. I’m talking about a date.” He looks over at Trick and gives her a wink before returning his attention to me. “If I win, you go on a date with me.”
My confidence fades, along with all the color in my face. I try to recover quickly. “I thought you didn’t date.”
“I don’t. All the more incentive for you to beat me.”
I do my best to remain composed. “Dating you is no prize, Mason.” There is no way I would go on a date with him. Or anyone, for that matter. “But for the sake of argument, what would I get if I win?”
He laughs at my stab. “What do you want?” A prodigious smile cracks his face as he awaits my reply.
I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this. I shouldn’t be. I know better than to take a bet from any man. But damn it, I want to beat him. I want to wipe that testosterone-laden, egotistical, self-serving grin off his face. I look at Trick. She’s smiling and holding up all her fingers as she mouths ‘ten minutes’ at me.
Feeling bold, and taking my strength from Trick, I blow out a breath and concede. “Fine. But can I get back to you on what I want?”
“I’ll tell you what, Princess. You don’t even have to pick your prize now. It won’t matter anyway, because you have no chance of winning, but if you do—you can have whatever you want. The sky’s the limit.”
I roll my eyes at his narcissistic ass. Like he could give me what I really want. It’s just like a man to think he can swoop in and save the day.
On tired legs, I walk past him into the locker room and turn around one last time. “For one, I want you to never call me Princess.”
chapter six
mason
What was I thinking making that bet with Piper Mitchell? A date? I haven’t been on a date in two years. I don’t want to go on a date with anyone, let alone the one woman who seems to infuriate me at every turn.
In the shower, I contemplate how I avoided her at the gym for the rest of the week, switching my workouts to afternoons instead of mornings. I needed to be able to concentrate on the task at hand: getting stronger, fitter, more deserving of the job I’m after.
Watching her run on the treadmill was too much of a distraction. I had to slow my speed when she was next to me. I swear to God I could smell her, and her scent was doing things to my body that I had to ignore, or risk being mortified in front of the gym I work out in—the gym I own for Christ’s sake. I felt like I would fall over my own feet if I kept up the pace I needed to.
When I finished my run and spotted that sexy little tattoo of a black rose behind her right ear, it was all I could do to keep from losing my shit. By the time I left her to the rest of her workout, I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting back over to her. I tried like hell not to look, but it was like her body was a tractor beam and I had absolutely no control over my own vision. I had to look. I had to watch her tight ass bounce up and down with every stride she took. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her alluring breasts in the sports bra that was as green as her eyes.
Shit!
Before I fully comprehend what’s happening, I realize my dick is standing at full mast. I’m beyond the point of stopping this freight train, so I let my mind continue to fantasize and let my left hand go to work. I can see those emerald eyes staring into mine as she licks her lips in anticipation of taking me fully into her mouth. I imagine the faint and fleeting sparkle of the small diamond in her nose as I look down on her pleasing me. I can almost feel her soft, pouty lips encompassing my shaft, her tongue swirling around the tip.
My hand moves faster and my heart races. With my other hand, I steady myself against the wall of the shower, warm water running over my shoulders. My guttural shout echoes through the bathroom as my orgasm overtakes me and my release slowly swirls down the drain of the grey-tiled travertine shower.
Breathless, I let the water run over my head as I recover from the powerful climax. Then I vow to figure out a way to get the princess out of my head.
~ ~ ~
Skylar opens the door to her townhouse, greeting me with a hug. When I see her eyes, I could swear I blush like a freaking girl thinking of how, not an hour ago, I came all over my shower wall to those same brilliant-colored eyes she shares with her little sister. I quickly look behind her to see if anyone else is home. My heart rate decreases slightly when I see the lights out with no activity. “You’re not bringing Aaron?”
She swats my arm playfully. “To a tattoo parlor? I don’t think so.” She pulls her purse onto her shoulder. “No. Aaron is with my folks for the day.”
And Piper? I have to keep myself from asking, rationalizing how I don’t care where she is or who she’s with.
