by Leigh, Ember
His belly tightened. “Hey, we don’t hang out. I already told you. She comes here to work out, and we got dinner the other night because we were both leaving at the same time and crazy hungry. Besides, she seemed lonely.” More like ravenous.
Eddie softened. “Whatever. It’s weird if my friends start hanging out with my sister. You know?”
“Why?” The question popped out of Travis’s mouth before he could think better.
“’Cause you’re my friends. Those worlds don’t mix. They should stay separate. I don’t wanna know what she does with her friends.”
Travis avoided his gaze, grabbing some dumbbells from the rack. He struggled to keep his face neutral, to calm the frenzy in his chest. “I know. I’m not trying to hang out with her.” He handed off the dumbbells, feeling a lot like a kid in trouble.
“She’ll find her own crew. She won’t be lonely for long.” Eddie’s tone sounded like he was reassuring himself now. “And if she don’t, well…I guess she’ll go back to the East Coast.”
“Right.” Travis’s chest tightened, fear sparking deep inside him. He crossed his arms over his chest, focusing on his friend’s form as he started the curls. What the fuck had he been thinking? Shit with Amara would never work out. If Eddie didn’t kill it, her career would. “What should I tell her if she wants to get dinner again after a workout?”
Eddie shook his head, glowering again. “Tell her you’re busy.”
Travis scoffed. “Okay. Whatever you say, boss.”
Eddie eyed him before starting his next rep, his jaw set. Something unspoken hung there. And Travis worried that it was the one suspicion he was desperate to avoid.
While Eddie grunted through reps, Travis wandered to the far wall to use the pull-up bar and burn off some of the anxiety. The message was clear: stay the fuck away from Amara. Even if Eddie couldn’t glean his deeper desires, the innocent surface ones were bad enough.
His phone vibrated in his pocket as he did pull-ups, and immediately he hoped it was Amara. Even though he wouldn’t respond, a little note from her always brightened his day.
But that had to end. He tacked on five more pull-ups for good measure. He needed a break from her to clear his head. The texting and the flirting were getting out of hand. And engaging in them would only lead to bad outcomes.
When his feet touched the ground, he reached into his pocket but stopped halfway. No looking. He wouldn’t even go there. Not while Eddie was around.
And if he was serious about it, he had to miss her sessions for a couple of days too. The idea felt wrong to him, but it had to be that way. Otherwise this thing between them would never stop ballooning.
It was taking all he had to not respond to the sexy pictures and the sweet texts. If he saw her, he’d break. No progress could be made that way.
When Eddie wrapped up, Travis would finish his business and get lost for the rest of the day. There were plenty of things he needed to do in the outside world. And he’d get started immediately.
* * *
Later that evening, Amara pulled into the parking lot of Holt Body earlier than expected. Her own anticipation of tonight’s workout made her barrel through traffic almost dangerously. Travis was a strong motivator—as a trainer and as a potential lover.
Shivers coursed through her. He hadn’t responded to her all freaking day. She was dying to hear from him. So she’d force a response out of him when she laid eyes on him, finally. See if she couldn’t get a follow-up to those scorching kisses he’d given her the night before.
She hopped out of the SUV, slinging her workout bag over her shoulder, adjusting her shirt and hair as she prepared to sweep into the front hall. She loved it when he was standing at the desk at the end of the hallway, broad and built, like a sculpted statue waiting for her viewing pleasure.
Every other girl in the world probably thought the same thing. A bit sobering. She pulled open the door, pushing her sunglasses back onto her head, heels clicking softly on the sparkling floor as she came inside and her vision adjusted to the lights.
At the end of the hallway, one of his receptionists sat, phone pressed to her ear. No Travis. She scanned the weight room through the glass walls, searching out the face of every bulky, manly body in there. No Travis.
Breezing up to the receptionist’s desk, she waited patiently as she wrapped up her phone call. When her big doe eyes turned to her, Amara let the words spill from her mouth. “Is Travis here?”
