Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Micah was already prowling a lane on the turf with a resistance band looped over his shoulders, driving his knees high like he meant to hurt the ground. Raiden stretched his hips against a bench and grimaced, giving away that he was still feeling his injury from the Super Bowl.
Sylas rolled a lacrosse ball under his arch with a grunt of pain, and Brady was taping his wrist and checking the clock even though no one was timing anything. Probably watching to make sure he left in time to help his wife put their six-month-old to bed.
Ames lumbered in a few minutes late, carrying a gallon of water and a look that said he planned to hate every second of his workout but would do it anyway. Even though it technically wasn’t required since preseason workouts hadn’t begun. A few other guys lingered around the weights or sweated on the cardio equipment. Our dedication to the game was why we were champions.
I warmed up with bar work—empty steel sliding smooth in my hands, my muscles waking up one groove at a time. We usually didn’t set up workouts for the evening, but I’d cajoled the guys into it so I'd have something to do until it was time to pick up Ivy.
The bar caught the light when I popped it to a front rack and sank into a power clean, my elbows high and feet steady on the platform. Second set, then third, plates added, my breath tight, drive through. I felt the week in my legs—the extra miles and the weariness from restless nights. Since the first time I kissed Ivy, I hadn’t been able to sleep the night through without being woken up from dreams that left me hard and aching.
My phone buzzed on the top of my gym bag. One glance at the name on the screen, and heat moved through my chest that had nothing to do with the workout.
Ivy
Missy tried to ban me from men named “Ethan” and “Todd” because apparently they’re statistically more likely to ask for perms. This is not peer-reviewed.
I didn’t mean to smile, but my mouth cracked into an unfamiliar curve without any effort. I thumbed a reply between sets, my forearms tight and lungs still working.
Me
Tell her I’m starting a petition to ban dudes who say “chop a little off” and then measure the clippings. ✃
Another buzz made the corners of my eyes crinkle as I set the bar again.
Ivy
Oh, I already threw a man out of my chair for saying “surprise me.” He looked… surprised.
A huff of a laugh slipped out. I tucked the phone back and loaded the bar again because the plates weren’t going to move themselves.
“Am I hallucinating?" Brady asked from a bench behind me, his voice dry. “Did I just hear Sax laugh?”
Micah looked up like a hunting dog catching a scent and smirked. “Swear to fuck I saw teeth.”
I ignored them and racked the weight.
Sylas was grinning at me like he’d just discovered a new species.
“Someone grab a cross,” he told Micah. “He might be possessed.”
The phone buzzed again while I shook out my hands. I told myself not to look…and looked anyway.
Ivy
Client just asked if I could give him “a Tom Brady.” I told him that style requires a ridiculous jawline, a twelve-step skincare regimen, and a ring collection.
Ivy
He asked if we carried rings.
This one pulled a low chuckle straight out of me. Brady heard it and looked offended on principle as he wiped down the bench. “What are we laughing at? Is it me? It’s me, isn’t it?”
“Always is,” Raiden joked, sliding plates onto a trap bar. “But seriously, the dude smiled twice today. I concur. Must’ve gotten laid.”
Sylas didn’t even look up when he drawled, “How would you know? Last time you had a woman around you, skinny jeans were still socially acceptable. I’m starting to wonder if your virginity grew back like a lizard tail.”
Raiden scowled. “Remind me to truck you in nine-on-seven.”
“Please do,” Sylas replied. “I like it when my cardio happens by accident.”
Micah snorted, then motioned toward the sled. “Powell. You pushing or posing?”
I shot him a glare that could strip paint, set my phone face down, and got behind the slanted handles.
The rest of the workout was just as brutal as the beginning, but it was also invigorating and distracted me from thoughts of Ivy. Not completely, but it helped.
The phone lit again just as I returned a weight to the stand after my last rep. Sweat was dripping from my temples and running in a line down between my shoulder blades, soaking the band of my shirt. I wiped my head, then my palm, on a towel before I picked it up.
Ivy
Lorna says thanks again for lunch the other day. Also, she found my secret stash holding your salted caramel interest over me like blackmail. She keeps humming the Willy Wonka song. I may have to quit.