by Ginger Scott
And me…well, I had a nice round of flirting, but it looks like that’s as far as this train goes for Mr. Dreamy’s brother and me, since he’s fully engrossed in something on his phone, barely paying attention to me or his brother anymore.
“Rowe, I’ve got to go. I have an appointment with a personal trainer in ten,” I say, glad to have an excuse to leave Ty without looking desperate or uncomfortable. “I’ll see ya back at the dorm.”
I slip my watch from my wrist and tuck it into my workout bag, willing myself not to look at Ty, not to see if he noticed I was leaving. I give a small wave to Rowe and grant Nate a smile, then spin on my feet and head to the main doors to meet with my trainer. But I’m weak, and I turn at the last second, pushing through the door with my hip and looking up—and damn if he isn’t staring right back at me—smile, dimples and all.
Shit. I like this one. And he is going to play me.
Ty
I’m not sure what I did to deserve this fortunate run of luck, but I’m going to enjoy the ride. Cass just left for her personal-trainer appointment, and my first appointment is in exactly ten minutes. I’m pretty confident that isn’t a coincidence.
I pass through the men’s locker room so I can see if she’s the one waiting for me, and I actually bite my knuckles when I see her sitting there at my appointment table. With a quick “thank you” to the heavens, I push through the locker room doors and almost make it to where she’s sitting before she notices me.
“So, you must be…Cassidy Owens,” I say, flipping through the forms tucked on my clipboard, pulling the cap from my pen with my teeth. I’m doing my best to keep my grin in check. Her entire body flushes the second she sees me—the light shade of pink taking over her skin, even brighter next to the yellow blonde of her hair.
“Tyson Preeter,” she says, her eyes closing just a little while she puts it all together.
“Well, this is going to be easy; you’ve already heard about me,” I wink and hand her the check sheet to go through her goals and objectives for our first session.
“It was in the email. And now I feel…well…pretty stupid that I didn’t put that together. Ty…Tyson,” she says with a slight wince. Her eyes stay on me for a few seconds as she taps the pen to the top of the clipboard. “This…is weird now, isn’t it?”
“It’s only weird if you make it weird…Adrianna,” I tease, wanting her to know that yes, I in fact remember every little detail from our first encounter last night. Hell, I remember every detail from the first time I saw her—even the smell of the gum she popped when she walked by my booth at Sally’s. And, not just remembering all of this shit, but obsessing over it? Yeah, for me, that’s a little weird.
“Right…Adrianna,” she laughs, whipping through a few items on the check sheet, pausing at the goals section, and looking up at me through a few wavy strands of hair that she quickly pushes back behind her ear. “That…uh…that was an experiment. You know, just to try out being someone else. Just for an hour or two.”
We stare at each other for a heartbeat longer than normal, and I can feel this tiny shift in the air between us. “Yeah, I get that,” I say. No joke or jab, just me getting it. And I do. She has no idea how much I get that.
“I don’t really have any goals,” she says, pushing the barely-filled-out checklist back at me.
“That’s fine. We’ll come up with those together after today,” I say, giving a quick glance at her history. My clients are all supposed to be working through something—injuries, disabilities—but she didn’t write anything down. “You rehabbing something?” I ask, my pen hovering over the line to fill it in for her.
“No, I’ve got nothing. I mean…my joints pop from years of soccer, but that’s about it,” she answers fast, and now I’m worried that she’s not supposed to be working with me.
“You…sure you’re supposed to be my client?” I ask, hoping like hell that even if she’s not, she’ll stay.
“Oh, I’m yours; I requested you,” she says, her eyes flashing wide quickly with embarrassment. I pounce on this.
“Ohhhh, I get it,” I say, turning around and filing her paperwork in the lock drawer.
“Get what?” she asks, her eyes squinting with hesitation.
“You’re a stalker,” I smile, just in case she doesn’t realize I’m bullshitting her. “I mean, it’s understandable. This happens all of the time.”