The receptionist grimaced. “No, he’s out for the day.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, but she tried not to convey the disappointment tremoring through her. Fuck, she wanted so badly to ask why. Demand to know his whereabouts. Ask if she’d seen him using his phone at all that day. If he’d been responding to anyone else’s texts. “That’s okay. I think I’ll do the Pilates class today.”
The receptionist nodded, pushing the appropriate pass over the countertop. “Enjoy.”
Amara snatched up the pass and then stormed to the locker room, rationalizations circling inside her head like a funnel.
He thinks he’ll ignore me? Stop seeing me? After that incredible breakthrough we had last night? Betrayal sizzled through her, hot and fresh, and then dissipated. But what can the two of us even do? He knows we can’t flirt forever. It has to lead to either something or nothing.
She dropped her gym bag and started changing, eyes fastened to the door in front of her as her mind worked over the situation like a batch of dough. Maybe he’d been called away—some business meeting, some last-minute thing. And maybe it was poor timing that this was the day it had happened, the day after they’d crossed a new frontier in flirting.
But if she knew men, she knew it was no coincidence. He’d planned it—he had to. And then if she called him on it, he’d be confused and apologetic, acting like it was unrelated. Like this was on her.
Pfff. Men. She tore off her shirt so hard, she almost ripped off a button. If this was what he was like, then he was no better than any other guy, and certainly no mature man like he’d let on to be. These were the tactics of boys.
Eddie had been right all along. Travis was just a regular dude, treating women like shit. Avoiding hard situations, sidestepping confrontation, acting like nothing existed.
Amara smirked as she tugged her workout shorts out, satisfied with the conclusion. He was an asshole, actually. What was he so afraid of? It was a text. It was a workout. Nothing to be afraid of—unless he was an asshole.
Stuffing her bag into a locker, feeling smug and correct, she thought about a text she might send. No need to avoid me. I’ll stop coming. You can have your gym back.
As soon as the imaginary text crossed her mind, she felt like an idiot. What the fuck was she thinking?
She was the real lunatic—thinking things like this when all Travis did was not be in his gym once in the history of mankind.
Heaving a sigh, she shut the locker, pressing her forehead against the cool metal. The maelstrom of thoughts was enough of a bad sign. This was the emotional vortex men created. And she wasn’t even trying to date him; she wanted sex.
If she knew what was best for her, she’d let it go. She’d focus on her new job. She’d find her community, a nice group of friends.
Not chase after the one guy she could never, not in a million years, have.
Swallowing a knot in her throat, she pushed herself off the locker and headed for her class.
* * *
The next day, Amara knew for a fact that Travis was orchestrating the grandest sidestep in all of male history.
It had to be. There was no other logical explanation.
It didn’t help that no matter what she tried to focus on, her mind always slid back to him. The way his big, deep eyes had seemed to lick her from head to toe that night in the car when he asked her to come up. The feel of his rough hands around hers; even his touch could make her wet. And though she felt slighted—betrayed even—she craved his presence. His rock-steady energy. That mi
schief in his eyes, the way he could root her to her spot with one look.
Fuck. Just drop it. But she couldn’t.
When she finished up work, she took the freeway toward home instead of the gym. She wouldn’t rush there if he wasn’t going to be there, but she’d make it over eventually. She toyed with her phone, contemplating another text. She’d sent one that morning again—Morning, Trav—against her better judgement, as always. But hell, she figured she’d keep up the tradition. After all, she was only being friendly.
After a half hour of traffic, she’d convinced herself not to write him. She’d gotten the message, loud and clear. He was doing what needed to be done. And good on him for having the strength to say no to himself. Clearly she was the weak one here. The one driven by base impulses. Jeez, one pair of sexy biceps and she was hopeless.
At home, she pushed into the apartment, pleased to find the smell of toast in the air. Mama was shuffling into the recliner, a small plate on the table beside her. Every day she moved around more and did more things on her own. Beaming, Amara headed toward her.
