Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
The torture of my dick continues during pushups and persists all the way through to lunges and squats.
“That’s it,” she says after a second set of squats. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Usually, I’d chastise a client for wanting to give up so quickly, but Kendall isn’t my client. Not to mention, I don’t think I could watch her thrust out her booty in another rep without my balls bursting into a blue cloud.
“All right,” I say as professionally as I can. “You did really well, and if you do what I’ve showed you regularly, you’ll get all the endorphins you need—plus your bones and muscles will be stronger than ever.”
“Right. Well… thanks.” She swipes the back of her hand over her glistening forehead. “This wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be.”
“You’re welcome.” I debate if I should ask her for her number or provide mine, but I don’t think she’s ready for that yet.
No. A more Machiavellian approach is needed.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Kendall,” I say with exaggerated politeness. “I wish you luck with all your future endeavors.”
The only thing that gives me the strength to walk away from her and back to the men’s locker room is the knowledge that, unbeknownst to her, we’ll be meeting again shortly.
* * *
I’m changing quickly when I get a call from Marcus, who sounds annoyed that I didn’t reply to his last text.
“I was with a client,” I say. “Sorry about canceling. I’ll have to kick your ass some other time.”
And I truly am sorry. Despite his riches, Marcus takes little joy in life, so sparring with me is probably the highlight of his week.
“How about we see whose ass gets kicked tomorrow afternoon?” Marcus says. “Assuming that fits into your oh-so-busy schedule.”
“Tomorrow works. But are you really giving me shit about the one time I have a work conflict? You do this to me all the fucking time.”
“It’s happened three times,” Marcus retorts. “And once, you only thought we had a session, but we did not.”
He’s keeping score? Why am I not surprised? Attention to detail is one of the many skills that have helped my friend score billions of rich people’s money to manage in his fund.
“Fine. You’ve canceled three times, and I’ve only done it once,” I say. “So I can move two more sessions before you have the right to—”
Fucker. He hung up on me. But hey, in the time it took to have that conversation, he probably missed a chance to make a few million. So I guess we’re even.
Not for the first time, I wonder what it would be like if I were as rich as my parents have always pushed me to be. On the one hand, I could hire a Mexican food truck to follow me around all day, so I could get tacos whenever I want. But then my parents would learn about my success and be all “see, we told you to do that,” and that would suck ass. I know they wish for a son who’s more like Marcus. Unfortunately, they have me.
Maybe if they’d been no-good alcoholics like Marcus’s mom, I would’ve had some of his ambition. Then again—
Shit. Kendall. I have to hurry.
Tying my laces, I make my way outside and wait for my quarry to appear.
Chapter 5
Kendall
It takes me a few seconds to realize Ash just walked away without asking me out.
What the actual fuck?
He didn’t ask for my number either. Or give me his. Or—
Wait, do I wish he’d done any of those things?
No way. But it would’ve been great for my bruised ego.
Asshole. I bet he knew I’d turn him down, so he didn’t bother. Then again, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have a problem handling rejection—not when he can crook a finger at any female in his vicinity and she’d come running. Come to think of it, is it possible he’s never been rejected? If so, maybe he didn’t want to know what that feels like.
As I change in the locker room, I dwell on this topic and decide that the reason I’m so upset is that I was confident he would ask me out.
I mean, why else check if I were single, right?
That’s like leading a woman on.
Damn it.
Enough.
“Excuse me,” I say to one of the cleaners when she enters the locker room. “What do I do with the dirty clothes?”
“Throw away the socks and put the rest in here.” She points at a large hamper nearby.
Throw away the socks? Score! That means I can also keep them, so not everything is going to shit today. I walk over to a roll of plastic bags meant for wet swimwear and take one.
When I get back to my locker, I take off the socks and store them carefully in the bag, making sure to seal it tightly in order to lock in the smell. Stashing the bag in my purse, I drop the rest of my workout clothes in the designated hamper and walk through the gym with my head held high, looking for a certain someone in my peripheral vision.