“What does?” she asks.
“Me. Stalkers,” I say through a feigned sigh. “I’ve had…many.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she says, folding her arms up in a challenge. I like this. I like this a lot.
“Oh yes, there’s an entire cellblock at campus police for the women who have tried to get to me in the past and failed,” I say, grabbing my gloves and urging her to follow me to the bench for some basic weightlifting. “You’re the first one to completely make up a name and sign up for my…ahem…services, though.”
“I did NOT sign up for your services!” she chokes, half playing and half real. I can tell she’s a little offended.
“Uh…” I start, looking at her—taking in her entire body, which is wrapped perfectly in those tight-ass workout pants and a matching tank top. Then I turn to the side and gesture to the sets of weights on either side of us. “You sort of did.”
“Well, yes, I signed up for your personal training. But I’d hardly call that services,” she says, straddling one leg over a workout bench and positioning herself in a way that has me feeling a lot less like working out. I’m staring; I’m staring and I’m thinking and I’m…not hearing a single thing she’s saying right now.
“Sorry?” I say, suddenly aware of how fucking creepy I must look.
“I said I actually thought I could learn a thing or two from you. I want to get into rehab work,” she says, and for some reason, her purpose for being here, for choosing me, makes me…sad. She wants to learn from me. And I know it’s not because I’m some rehab workout king. It’s because I’m disabled myself, and that makes me unique. A novelty. I’m fascinating to her, but not the same way she’s fascinating to me.
“Oh,” I say, not really in the mood to play anymore. “Well, let’s start with a good upper-body combo, something that is good for leveling. We’ll see where you’re at, and then work up from there.”
I guide her through a few exercises, and every time I’m in a position to touch her, I don’t. It just feels weird now, and I don’t know why. She’s gotten serious, too, and a few times, I catch her looking at my eyes while I’m going through a motion. I’m used to people watching me lift myself from my chair, and they usually say something about how strong I am and how amazing it is that I can do things like this with only my arms. But that’s not the way Cass is looking at me. Her gaze is…different. And I’m frustrated by it.
“We should go out,” I say, overcome with this urge to get back to me, and everything I know. “Tonight. We should go out. Hang, you know?”
She stares at me, still finishing up her bench press, her lips barely moving with a silent count of each number until I barely hear her utter, “…fifteen.”
“No,” she says, standing quickly and dragging her long leg back over the bench; I swear she’s teasing me with it.
“No?” I question. I’m not used to no.
“No,” she says, picking up her small pink towel and wiping the sweat from her forehead and the back of her neck. I’m actually left speechless by her rejection.
“Well, all right then,” I say, blinking and looking out at the other students lifting around us. No. She said no.
“I just…I have a feeling about you,” she says.
“Right. A feeling,” I say, pulling myself back to my chair. “And what kind of feeling is that?”
She sighs heavily at first, then leans against the rack of weights before finally looking at me. “You’re…nice.”
I’m sure the laugh that bursts out of my mouth is jarring, but I can’t help my reaction. “I have been ca
lled a lot of things, but nice has never been one of them. Even my brother doesn’t call me nice,” I say, still laughing when I realize she’s doing that staring thing again, the kind that makes me feel uncomfortable. I quiet then, pausing while I nod, just trying to figure her out.
“Look, you’re…good company,” I say, letting my eyes settle into hers. It’s strange how natural it feels. “I was thinking it might be nice…to be friends.”
“Friends,” she repeats, her tone oozing with skepticism and her eyes studying me like she’s waiting for me to jump at her and yell, “Boo!”
“Yeah, friends,” I say again. “Your roommate seems to be into my brother, so I’m thinking you and me, we’ll be hanging out a lot, and you’re funny. I like that,” I say, not really paying attention to a damn word coming out of my mouth, but suddenly feeling desperate to make this girl my friend. What the fuck is happening to me?
