Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Two thoughts about this. One, exposing myself as a compulsively paranoid athlete had gone better than expected. After his initial surprise, Jean-Claude had seemed relatively unfazed by my oddball request. Two, my name sounded extraordinarily hot spoken in a French accent by a French-Canadian man with a gravelly voice and green eyes and—
Okay, where did that come from?
I gulped, pulling my gaze from his retreating back. I mean, sure…I noticed the guy, but there was a reason for that. Jean-Claude was big and brawny. He was built like a fierce D-man, yet he moved like a panther. I was subconsciously aware of him the way I would be of anyone I might meet on the ice.
Except he was a chef, not a hockey player. And that didn’t explain why my brain automatically tossed up adjectives like sexy, charming, attractive.
That was new and…different.
But I had bigger things to worry about than random queer thoughts. I had to get better. Fast.
Vinnie added a light weight to my barbell and took his place behind my bench to spot me. I cracked my knuckles and adjusted my grip before lifting the bar over my head.
“Nice. Strong as ever, man,” he noted, catching my eye in the gym mirror.
Elmwood’s new sports center gym was state-of-the-art per Vinnie’s instructions. There was a yoga room, a swimming pool, a sauna, a cardio area, a section for free weights, and another for stationary bikes, elliptical machines, and treadmills. Everything was so new it sparkled in the dimly lit space.
Vinnie had adjusted the lighting for my sake, which I appreciated—though I hated that it was necessary. I didn’t bring up my ongoing headache situation. I didn’t want to talk about my lack of significant progress, my sleepless nights, or my lack of appetite. And while Vinnie would totally understand my convoluted reasoning behind the tuna-on rye deal I’d struck with the chef at his husband’s diner, I didn’t want to go there either. I felt as if I were slowly losing control over every facet of my life, and it sucked.
Physical exertion was my best bet.
With a little luck, I’d stop thinking about Jean-Claude…and weird things like the size of his hands and the scar under his lower lip, partially hidden by his well-trimmed beard, and—
Fuck, what’s wrong with me?
I fumbled to drop the weight on the stand without crushing Vinnie’s fingers. “Sorry. I spaced out.”
“It’s all good. You’re doing well.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder and flopped onto the bench across from me. “I should get going. We’re down a coach, and I told Ronnie I’d help out with the pee wees. Want to meet up for dinner later?”
“Thanks, but…please take this the nicest way possible—you don’t have to entertain me. I’m fine,” I assured him.
Vinnie nodded. “I know you are. I don’t mean to nag, but I feel sort of responsible for making sure you aren’t miserable here.”
“Miserable? No way. I genuinely like Elmwood. It’s beautiful in autumn and everyone’s friendly and…I’m doing okay.”
“All right. I’ll shut up.” He uncapped his water and guzzled half of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nope. Not sexy at all.
But out of the fucking blue, I had a vision of Jean-Claude doing the same thing and my dick twitched in my shorts.
Holy. Fuck.
I sat up quickly and grabbed my water bottle, clandestinely wriggling my boxer briefs to avoid a pup-tent situation. And because I was suddenly nervous for no good reason at all, I started babbling.
“I had a latte at that coffee shop in town today. Rise and Grind. I’m supposed to be going easy on caffeine, but I needed a little jolt and it was good. Better than my usual spot at home.”
Vinnie quirked his chin as if confused by my suddenly manic tone, but he wasn’t the type to look for hidden meanings. He beamed with hometown pride, slapping his knee like a cowboy who’d just won first prize at a rodeo.
“I told you Elmwood was a-fucking-mazing. You wouldn’t believe how progressive it’s become, and it’s only getting better. You’ve seen the diner. That place was solidly stuck in the seventies and eighties when I was a kid, but Nolan has worked a serious miracle over there. It was genius of him to hire a fancy chef like JC and—”
“I ran into him at the coffee shop too,” I intercepted. I didn’t mean to cut Vinnie off, but I’d heard the “Elmwood is so awesome speech” a few times, and I was more curious about Jean-Claude. “What’s he like?”
“JC? He’s a good guy. He comes across as kind of gruff, but he’s funny as fuck once you get to know him. I wasn’t sure what to think of him at first, but that could have been misguided jealousy on my part. In my defense, it’s never easy meeting one of your significant other’s exes.”