Page 2 of Taking Denver

“Just concentrate on your nude running, asshole.”

He blinks. “Did you just call me an asshole? You don’t evenknowme.”

“I don’t know you? Let me guess.” I hop to my feet and a chill of excitement races up my spine. “Early thirties, professional, played basketball in college, go Vipers!” I throw an imaginary ball into an imaginary hoop. “You drive a Prius because the planet is our friend, but you use so much cologne that you’re probably personally responsible for the hole in the ozone layer. Single because you work too much, no pets because you can’t commit, lifts every day because weights are life, and has song lyrics in his Tinder bio. I’m guessing... Mariah Carey. Am I close?”

He narrows his eyes and steps off the treadmill, shoulders squared as if heading into battle. I’ll welcome the scrap.

“I’m thirty-two, a veterinarian, and yes, I played basketball in college—it was the Tigers, not the Vipers. I havethreedogs! One, two, three,three dogs.” He counts on his hand and then gives me the finger. “I lift weights because I enjoy it, and the song lyrics are Tupac, so suck on that. And you know what? I’m starting to think these are actually mine.”

He snatches the earbuds from my hand, and my mouth drops open.

“No, they are not!”

He shrugs. “Prove it.”

“I’ll kick your ass!”

He snorts a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes!”

He drops his towel and squares up to me. This guy literally squares up to me. “Come on then. Hit me.”

I step toward him. “Oh, you think I won’t?”

“Oh, I hope you do.”

I clench my fists at my sides and tense my jaw. I’m not backing down. Fuck this guy. I shove him.

Dammit, his skin is soft.

He laughs. “Is that it? Come on, pipsqueak. You want them back? Fight for them.”

“Pipsqueak?”

“Yeah. What are you, like, five foot two?”

“I’m five foot six, you prick!”

I can’t believe I’m arguing about my height and threatening to beat up a guy almost a foot taller than me. I’m twenty-seven years old. What the fuck am I doing?

“Give them back!”

“Give you what back? These?” He dangles the earbuds above my head.

I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to grab them. I’m not going to do that.Do not do that, Denver.

I do, and he snatches them away.

“Come on, tiny little redhead,” he says, moving close. “Where’s all your fight gone?”

He’s dangerously close to me. I could slap him if I wanted to. And I really, really want to. But I’m more interested in how dark his eyes are, how good he looks with stubble around his jaw.

“You’re a prick.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “You’ve got a real mouth on you.”

I’m close to purring, if only to draw this guy in so I can make him regret ever crossing my path. “Oh, you have no idea,” I whisper, each word dripping with vitriol and the desire to hate-fuck this guy into next week.

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