Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
He takes the water bottle that he loaned me out of my hand and lifts an eyebrow.
“I washed it.”
“This is yours now. I’ll fill it up for you.”
“I have my own—”
“I left that in the truck. You’ll use this one here.”
He strides to the fridge to fill the bottle with ice and water. After screwing on the lid, he passes it back to me.
“Um, thanks. Are you always this bossy?”
“No. You seem to bring it out in me.”
I snort, not believing him at all.
“Now, answer the question.”
I sip the water, blinking at him. “What question.”
“What about you, Red?”
“Am I with someone?”
“Yeah.”
I shake my head and take my bag from him. “No. Let’s get to work.”
“Do you want breakfast?”
Okay, so the idea of another one of those breakfast burritos is tempting, but I’m here to remind us both that I can be a professional.
“I had breakfast,” I reply.
It’s not a complete lie. I had a protein shake.
“We have work to do, Mr. Hendrix.”
“Wow, you’re extra formal today. Did you iron your scrubs?”
“No.”
Yes.
“I think that blush tells me otherwise. Okay, let’s go get after it, then. I spent a little time on the . . . uh.” He shakes his head and leads me into the gym. “You know, the thing you pedal.”
“The bike.”
“Yeah, I spent some time on the bike this morning.”
Fascinating.
“How much time?”
“Half an hour or so, not long before you got here.”
“Starting without me?”
I set my bag and water bottle on the desk—the desk he bought just for me—and turn to him. “Okay, no bike for warm-up, then. Let’s start with quads.”
The past week has been more fun than I expected. I love working with athletes, and Xander is a dream. I have so much respect for his endurance, his strength.
His muscles.
But more than that, I love his persistence. When we’re in workout mode, his face is determined, and he pushes himself until I have to force him to quit so he doesn’t get hurt.
His dedication is amazing. It’s no wonder he’s done so well as a professional player.
I told Xander that I’d drive us to Bitterroot Valley today, but he insisted on picking me up. He’s not supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, but since I’m ready to go, I pick Cally up and snuggle her, smiling when she starts to rumble that engine.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t been home much lately,” I murmur against her as she purrs in my face. “You’re such a good girl. And you’re so pretty.”
The doorbell rings, and I walk over and open the door, still holding Cally, and Xander grins.
“Hello there.”
“Hey, come on in. I was just giving her some attention, since I’m not home much these days.”
He reaches out and brushes his fingers over her head, scratches behind her ears, and she keeps purring.
“She’s cute.”
“She’s the best cat in the world.” I kiss her a few times before setting her down.
“Do you get cold, Red?”
“Hmm?” I turn with my coat in my hand and see that he’s in the middle of my living room, hands in his pockets, gazing about.
“You have blankets everywhere.”
I chuckle and slip my arms in the sleeves of my jacket. “Yeah, I run cold. I’m also addicted to blankets. I buy way too many, but Cally likes them.”
“And you paint?” He lifts that eyebrow as he turns my way, and now I feel . . . vulnerable. Uncomfortable.
Because I don’t share this with people.
“Uh, when I have time. Which hasn’t happened in a while.” I grab my scarf and hat—it might still be September, but the rink is cold—and when I lead Xander to the door, he catches my arm in his hand and turns me toward the wall where the biggest canvas leans against it.
“Tell me about that one.”
I sigh and slowly shake my head. “I’m embarrassed that you’re seeing them at all, Xander.”
His gaze whips down to me, and he frowns fiercely. “Why? It’s fucking incredible.”
“It’s just okay, and I don’t know. I never plan to give them away or anything.”
“You absolutely should not give them away. You should be selling them.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t join me.
“Tell me about that one. I’m serious.”
I sigh and stare at the canvas. “It’s mountains.”
“I will spank your beautiful butt if you don’t tell me everything about that painting right now.”
I blanch and cough, but he holds my gaze, unflinching.
Spank me. Go ahead. I consent.
I clear my throat.
“There’s a spot I like to drive to sometimes when I want some peace and quiet, and this is the view. So, a couple of months ago—or maybe longer now—I went up there with my supplies and painted this. It took me about three hours.”
“You did that whole thing in three hours?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Yeah. I’m used to painting fast because I never know how much time I’ll have.”