“I’m…funny?” she asks, moving closer to me and sitting back on the workout bench, her knees doing that thing where they graze against mine.
“For a girl,” I joke. Without pause, Cass pushes her hands against my chest, I’m sure her intent to chide me, but I take advantage of it and trap her fingers against my body, forcing her to stay close, in my space. Her laugh comes out nervously, and for some reason, I’m overcome with this urge to make her feel…okay. Reaching up with one hand, I tip her chin so our eyes meet. “I’d really like to be your friend,” I say, and strangely, I mean it.
For a few seconds, we are completely alone. I don’t notice the athletes starting to clank weights around us, or the people firing up the nearby treadmills. All I notice is how cold her hands are, how fucking amazing her fingers feel, and how much I want to kiss her. And I would totally fight the urge, but goddamn it, I want to kiss her.
So I do.
One second I’m teasing her and begging her to be my friend, and the next my hands have slid up her completely perfect arms to the side of her face, and my lips are begging hers to relax. I—and my damned impulsivity—am going to blow my shot to hell in a split-second decision. At first, she’s taken off guard, and I feel her threaten to pull away. I’m pissed at myself, and my grand romantic fantasies. I should know better. I’m not the romantic one.
But then, her hands wrap around my wrists, and she’s kissing me back. Everything about her—her tongue, her soft bottom lip, the sharp edges of her teeth—is tempting me and begging me to go on. But the loud thud of the fifty-pound dumbbell dropping on the floor next to us snaps us out of whatever the hell that was. Cass’s fingers release their hold on my arms, and she pushes away from me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, just wanting the redness to leave her face, and for her to look at me again like she was before I got all impulsive and shit. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Yeah…you did,” she says, standing and moving away from me even more. Distance—so I can’t do that again.
“Yeah…I did,” I admit, giving in to the smirk threatening to take over my lips. Her chest is heaving in-and-out like she just finished running a mile, and her eyes have this frightened vibe, like they’re torn between wanting me to kiss her again and wanting to run.
“I’ll be your friend, Tyson,” she says, swinging her towel around her neck and picking up her small set of keys from the corner of the weight room. “Friends.”
“Absolutely. Friends. Totally got it,” I say, chewing at the inside of my lip. When she’s just far enough away, I call out to her again. “Hey, but Cass?”
“Yeah?” She turns and nods, her face still flush from everything that just happened.
“I’m totally going to kiss you again sometime. You know…like friends,” I say, pushing back from the floor mats without waiting to see her reaction. I don’t have to, because I know she wants me to kiss her again. Nate is going to give me hell for this, but I think I might just really like a girl.
Chapter 4
Cass
I told Rowe about the kiss, but not really. I just dropped it on her and pretended it was no big deal. I did that because Paige was in the room, and as far as Paige knows, things like me randomly hooking up with boys for flirting and making out is no big deal. It’s just a continuation of my senior year of high school.
But Paige never really knew the full story. And I think I’d rather keep up the façade that being flirty is just part of my personality, rather than open that shit can up again.
I knew she’d have a reaction over Ty. He’s…different. Yes, he’s in a wheelchair. And Paige…that’s all she sees. But it’s kind of the last thing I see. There’s something about him. He lifts about three times as much as I do, and his body is cut to perfection. And his eyes—oh, that’s why I let him kiss me. That’s why I kissed back! It was like hypnosis. But there’s something else when I’m near him, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like we’re playing this intense game of chess, studying one another to find strengths and weaknesses. Only, I don’t want to exploit his. I only want to understand them.
He’s going to the mixer with us tonight, and I know I’m going to see him in about five minutes. It’s been six hours since our friendship pact—sealed with a kiss, I suppose. I can’t be easy with him, though. I like him this much and I barely know him. If I give in to what my body wants, and then he ends up moving on to the next girl, it will suck. No, it will more than suck—it will completely derail my promise to myself to make this year all about me and what I want. Instead, it will be all about Ty and how sucky it is to live down the hall from him.
