Reluctantly, I peer through the glass front door of the gym. I feel a sigh of relief that he’s not there. Sitting. Stewing. Waiting for me to walk in for a full onslaught inquisition. But the damn bells tied to the top of the door rattle loudly, even though I try my best to open the door quietly. Shit, I need to get rid of those things.
“Where you been?” Caden’s on me before my jacket is even fully off.
“I overslept. Sorry you had to cover for me.” Giving him a hesitant, forced smile, I shrug, trying to sound casual and grab the mail on the counter at the front reception desk.
“Then why didn’t your phone wake you? I called. You must have been too busy to pick up.” There’s no mistaking the anger in his voice and the bite of sarcasm at my being busy.
Digging my phone from my purse, I look at the screen finding eleven missed calls. All from Caden. A quick survey of the times tells me he was growing impatient. Fast. The first few calls were five minutes apart…the last few, less than a minute elapsed before he was hitting redial. “Sorry. I must’ve forgotten to turn the ringer back on last night. I went to class and then fell asleep.”
“You’re sorry for a lot this morning, aren’t you?”
I lower my voice, I really don’t want a scene. Not again. “Please don’t do this now, Caden. I went to class and then home. I didn’t hear my phone alarm go off for the same reason I didn’t hear your calls. My ringer was off. Don’t turn it into something more than it is.” I pause, deliberating my words for a few seconds. “And you need to stop acting like we’re still together, Caden.” I don’t want to be hurtful, but he needs more than a subtle reminder he has no right to question what I’m doing anymore. I know he’s nervous about his big fight coming up, so I’ve been treading lightly. Obviously lightly isn’t the right tactic.
Pete, Caden’s regular sparring partner, whistles from a distance. Caden looks torn between interrogating me more and getting back to his training. Lucky for me, a loud, impatient shout from Pete helps him make the decision, which earns me a reprieve. A temporary one, anyway.
Pointing an angry finger at me before leaving the front desk area, Caden warns, “This conversation isn’t over.” But it’s definitely over for me.
***
Even with my lateness, I’m able to get all my work done by the early afternoon. Caden may not be the right man for me, but over the last nine months, he’s done so much to make managing things easier. After my father’s heart attack, I was barely able to function, let alone keep up with the business of running sixty-two independently operated gyms. Caden’s uncle is a great guy, but managing the business end of things was Dad’s responsibility. Joe’s idea of keeping the books straight meant throwing receipts in a shoe box. Literally, a shoe box.
Reeling from the death of the only parent I’d ever known, I was lucky to have Caden. He computerized the books, set up a payroll system, and even got the trainer’s schedules online for customers to book. All while I was barely functioning. A state of shock had set in after my father’s unexpected death rendering me almost useless at work. Truly, I’m not sure what I would have done without him. I only wish things between us would have stayed professional. Getting involved with him romantically just happened. He wasn’t shy about wanting to be with me, and I, well, I didn’t say no. Devastated from the loss of a man who had been the center of my universe, I was desperate to fill a void. I thought Caden was the answer at the time. Boy was I wrong.
With Caden out for a few hours this afternoon at a meeting with his agent and fight promoter, and the phones oddly silent for a change, I’m able to get almost a solid hour of sketching in before the sound of a man’s voice startles me. Completely engrossed in my drawing, the deep, raspy sound takes me by surprise and I jump half out of my seat. Unfortunately, half out of your seat doesn’t end nearly as well as jumping fully out of your seat. Because I’m sitting Indian style, one leg gets stuck in the arm of the chair as my body jerks forward in reaction to the sound which catches me off guard. The momentum of my weight falling one way has the opposite reaction on the chair I’m still half sitting on. It tips backwards, falls to the floor, taking my leg with it. Of course, my entire body is forced to follow my leg. I land flat on my back. Somehow the chair I was entangled in, now on top of me.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you,” says the deep voice that started this mess. Lifting the chair from on top of me, one large hand extends down, offering assistance, which I take, thoroughly embarrassed at my clumsiness.
Back on my feet, I right my clothes, pulling down my top, which seems to have sailed in the opposite direction when I tumbled down in a wholly unladylike fashion. Finally looking up to clearly see the face attached to the deep voice, my gaze is met by a tall, broad, extraordinarily beautiful man. Feeling flustered from the combination of falling off my chair and finding a devastatingly beautiful creature standing so close to me, I’m relieved to see my sketches strewn all over the floor. It allows me a minute to collect my wits. Reaching down, I begin to collect my papers, but beautiful man is a gentleman too. Crouching down to his knees, he helps gather the books and loose drawings that dislodged from my sketchbook.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” Of course, now that I want the bells to sound, they’re no longer there…mostly because I untied them from the door the minute Caden left. Perhaps they really did serve a purpose other than just alerting Caden to my arrival.
Beautiful man smiles, “I didn’t just walk in, I’ve been here for hours. I was in the back with Marco.”
“Oh.”
Extending the papers he’s collected in my direction, he asks, “You drew these?”
I nod.
“All of them?” Beautiful man motions to the half dozen or so sketches he’s collected from the floor.
I nod again.
“Mind if I look?”
I shake my head no. He smirks, likely at my inability to form verbal responses. What the hell, did my little fall turn me into a mute?
As the stranger slowly studies my drawings, I slowly study him. Dirty blond hair, damp from a recent shower, cut short and styled haphazardly in a sexy, I just got laid kind of way. My eyes follow the chiseled line of his jaw from one side to the other. Michelangelo couldn’t have created a stronger male profile. Unable to stop myself, I chance a glance down lower to what appears to be an equally stunning carved physique beneath a thin white shirt straining slightly to cover his broad chest.