“Mama. Te ves increíble hoy.” She kissed her forehead, then tossed her purse onto the adjacent couch.
“Thank you, mija. I feel like I look like my balding brother.” She collapsed into the chair with a deep sigh. “Ay, dios mio. That was all the energy I had.”
“How was your day?” Amara sank into the couch, assessing the TV. More early evening judge shows.
“Good. Your brother made us un almuerzo rico. Corn soup. He took me to the lab for my tests.”
Amara nodded, looking her mother up and down. “Good. I guess he can stick around for a few more weeks, then, huh?”
Her mother laughed hard, unexpectedly, which made Amara grin. The good days reminded her that there was an end in sight. The chemo might suck, but Mama was making progress.
“Where did Eddie go?” She wished he was home so she could get some intel about Travis. But maybe it was better he was gone.
“Working downtown. An expo for something.”
Amara smirked. Very detailed. So probably he’d be gone for the rest of the evening. She squeezed her mama’s shoulder as she walked past her to the kitchen. Scanning her mental to-do list, she searched for something to cross off while she put off going to the gym. And then it hit her—she had to call Travis’s mom.
Ever since he’d casually mentioned that his mom might be a perfect speaker for whatever she was planning, she’d been dying to set up a time to talk to her. Travis had even passed her the number so she could call. Amara unearthed her phone from the bottom of her purse and dialed the number.
A woman’s husky voice answered after several rings. “H’lo?”
Her stomach fluttered, suddenly nervous. “Hello, is this Mrs.…Holt?”
“Formerly, yes.” She sighed.
Amara grimaced. She hadn’t thought to get his mother’s new last name or maiden name. “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Travis.” More like a starstruck fan, desperate to get him to notice me. “My name is Amara, and I work at a women’s shelter and help center in the city. When I told him what sort of work I do, he mentioned that you might be someone I could contact for a presentation or something like that.”
“Hmmm. Go on.” It sounded like she took a drag of a cigarette.
Amara explained the nature of her nonprofit and what exactly she had in mind. Giving an inspirational and friendly speech to groups of women looking for guidance. Being honest, real, and raw in front of other women. Travis’s mom had plenty of questions and saucy interjections, and Amara couldn’t wait to meet her. The woman who had raised Travis. She could barely imagine what his mom might look like…but Amara already knew she was tough as nails.
“Let’s meet up, sweetie. I’ll tell you the whole story, we can make a little presentation, and I’ll make you coffee. What do you say this Sunday? I’ll be home after an auction in the morning. We can meet at my apartment and talk for hours if you want.”
Amara grinned, doodling on a blank piece of paper as she listened. “Great. Just tell me where to show up.”
Travis’s mom told her the address, and then they hung up after a warm good-bye. One thing down, plenty of things to go. Including the day’s gym visit.
After a quick nap that left her feeling calm and centered, she was ready to tackle Holt Body. She put on the standard workout clothes, sexy enough while practical, and headed for the car. Dusk was already heavy at 7:30 p.m., which meant the crisp winter months were unavoidable now. She shivered, pulling her track jacket tighter. Sure would be nice to cuddle with Travis over the winter.
It was a thought that wouldn’t leave her as she drove to the gym. Damn it, it didn’t matter how much she knew it was a bad idea; she fucking needed that man. At least once. Even at the risk of her brother’s outrage.
Pulling into the parking lot, she didn’t see his car anywhere. Already a bummer. Grabbing her handbag, she strolled into the gym, whistling while tensely awaiting confirmation of the dreaded truth…that Travis was MIA again.
Pushing into the brightly lit main hall, Amara found no trace of Travis at the reception desk. She gnawed at the inside of her lip, surveying the weight room as she headed for the receptionist. It was a thick crowd tonight. She might easily overlook him and couldn’t get a good handle on all the faces as she walked toward the desk. So it looked like today was a weight day.
“Hi there.” She smiled brightly at the receptionist, who offered a blank smile in return. “Amara Valenzuela. Just gonna do the weight room today.”
