Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
The bitchy woman from the front desk came in. “Alex is running five minutes late. So why don’t we get you warmed up? Anyone want to volunteer to help me stretch out the class up front?”
Brody’s hand shot up faster than a geek’s in science class. Bitch looked pleased.
“Mr. Easton. What a treat. Ladies, we have none other than Super Bowl MVP Brody Easton in the class today! And he’s going to come up here and show us how it’s done.” No one had really noticed us in the back of the room, but that changed instantly. Women turned around and gawked. Brody gloated and headed to the front of the class.
I had completely forgotten what an arrogant showman he could be. Shades of the first time I met him in the locker room were back as he stood next to the instructor, working his stretches. At one point, he smiled at me, then tugged his T-shirt over his head. His gym shorts were hanging low on his narrow waist, and every ripped muscle was on full display. Especially that V. The same one I’d recently discovered we both liked when I traced its path with my tongue.
I looked around the room. I definitely wasn’t the only one drooling. I swear I smelled the pheromone soup wafting through the air. I would never admit it, but I didn’t love the way these women were looking at Brody. Yet . . . it wasn’t an immature jealousy. There was a comforting feeling to realize that I knew he wasn’t really interested in them. The entire class might have been transfixed, but the man at the head of the class was only doing it to try to get a rise out of me.
After a few minutes of the Brody show, Alex walked in. He taught classes in the location I usually went to, so we were friendly. Perhaps even friendlier than my confident-to-win-the-bet boyfriend might like. I inwardly smirked, knowing it would only take a sentence or two after class to win our bet. I could practically feel my muscles relaxing under Brody’s massaging rub already.
After class was over, the women circled Brody asking for autographs. He gloated, thinking he was getting a rise out of me, but truly I found the entire thing amusing and was pretty damn proud that jealousy hadn’t reared its ugly head. When the crowd thinned, we headed to the door . . . but not before I stopped to talk to the instructor.
“Hey, Alex.”
“Pretzel. Nice surprise seeing you in this location today.” Alex’s typical flirtatious banter was muted. He glanced at Brody.
“This is Brody Easton. An old family friend.”
Brody squinted at me as he shook Alex’s hand. That little bit of information, indirect confirmation that the man standing next to me wasn’t my boyfriend, was all it took to relax Alex. “Nice to meet you, Brody. You two go way back, huh?”
“Apparently so.”
“Tell me, was our little Pretzel always this smokin’ hot?”
The air chilled instantly. Brody glared at Alex, who didn’t even seem to notice since he went right on adding gunpowder to the cannon.
“Your downward-facing dog still needs to open up a little. Why don’t you stick around a few minutes and let me help you stretch into it?”
“That sounds like a good idea.” I turned to Brody and cheerily stoked the fire I smelled burning. “Why don’t you go on to the locker room and Alex can help me with my positioning? I’ll catch up with you out front.”
Brody tried so hard, but Alex’s dirty leer was too much to handle.
“Fuck this.” His hand possessively gripped my waist. “You win. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Alex looked confused as Brody quickly steered me toward the locker room. “Very cute,” he growled.
“I thought so.”
Leaving the gym, I taunted Brody about my win. “I would have thought you’d be stiff competition. Guess not.”
“I’ll give you stiff . . . ” He took my hand.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the jealous type.”
“Me either,” he grumbled.
“I have to grab a quick shower and head to the station. We have a late-morning planning meeting. They’re adding a few last-minute interviews with some of the Eagles players before this weekend’s game.”
“Meeting with the enemy. You trying to kill me? First Yogi-Asshole and now spending time with the division rivalry. I think I need a little extra attention tonight. I’m feeling neglected.”
“Oh, are you now?”
“Yep. I think I need you to show me how special I am.”
“And what exactly would that entail?”
“I’ll think of something. When I do, I’ll be sure to text you the details while you’re in the middle of your meeting.” The man’s wicked tongue translated well even in texting.
We turned the corner, heading down the block where Marlene lived. Brody was telling me about his schedule for the rest of the week when he suddenly went quiet. It took me a moment to catch up. “Brody?”