Saved

by Hazel James

  “Which is…?”

  He brings his mouth to my ear and whispers, “It’s easier to see the bright side when you let go of the dark.”

  Mostly ignoring the crop of goose bumps on my arms, I consider his words. They’re not too far off from our conversation last Friday on top of the pillbox. “Why didn’t you tell me this secret when we went hiking? Isn’t making something good out of the bad the same thing?”

  “It’s close, but no. It’s like the difference between being content and happy. You can have one without having the other.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “When you moved to Oklahoma, you weren’t at peace with what happened to you, but when you ate junk food, you were happy. Contentment is long-term. Happiness is fleeting.”

  “So how does that relate to our hiking conversation and your secret today?”

  “You saw how I let go of my darkness but you didn’t realize you were still holding on to your own.”

  His truth hits me in the most beautiful, unexpected way. “That’s some pretty deep shit, Clay Prescott. I feel like I should be taking notes.”

  He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to my neck. “It’s good to know all those years of school paid off.”

  “Should I expect a bill for this session?”

  “Nope. In fact, I have something for you.” He releases my shoulders and grabs the bag from the glove box, holding it in front of me.

  “That looks a little small for Fruity Pebbles.”

  “Hopefully you’re not too disappointed.”

  I lift the tissue paper and burst into giggles the second I see what’s inside. This is way better than cereal.

  “Brandon let me use some of his craft supplies. I felt a little nerdy playing with a hot glue gun, but I have to say, it’s a spitting image of you.”

  One of Brandon’s activities during the summer camp was making something beautiful out of something broken. It was his way of getting the kids to look at situations differently. For my present, Clay took a starfish with one arm partially missing and added a coffee bean bra and a tiny grass skirt made from bits of a palm frond.

  “This gives a whole new meaning to ‘perky boobs.’”

  Laughter rumbles through his chest as he hugs me from behind. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at a cup of coffee the same way again.”

  When it’s time to pack, I wrap the starfish in four shirts and tuck it in my carryon to keep it safe on the flight home.

  A screaming baby lures me from Clay’s office to the main gym, where I see Paige beside a treadmill holding her daughter. “Poppy, please. I’ll buy you a pony. Or a unicorn. One that poops Skittles and farts rainbows. Just please stop.”

  To Paige’s dismay, Poppy wails louder.

  “I’m can relate. I’m not a fan of the treadmill either.”

  She tosses a weary smile my way while she readjusts the burp cloth on her shoulder. “My mom normally watches her, but she woke up this morning with a migraine. DH is at work and I didn’t want to bail on Marshall. I figured I could just bring her with me because she usually sleeps for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Except today.” She sighs. “It’s a good thing she’s cute.”

  “I’ll take her. We can hang out here on the bench while you work out.”

  Paige looks at me like I sprouted two heads. “Are you sure?”

  I hold my arms out. “Positive.”

  She carefully passes the baby to me. “Here’s her pacifier, and her bottle is in her car seat. I couldn’t get her to take either one of them.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks!”

  Paige puts in her earbuds and I settle Poppy in the crook of my right arm. She’s a tiny thing with as much hair on her head as me and an attitude to match. I like her already. “When I’m upset, there’s one thing that always puts me in a better mood,” I tell her. “Well, two things, but you can’t use swear word coloring books yet.” Hooking her tiny hand on my finger, I introduce Poppy to a G-rated version of Post Malone’s Rockstar. Her wails turn to whimpers by the second verse and by the end, she’s quiet.

  “You like that, huh? What should we do next? Maybe some French Montana?” She doesn’t object, so I continue with our baby hip hop session, rocking her back and forth to the beat until her eyelids droop and her breathing falls into a steady rhythm.

  “Remind me to add ‘baby whisperer’ to your list of accomplishments,” Clay says, joining us on the bench for a break between clients. He’s been playing catch-up all week, which means I haven’t seen him much. “How’d you get her to stop?”

