That was the second time Finn’s fingers had been within striking distance of my boobs, and twice nothing had happened. My resolve was weakening. Should he get that close again, and should my best friend not be beside me, I didn’t think I would let him pull away so quickly.
I’d spent a week locked away with Finn. Conference room A had become our own private slice for five or six hours a day. It was a wonderful thing, but it was also a non-stop, all-you-can-eat buffet. The boy loved his food, and while he was blessed with the metabolism dreams are made of, I wasn’t. I also had a tiny costume to fit into in the not-too-distant future. My impending Lycra crisis and the pent-up sexual frustration coursing through my veins provided the motivation to make some lifestyle changes.
Generally, my afternoon schedule consisted of picking up Ben, stuffing my face with snacks alongside him, preparing and eating dinner, and then tea or wine and toast around eight. If it was a no-Ben week, it was even worse. I worked late most nights and ate takeout hunched over my desk. That shit had to change—along with the jigglyness of my body.
I wanted to start slowly. Any changes I made had to be sustainable. So, I dropped the tea and toast, and eight pm became exercise hour. YouTube provided multitudes of free workout options, and I hit play as soon as Ben was in bed. Growithjo, a Canadian fitspo with fun dance workouts and fantastic music, was an instant favorite. I would either do a curse-filled cardio session with her or go for a jog-walk-collapse if Teddy was available to watch over Ben. Any form of physical activity other than walking or raising my hand to my mouth was entirely foreign and walloped me. Sore, burning thighs left me rolling out of bed and one squat away from peeing standing up.
But I didn’t stop, and by the end of the second week, my primary objective had switched from wanting to look hot for Finn to wanting to feel good for me. From losing the cellulite on my arse and thighs to making it around the block without stopping or doing a twenty-five-minute video instead of the quick ten-minute one.
So what if I still had a fat arse? Americans seemed to be obsessed with big booties, and I’m pretty sure Finn checked it out every five seconds. Plus, I was getting fitter and healthier, and even with the ever-present mum shit and constant lustful thoughts of certain burly blonds, my sleep improved too. I woke feeling refreshed and ready for my day instead of like Frankenstein’s bride with a hangover. I was proud of myself, and the best part was that Ben even started to do the workouts with me.
“This is much cooler and harder than it looks,” he puffed mid-star jump on a grueling Black-Eyed Peas-themed workout. “I can’t believe you are doing this every day.”
My chest expanded in pride.
Ben was proud of me. I was inspirational, and cool, and felt shit-hot.
It didn’t last long.
“It’s even hard for me, and I’m not old and dorky like you.” My ego couldn’t take much of Ben’s compliments, so I ran alone the next night.
Music blasted into my ears, the cool air brushed against my face, and my snotty nose ran as fast as my legs. But I kept going. I even added an extra block. Just as I was about to turn and head home, a tall, lean, silhouetted figure jogged toward me. I couldn’t make out a face in the dim streetlight, but the blond man-bun halo had my heart rate soaring.
Shit. Shitty shit.
“Red, is that you?”
Why? Why is he here? He can’t see me like this, sweating like a pig and an avalanche running from my nose.
“No, it’s not me. I mean, I’m not Red.”
Only a few paces remained between us. I could hear his laughter as he slowed to a walk and contemplated crossing the street. But knowing me, I’d get hit by a car, and I wasn’t lucky enough to be knocked out and would be forced to watch him watch me as I lay in the street, bleeding.
By the time I’d catastrophized myself to hyperventilation, he was next to me, holding my arm and pulling me close. I didn’t know where to look. Nowhere was safe. Between his beautiful, flushed face; ripped, toned arms; and massive thick thighs, I was screwed.
“Oh, sorry. You look an awful lot like this cute girl I work with.” He then pulled me into the light and almost killed me with hotness. Damn, he was beautiful. His dimples were extra dimply, and his sweat-drenched hair hung low over his eyes in a disturbingly sexy manner. Who the hell looks so good when they’re so sweaty? “Well, whaddya know, it is you.”
“Surprise!” I laughed while holding my hands over my face.
“Didn’t you recognize me?” he asked as he dragged my hands away. “Did you think I was gonna get ya? Rrrr!” He jumped and grabbed me by the waist. Christ, his hands fit well on my body.
“Sorry, sorry. I know how lame that was, but I’m so embarrassed. I’ve only just started jogging and look disgusting. No one wants to see me like this.”
My hair tie spontaneously snapped at that very moment, and my stylishly messy bun fell around my face. Finn’s eyes widened. He took a step closer and worried his lips between his teeth. “You greatly underestimate your cuteness, Red.” I watched the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. He tucked my curls behind my ears and smiled. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Spin around. Let me help you.” A spare hair tie from his wrist was jiggled in my face.
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m not far from home. I can manage.”
“Nonsense. I insist you can’t run with that mop in your face.” Not waiting for me to move, he ducked around me and trapped a handful of curls.
It was clear the man was experienced in touching a woman’s hair. His fingers brushed my flesh, sending a wave of visible tremors through my body as they twisted through my curls, collecting them in his hands and then binding them on top of my head. The feel of him breathing against my neck as he played with my hair had my lady bits tingling and demanding those fingers give them some attention too.
“There, now I can see you,” he whispered into my ear, “and you can see me.” He spun me back around and blinded me with a smile that lit up our little section of Sixth Avenue. “Can I run you home? It’s been a while since I had a training partner, but I’m sure I can still run and talk.”
“I…umm. I dunno, Finn.”