Her expression twists further when he points at the plates on the barbell. So what if he can’t see the strength she hides under all those clothes? He doesn’t have any right to step in. She’s weathered enough condescending bullshit from her parents for one lifetime.
Oblivious gym rat struts to the end of the barbell and starts pulling off plates.
Yep. I’m done watching.
Popping out my earbuds, I leave them blasting Atonement’s latest recording as I drop them into a pocket of my sweats and saunter over to them. I’ve listened to the track a hundred times. I’ll listen to it a hundred more until I figure out what’s not working.
Positioning myself right behind the guy interrupting Stas’s workout, I tug on his hair. He whips around, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, but as his eyes dip down my body, he naturally eases a step back. “Can I help you?”
“Definitely not,” I reply darkly.
The guy rolls his shoulders like he’s mentally working himself up to a confrontation. I can tell he’s fighting the instinct to run. I know the gut feeling well. Spent my teenage years lifting weights so I’d never have to experience it again.
He has the audacity to look at Stas for backup. I wait for her to tell him off, but she drops her head and starts picking up the plates he removed.
Concern prickles in my chest. Where has her fire gone, and who the fuck extinguished it? Is she struggling with family stuff? Would Hail know, or is he too wrapped up with the new album and calls to his long-distance boyfriend to notice what’s going on with her?
I step into the gym guy’s view. “No chance, bub. That’s her signaling you to fuck off.”
He huffs. “She could have told me that.”
“Oh, she did. You’re notlistening.”
“Whatever. Not on me when she gets hurt,” he mumbles, strutting off to rejoin his flock. I keep my gaze on them as I catch mutterings about the “situation”. Of course he’s the benevolent gym hero who was approached by an asshole.
Iaman asshole. I don’t give a shit who thinks it.
Forcing a deep breath, I squat to pick up a plate and return it to the barbell. Stas gives me a calculating look. Did I overstep?
I fall victim to one of our staring games, melting into her pretty brown eyes framed by an unholy amount of darker lashes.
We stare so long, the years we've shared unfold around us. Suddenly, I'm eleven years old, accepting the hand of a quiet but strong friend helping me through her window.
Time warps, and I'm seventeen, laid out on Hail's bedroom floor, my fingers tangled in the silky hair of a pretty girl who didn't know her worth as her brother plays guitar in the background.
I'm twenty-six, fighting to keep my gaze from taking in long, toned legs and flashes of rebellious smiles that quicken my pulse.
Stasi breaks eye contact first, crashing me hard into the present where I'm set to spend the rest of my years alone.
Doesn't mean I can't admire her. She's caught me looking more than a few times. It’s quickly becoming an addiction trying to make her sun-kissed, freckled skin flush and her eyes glint with something wild.
“You’ve got your scary face on,” she whispers, brushing against me to slide the clamp in place on the barbell.
Ishouldgive her space. However, I can’t find the willpower to move away as I breathe in the scent of her citrus body wash.
My gaze runs down the soft curve of her neck, visualizing my hand wrapping around it. I’d tilt her head to the side and bring my tongue and teeth to her skin so I could taste her.
She’d be too sweet for me.
Regretfully, I ease back. “Most people would say that’s my normal face.”
When she spins around to face me, she has to lift her chin high to meet my eyes. The impulsive thought is there to grab her by the thighs and hoist her up against my body so we can be on the same level.
“That’s not you, Liam,” she says firmly.
Something tightens in my chest. “No?”
“No.” Her conviction is enough to snuff out the lingering anger from the gym guy messing with her.