  “We rapped.”

  “You rapped to a two-month-old?”

  “Lullabies are for nerds. Cool chicks like us need good music.”

  “If you say so.” He laughs and shakes his head. “How’s your day going?”

  “Not bad. I posted the job ads for Battles 2 on every website on our list and in the newspaper. I noticed several positions had a certified inclusive fitness trainer requirement.” It’s a statement and a question rolled into one. I saw the drafts for the job announcements when I started working here, and that qualification wasn’t on the list.

  “I wondered if you’d catch that.” He smiles and rubs the back of his neck. God, he’s adorable. “Seeing you in the gym after work made me realize I’m missing out on the chance to help an entire demographic, so I’m creating an adaptive program for Battles 2. The trainers, equipment, and space will be specialized for clients with physical disabilities.”

  I made him do… what? “How did you do this? I’ve worked the budget report. There’s nothing in there about adaptive equipment.”

  His sheepish look is back. “I might have had Marshall order everything while we were in Hawaii and tweak a few things to hide it. I wanted to surprise you once everything was delivered, but it turns out you’re a hell of a lot more observant than I thought.”

  Oh God. This is it. I’m going to melt into a puddle of goo while holding another woman’s baby. “I don’t even know what to say. That’s…” I scrunch my eyes. “Thank you. This is the coolest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m sorry I spoiled your surprise though.”

  “You didn’t spoil anything.” He glances at his watch and rises. “I’ve got to meet my next client. We’re still on for tonight?”

  I nod. Mystery date with Clay? Hell yes.

  “Excellent. I’ll catch you two beautiful ladies later.”

  “Did you hear that, Poppy?” I whisper after Clay leaves. “He thinks we’re beautiful.”

  Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I alternate holding tubes of lipstick against my mouth. “Which one? Crimson Kiss or Scarlet Devil?”

  “I read an article a while ago that the best shade of lipstick is the color of your nipples,” Rebecca calls from her closet.

  I poke my head around the corner. “So… concealer?”

  She crosses the room with a wry smile and brings both tubes to my lips. “This one. It’ll look better on Clay.” She hands me Scarlet Devil and goes back to tossing clothes in her weekend bag. “Where are you going tonight?”

  “He still hasn’t said. I just know there’s food involved.”

  Rebecca laughs. “That’s probably for his own protection.”

  “Ha ha,” I say with a healthy dose of side-eye. I refuse to admit she’s right.

  “Seriously though.” She leans against the doorjamb of the bathroom. “You look amazing.”

  “Aw, thanks Bec.” My heart leaps when I hear three quick knocks at the front door. Whether it’s because it startled me or because of who’s behind it is anyone’s guess. I check my reflection one more time and shoot my roommate a nervous smile. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

  I grab my purse off the table and open the door. The logical side of me knows this is how a date works. He asks. He picks her up. They depart together. But I need a few milliseconds to process the fact that Clay Prescott is standing on my front step looking like sex on a damn stick
and he’s here for me.

  I follow him down to his truck and collect a kiss before he starts the engine. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “You’re already giving me my own corner of a gym. It’s going to be pretty hard to top that.”

  His laughter fills the truck. “I should have started out with flowers, huh? Parts of a building are more like a second date kind of thing.”

  “Well, we’re already dressed and on our way. I can make an exception this one time.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you.” Clay links his fingers with mine at a red light. That alone is enough to make me sigh, but when he lifts my hand to press a kiss on the back of it? Yeah. Total goner.

  Another truck rumbles to a stop beside us. The tires are almost as tall as me, and there’s enough chrome on the body to qualify as a multi-angle mirror. “I wonder if he knows that’s the international sign for ‘I have a small dick.’”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup. The bigger the truck, the smaller the junk.”

  He leans over the console with a devilish smirk. “I guess it’s a good thing I have a tiny truck.”