The pretty blonde receptionist nodded and marked something in the huge agenda before her. “Go on ahead. Enjoy your evening.”
Ambling toward the weight room, Amara wondered what Travis’s relationship really was with all those pretty, young receptionists. He must have hired them all personally, sat with them in interviews. Was there any sort of litmus test? If she believed her brother, Travis was probably sleeping with all of them. There had to be a reason they were all so uniformly pretty and lithe.
She entered the weight room considerably less pumped for her workout than when she’d arrived. Whatever. Travis’s powerful silhouette loomed above her in those goddamn perfect portraits on the wall. Ugh. She’d kill to have one of those hanging in her room. Like a fucking teenybopper.
She might never stop fangirling. It was a part of her new reality in LA. She’d get over it someday, probably. Maybe in five years the fantasies about sex with Travis would eventually recede to a dull roar. She dropped her stuff in a pile at the cubbies by the far wall and draped her track jacket over her belongings.
She got to work on a basic mash-up of warm-up exercises, feeling disjointed yet airy without Travis to bark his commands at her. It was like she’d forgotten everything. Maybe she should have done the class only.
A jock sauntered by, lifting a brow at her. She stared him down, hoping her lunge didn’t falter. That would be embarrassing. A couple of ladies across from her sneered at the guy too. Maybe he was one of the weirdos her brother was always talking about.
She settled into a nice routine, finally able to calm her mind and zone out a bit. Voices registered as swells and dips in the background. The other gym-goers were flashes of color around her, blurs of people and fabrics.
Until someone came into the front hallway, dressed in a black hoodie, black track shorts, shiny black sneakers. Hood pulled low over his head, jogging toward the front desk in a hurry.
Her world sharpened to a painful focus: Travis. Throat tightening, she looked at the ground. Fuck fuck fuck. She didn’t want him to be here. Then it would hurt even more when he ignored her or confirmed the deep fear that their brief history of flirting was officially dead.
She switched sides on the leg exercise and turned away from the glass partition, focusing instead on the far corner, gritting her teeth against the desire to observe him.
She didn’t last long. When her gaze finally drifted back to the front desk, he was gone. The
receptionist was calmly speaking on the phone again. Her belly flopped. Had he left, or had she imagined him?
Drawing a deep breath, she crouched on the floor, resting her forehead in her hands. Push through or go home? Maybe a couple more exercises before she jumped ship and went home to sleep. Already she was eager to get this day over with and start on the next one.
She popped to her feet and grabbed a lighter set of dumbbells, then got on the ground for some hip lifts. A couple of reps into it, a swell of voices told her someone new had come into the room. There was some laughter, some high fives. Hopefulness pricked her.
She exhaled and inhaled with the reps, focusing on the far wall. Concentrate. Her lower belly began to burn, and she pushed harder.
“Hey.” A familiar, deep voice greeted her, and then Travis appeared at her side, hood still over his head. He looked down at her, eyes serious and distant. “How many of these have you done?”
She huffed, dropping her ass to the ground. Thank God, you’re here. “Three million, why?”
He cracked a grin. “Do a couple more; then go to those leg lifts I showed you.”
Before she could respond, he headed for a group of guys in the corner. Mouth open, she watched him walk away, so relieved she wanted to cry. The difference was palpable with him near. She gulped, rolling onto her belly, beginning the backward leg lifts he’d shown her the other day.
As she sighed and sweated through a painful amount of reps on the leg lifts, Travis wandered back over and knelt in front of her, playing with something in his left hand as he surveyed the room. She looked up at him, but he didn’t acknowledge her—just knelt there, fiddling with what looked like a smooth stone, gnawing on his lip.
While he perched, ignoring her, she examined his leg hair, pleased by the color and frequency of it, wondering if he’d ever speak.
After one more rep, she collapsed to the floor, groaning. Turning herself onto her back, she looked up at Travis, even saw him glance down at her for the briefest of seconds.
