Page 23 of Puck King
“Now you have to say it. You can’t leave it like that.”
“You were kind of rude. It’s as if you don’t like him.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t like him. He’s an arrogant, rude, spoiled brat.”
“Do you know something I don’t know? Because it’s the coldest day of winter, and that man just walked however many blocks in the wrong direction with us.”
The treatment room was state of the art, and Hollie gasped as we stepped inside, temporarily distracted from her lecture about how I had treated Colton King. “This is nice.” She whistled.
“They’re the New York Thunder.” I set my bag down on one of the desks. “And while he might have some old school chivalry in him, Colton King will show you his true colors. Just wait.”
But as Hollie and I set to organizing our new space, I wondered if there were more layers to Colton King. Hollie didn’t know this, but his apartment was at least ten blocks in the opposite direction of the coffee shop.
I smoothed a sheet on one of the treatment tables and wondered if the next six months would be easier if I hated him. Because the alternative would be unbearable. There was no way I could ever fall for Colton King.
Eleven
Colton
The weights clangedas I pushed out a third set of dead lifts.
“Are you supposed to be doing those?”
“Jesus.” I jumped at the voice, but quickly recognized the red-bottomed boots. “Do you just walk in now?”
“Yep.” Everleigh nudged the weight bar away from me with the toe of her boot. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Good.” I shrugged and wiped the sweat from my face with a towel. “I’ve got an appointment with my wife this afternoon and I’m sure she’ll get me all sorted out.”
Everleigh sat on the weight bench and pulled an envelope from her bag. “Speaking of your…wife. Here’s the contract. You should probably go over it.”
“Didn’t you email it to me?” I tossed the thick stack of papers onto the leg press.
Everleigh scoffed. “I didn’t think that you read your email.”
“I do.” I laughed. “Just not the ones from you.”
“Just read it.” She pulled off her leather gloves and proceeded to rummage through my cupboards. “Where’s your protein powder? I need a smoothie.”
I reached over her head, purposely letting my very sweaty armpits linger in front of her face. “Here it is.”
“Oh, God.” She shoved me aside. “Your armpits smell like an onion farm.”
She proceeded to destroy my personal gym’s kitchen, tossing ingredients into the dedicated smoothie blender. I shook my head and flipped through the paperwork. “What the fuck is this?”
“What?” She pushed the button on the blender and its high-powered motor drowned out my voice. I waited for her to stop.
When the jet engine sound finally stopped, I pointed to the section of the contract labeled ‘dates’. “What is—”
She started the blender again. I slowly exhaled, waiting for silence.
I finally slammed the paper on the counter beside her. A burst blueberry seeped through the page as I pointed to the list of dates. “What’s…”
Her manicured finger was poised on the blender’s high-speed button. “Don’t you dare.” I glared at her. “These dates—”
She pushed the button and smirked. I’d had enough, and pulled the plug from the wall. “Everleigh. Why her? How am I supposed to do all of this stuff with Alison?”
She poured the blue smoothie into a glass. “What? Was I supposed to let you pick the girl? We’d probably end up in a worse predicament than we’re already in.”
