Page 23 of The Seven Month Itch
“Then I guess this is see ya later,” he says with a nod and a head pat, his attention on the woman he plans to bend over. He makes his way to her, but not before he says, “You know I have to tell him.”
“No, you don’t!”
“Yes, I do!”
Chapter 11
Terrence
Ten hours. The dead would be at peace with that amount of sleep, let alone someone who traveled over fifty-eight hundred miles. Not me. Not after the texts from last night. I’m on edge, too wired to go back to bed.
My grip tightens around my phone. A man with a death wish put his hands on Justice. The bastard should count it as a blessing that he’s in a cell. Far away from my reach and my deep hunger to punt his dick through his throat.
I found myself in front of Jay’s suite before I realized my feet had led me to her door. The urge to knock was there, but I stopped myself and headed back downstairs. She might be an early riser, but she’s not awake at five in the morning.
What the hell would I say anyway?Sorry I couldn’t protect youagainbecause my useless ass was asleep?
I broke her trust, and I have no right to run to her aid a fucking day later.
A man can only pace around a room for so long. I glance at the kitchen clock for the third time. It’s five past six. Gym it is. I storm back to the bed and rip my gym bag from under it. My heart hasn’t slowed since Miles told me about Justice’s attack, and I need a release.
A healthy one that won’t land me behind bars.
It takes less than five minutes to slip on basketball shorts and a compression shirt and throw on my shoes at the front door. I always keep a pair of hand wraps in my bag, and I hope to God this place has something to punch other than a wall or someone’s face.
My stride mimics thunder down the hall. I’m pretty laid-back, but I have no problem putting an asshole in the ground if he threatens the people I care about.Especially her. Fast steps turn to slow when I reach the third floor. I’ll give myself an ulcer if I don’t calm the hell down.
Studios with walls of mirrors and views of the valley appear on the opposite side of the hall. They must teach lots of classes here to need so many rooms. Further down on the right is a glass wall that overlooks a large pool with swimming lanes. I make a mental note to check it out later, along with the hot tubs off to the side. An open meditation room is next to a closed day spa when I round another corner. I question if the gym is on this floor until I see her.
Justice stands by herself. Her back is to me, and I don’t have to look at her face to know she’s deep in thought. Her shoulders are tense, and her hands are in fists by her sides. My approach is slow so that I don’t startle her. It all goes to shit when I touch her.
“Justice.”
She spins to hurl a punch I block. Her reaction is quick, but my reflexes are faster. “Easy there, princess.” I hold up my hands. “Just saying hi.”
Panic drains from her eyes when she takes me in. She lowers her shoulders and lets out a long breath. “You scared me.”
It hurts to see how guarded she is after last night. If only I could get my hands on the prick who groped her. I swallow the urge to rip out his throat. This is the first time I’ve seen Justice since the night of the mixer. I want to comfort her, but I know she won’t let me.
“Are you okay? I heard what happened.” My eyes search hers.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” she says with a high-pitched laugh, unable to make eye contact. It’s a lie, but I won’t press her. If I pile on too many questions, she’ll get defensive.
“So, we meet again.” It’s my best attempt to lighten the mood, and it seems to work.
There’s warmth in her laughter. She shakes her head. “So we do.” God, her smile could heat the sun.
Our eyes linger on each other longer than I expected. I take in her purple tank and leggings that accentuate her Tinkerbell shape. Her racerback sports bra curves around the swell of her breasts, which are more than a handful. High-waisted bottoms hug her figure and give a peek of her stomach. This woman has a delicious peach of an ass and full hips that make a person drool.
“Are you waiting for a class to start?” The question comes through a cough. I’m hard and need a distraction.
She scans the studio. “I thought there was an early morning Pilates class in here. Guess I was wrong.”
Unlike me, Justice doesn’t believe in physical fitness unless it’s tied to food. I tried to work her out—in and out of the bedroom—but she’s not the best at taking instructions when they come from me and don’t include a sexual command.
A glance around the room reveals some resistance bands on the back wall next to medicine balls and yoga mats. We can work with this. I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I could train you.”
She stares at me like I shot her and asked for bail money. “You want to trainme?”