“Ladies?” Ty says with a rhythmic knock on our half-open door. “Hope you’re decent. We’re coming in.”
He has his hands over his face, but his fingers are spread so he can see everything. It’s stupid, but it makes me giggle. Paige just rolls her eyes, but she straightens up fast as soon as Nate trails in behind Ty. I look over to catch Rowe’s reaction and notice her frame growing smaller. If the race to win Nate’s heart comes down to confidence, I’m afraid Rowe doesn’t stand a chance in the shadow of Paige Owens, who has decided to wear her silk dress tonight, lest someone on campus not have the chance to know exactly what her nipples look like.
Paige seems to be ten steps ahead of us, all the way to the gym; I know this too is strategic. She’s always looking for the angle, the way to make sure the guy she wants has no choice but to notice her ass. My sister is a beautiful girl, and she’d be beautiful without all of the tricks. But I tried to tell her that once, and she just told me I was jealous. So, if she wants to wrap herself in see-through fabric and parade in front of me like a stripper for attention, I let her.
As soon as we enter the gym, Paige turns it on heavily, pulling out every stop she can think of to make sure Nate’s eyes are on her, and only her. Of course, the way she pops her chest out seems to have Ty’s entire focus too, and something in me…just…snaps.
“They’re tits, boys. Get over them,” I say, walking ahead to the registration table. I can feel Ty move closer to me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact. He can take this opportunity to get in a few more good looks at Paige’s breasts. My sister is oblivious, still preening in front of Nate, competing even harder now that he’s moved his hand to the small of Rowe’s back.
As soon as we enter the gym, an announcer starts giving directions to break people up based on middle names and birthdays. I always hated these types of mixer games. We did this a lot at soccer camp on the first day. I always got stuck in the worst groups—with girls from rich schools, who weren’t really good at soccer—so our group ended up losing whatever drill they made us do.
It’s the same now. There aren’t many J middle names for females, and the guys starting to form the J group in the middle of the room all look like the kind who yell out their car windows and whistle at women they think are hot! Before anyone can ask me my middle name, I backtrack to a seat against the wall in the corner and pull out my phone to pretend I have something important to do.
“Me, I�
��m more of an ass man,” Ty says, settling into the space next to me.
“Wha—?” I ask, probably still a little pissed that he blatantly ogled my sister’s tits.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, your sister makes a good case for boobs, but I’m just more into asses,” he says, stretching his hands behind his neck, cracking it to one side before pulling up the corner of his lip into this cocky half smile and winking at me.
“I take it back. We can’t be friends,” I say, turning my attention back to my phone.
“Good,” he says, which gets my attention, and I snap my eyes up to look at him again. “I was thinking about it, and this whole friends thing is going to make it awkward when I kiss you again.”
“I’m not kissing you...” I say, but I sort of run out of words, because as irritated as I am with him right now, he’s so damned handsome that it stuns me.
“Again?” Ty speaks the word for me, his eyebrows raised. “You mean again, because baby, you already kissed me. Please say you haven’t forgotten it.”
“Oh…my god. You did not just call me baby,” I’m starting to wonder if I imagined all earlier versions of Ty, because this one is not impressing me.
I sink my focus back into my phone, playing one of those stupid games that I’m sure I’ll obsess over and sit awake at night trying to master. Several seconds pass before Ty finally leans over into me with a nudge. “Baby hater,” he says. I fight it at first, but a small snort laugh squeaks out through my smirk. “There she is.”
My first instinct is to roll my eyes, but as soon as my vision locks onto his face, I’m reminded of the fact that there’s something about him I also find irresistible. “Your smile…is breathtaking,” he says—all traces of his crass jokes from before, gone. We stare into each other for several more seconds, and he’s the first to break. “So, no circle-mingling for you? What, bad Girl Scout camp experience?”