  Losing My Senses

  I NOTICE TWO THINGS WHEN I pull into the parking lot of Rhoads Auto Shop—my girlfriend trying to cheat death, and how amazing her ass looks in those tiny jean shorts while she’s doing it. Rather than continue around to the back of the building, I leave my car in the main lot and saunter toward the aluminum ladder she’s perched on. “At the risk of asking an obvious question, what are you doing?”

  Leilani smiles down at me beneath a Battles ball cap she stole from my office last week. “My random act of Clayness.”

  I love knowing that she’s taking the list I made her seriously. “What’s today?”

  “Dirty.” She smirks and goes back to cleaning the shop windows. If I didn’t know her better, I’d be concerned that a one-armed woman was fifteen feet off the ground with a squeegee in her hand and a bottle of glass cleaner dangling off a tool belt.

  Since I’m not, I take a seat on the curb and enjoy the view while she finishes the last two panels.

  “I can feel you staring at my ass,” she says a minute later. Maybe it’s the angle of the late afternoon sun playing tricks on my eyes, but I swear she pops her butt out even more.

  I glance around to make sure no one else is ogling her. “Is that my punishment for showing up early?”

  She stops mid-swipe and sends a wicked grin over her shoulder. “Maybe it’s your reward.”

  Christ almighty. After a week of fourteen-hour days while Marshall’s been on vacation, I’d love nothing more than to spend the evening collecting on that. I rise to make room for the growing bulge in my pants. “You about done?”

  Laughter is her only reply, but she descends the ladder and greets me with a kiss. “I’ll grab my purse and be out in a few.”

  My dick perks up again. If she followed my instructions, her red bikini will be in that purse. If she didn’t… well, I’ll be okay with that, too.

  We’re going swimming at my house either way. She loved our date last weekend to Alberto’s, but we’re both looking forward to a relaxing night in.

  “Hey!” Kurt wipes his hands on a grease rag as he ambles out of the bay. “I was beginning to think you lived at the gym.”

  “Most days I do.” We trade handshakes and easy smiles. He knows more than anyone how hard it is to stay away from the business you’ve grown from the ground up.

  “You ready to sell yet? I’ll give you forty-seven.” Kurt’s made it no secret that he’s in love with my Chevelle. He knows exactly what it’s worth and isn’t afraid to sweeten the pot. Last time, he offered forty-five thousand and free oil changes for my truck.

  “It’s tempting,” I lie, “but I’m not ready to part with her just yet.” Or ever. Nothing will make me sell my dream car.

  He sighs. “Didn’t think so, but it was worth a shot.” He slings the rag over his shoulder and folds his arms across his chest. “How’s the new gym coming along?”

  “Good. I think we’ll open in another few months. I still need to sit down with Leilani and get that planned.” Between catching up after our trip to Hawaii and taking some of Marshall’s clients while he’s been out, I haven’t had much time to think about Battles 2.

  “I’ll be sad when she moves out.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “She bakes us stuff every Saturday. It’s one of the reasons I don’t mind being here on my day off.” He pats his stomach like a jolly garage Santa.

  “Is that why I’ve seen you around on the weekends?” Leilani says, joining us outside. “You should have said something. I can bring treats to your office during the week instead.”

  Kurt leans in, clapping my back. “Take some advice from an old man. You might want to keep this one around.”

  We share a chuckle while Leilani blushes, but I keep my reply to myself—it’s not the first time I’ve thought about that.

  Leilani peruses the pictures in my living room while I load our plates into the dishwasher. We’ve gone out to eat plenty of times, but there’s something intimate about cooking beside her. The way she sways her hips as she chops vegetables and sings while she stirs. It’s foreplay for all five senses. The only thing better than that was being in the pool with her. We’d be out there again if it wasn’t for the thunder rumbling in the distance. Damn Mother Nature and her shitty timing.