“Okay, then. Let’s get going.” I take her arm and escort her down the front steps. We make a left turn and head for the subway. I didn’t bring my car today. I wasn’t sure how safe it would be at the tattoo parlor. I’ve met the owner before, Spike. He’s the one who came to the townhouse and did Erin’s tattoo. The same tattoo he’s about to ink into Skylar’s lower back, in the very same spot he inked it into Erin. “You ready for this, Skylar?”
She has a bounce in her step when she turns to smile at me. Her dark-blonde hair is pulled back into an effortless wavy ponytail. “Oh my God, Mason, yes! I’m so excited. Do you think Griffin will be okay with it?”
I know he will be. He’s got two tattoos of his own. One in memory of his mother. The other for Erin. I think he’ll be over the moon when he sees it. Tattoos can be sexy if done tastefully. I don’t have any myself, but not because I’m opposed. I just haven’t come across anything I want to permanently etch into my skin. “He’s gonna love it. It’s a great wedding gift to him. And a perfect way to honor Erin.” I have to catch myself before tears burn the backs of my eyes. “I’m really proud of you, Skylar. Have I ever told you that? I think you are one of the best people I’ve ever come across, and I’m damn proud to be a part of your wedding.”
She stops walking, pools of tears welling in her eyes as she nods her head at me. She grabs my arm and we walk down the steps to the subway station.
Twenty minutes later, Spike is pulling out the stencil for her tattoo. “I knew you’d be back,” he says to Skylar, referring to her and Griffin’s visit earlier this year in an effort to track down Erin’s surprise tattoo. “Have a seat right here. I’ll go get the equipment.” He directs her to a chair that is similar to something you’d find in a medical exam room, only it looks like it can be changed into almost any position. “Grab some coffee if you want,” he says, nodding to the corner of the room which houses one of those single-cup brewers with an array of flavor selections off to the side.
While I’m perusing the coffee choices, the bell on the front door chimes and we all instinctively turn our heads in that direction. My heart beats powerfully in my chest as I watch Piper walk through the door. Before she notices me, she shares a smile with her sister. “I’m stoked to watch this,” she says to Skylar. “You inflicted a lot of pain on me when we were little, so I’m going to enjoy every second of this.”
Skylar scoffs, “I did no such thing.”
“You did, too,” Piper quips like a petulant child. “You and Baylor always pulled my pigtails. It got to the point that I b
egged Mom to just cut my hair off.”
“Oh my God, I had totally forgotten about that.” Skylar brings a hand up to hide her surreptitious smirk. “I remember now. We used to chase you out in the field behind our house. I’m so sorry, Piper. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Maybe,” she says, raising her voice so Spike can hear, “it depends on how loudly he can make you squeal.”
Spike chuckles and they laugh. I watch them interact, falling into a comfortable banter between two sisters who were obviously close growing up. It makes me wonder why Piper chooses to stay away. She has a great, close-knit family here. She could get a job at the drop of a hat. Why has she chosen the life she has? Did the apple really fall that far from the tree?
It’s like she has two personalities. One I’m seeing now, as she talks with her sister. The charming, carefree, confident gypsy, with easy laughter filling her gleaming eyes. But there is the other side of her; when her ‘Mr. Hyde’ comes out, turning her into a skittish raccoon, fighting for her life and tearing through everything in her path.
I shake my head, ridding it of the thoughts infiltrating my brain. Thoughts of taming the beast within. Being her protector. Her confidant. The reason she stays in New York, even.
I turn my attention back to the coffee machine when I hear an unforgiving, “What’s he doing here?”
And, Mr. Hyde has made his appearance once again. I pick up my freshly-brewed cup and head over to where the sisters are sitting. In an equally malevolent voice, I say, “Actually, he is just leaving.” I turn my attention to Skylar. “Now that Piper’s here to keep you company, I’ll just take off.”
I hold my coffee out, offering it to Piper. “Here, want this?” She eyes it as if I’ve offered her a goblet of poison. Then she pulls a bottle of water from her bag.
Skylar protests with a whiny shrill. “What? No. You promised you’d be here, Mason. You said you’d hold my hand. I need both of you or I’ll chicken out, I know I will.”
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