  Leilani moves to the frames on top of the bookshelf, pointing at the gangly eighteen-year-old version of me the day I shipped out for basic training. I weighed one-twenty soaking wet and hadn’t grown into my nose. “You were cute back then,” she says, tossing a smile my way.

  “And now?” I approach her from behind, pulling the towel she wrapped around herself to the floor.

  “Eh, you’re okay.”

  “Just okay?” I brush my lips along the skin between her shoulder and neck. “You sure about that?”

  She sucks in a breath. “Yup.”

  “Then why do you stare at me every time I have my shirt off?” I murmur just below her ear. I fucking love this spot. Maybe coming inside wasn’t so bad after all.

  “I do not.”

  Her words would be a hell of a lot more convincing if her knees didn’t buckle when she said them. I spin her around and back her into the bookshelf. “Liar.”

  She lifts her chin, challenging my heated gaze with her own. “Says the man who stares at me every time I wear a red bikini.”

  “Wrong again. I stare at you all the time, no matter what you’re wearing.” My feet inch forward like they’re taking instructions from my dick to get as close as possible. This is the first time I’ve been alone with her since we kissed in Hawaii, and I have a lot of catching up to do.

  The slow staccato of fat raindrops falling against the house turns into a downpour. Leilani smiles against my mouth and says, “I heard driving during a storm isn’t safe. I guess we’ll have to stay here until it’s over.”

  Her velvety voice intensifies the bulge in my shorts. “What if it lasts all night?”

  She peers at me through black lashes and snakes her arms around my waist. “I’m okay with that.” It’s all the invitation I need.

  I cup her ass, lift her up, and maneuver down the hallway while I feast on her neck, pausing at the threshold of my room long enough to flip on the light switch with my elbow. Three steps later, my thighs meet my mattress, and I lay her down. She keeps her ankles locked behind my back and lifts her hips, moaning when my cock slides over the slick fabric between her legs.

  It’s the sexiest noise she’s ever made. I rock back into her just to hear it again, this time adding a circular motion that turns her throaty purr into a cry of pleasure. It’s the sound men scale Everest for. Fight bulls for. And she did it before our clothes are even off. I won’t pretend I don’t get a little ego boost from that.

  I gently nudge her up the comforter until she’s resting on my pil
low, hair slightly damp, lips red and plump, wearing that goddamn bikini.

  No one has ever looked as sexy on my bed as she does right now.

  Settling half on top of her, I trace the curve of her collarbone, first with my thumb and then my mouth. She’s soft. Sweet. Every taste has me wanting more, especially when she melts into me and drags her nails along my back.

  Fuck, that feels good.

  But as I skim the side of her chest and stomach, she freezes. It’s brief—barely enough time for my brain to register the pause in the rhythmic movements of her fingers before she starts up again—but it’s one second too long. “What’s wrong?” I ask, shifting my weight off her.

  “Nothing.”

  “Not buying it.”

  Her eyes dart to the flash of silver-blue outside my bedroom window. “Just a little nervous.”

  That’s plausible. A few jitters aren’t out of the realm of possibility when you’re with someone for the first time, but that’s not it. She was as ready to go as I was until…

  Shit.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  “Are you nervous because you don’t want to do this, or because of what I’ll think about you?”

  She studies my stomach as a war plays out across her face. Is this is what she looked like when she opened her suitcase in Hawaii and saw the wrong bathing suit? “I want to,” she finally says, “but it’s sort of like bungee jumping. Knowing what’s going to happen before you climb up there is one thing. Actually standing on the ledge is something different.”

  Okay. That’s good. That’s something I can fix.

  “First, sex is a two-person game. Being in my bedroom doesn’t mean it’s a given. Second—” I roll off the bed and curl my finger at her. She tips her head in curiosity, but joins me on the floor. “You don’t need to worry about what I think.” I undo my button and kick my shorts somewhere near my dresser, taking pride in the way her eyes turn to saucers when she sees my cock, hard and ready.