Page 18 of Paradise in Progress
“Yeah,” I answer weakly. “I think I overdid it.”
“I’ll grab you a power bar. That should help get your sugar levels back up. Do you have someone who can come get you? We’d hate to have you passing out on your way home.”
“I’ll be fine–”
I’m quickly cut off by the thorn in my side. “I’ve got her.”
Huffing an exasperated sigh, I start to object, but his dark gaze slices through me. “Let me do this for you, Ken.”
“Oh my gosh, you have the sweetest boyfriend,” Kenzie coos as she stands.
“He’s not my boyf…” My words trail off as I realize that Kenzie is no longer standing beside us in her mission to find me a power bar to eat.
My face heats, and I tuck my head, refusing to look at the all-encompassing, hypnotizing eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Firecracker.”
Kenzie returns with a peanut butter and chocolate chip power bar, which I quickly scarf down. Turns out, working out when all you’ve eaten is a grilled chicken Caesar salad isn’t enough nutrients for a high-intensity cycle class. Once Kenzie is reassured that I will be fine and I do have someone to help me get home, she leaves us sitting alone in a dark, quiet room. The animosity that normally swirls around us is gone, but in its wake is something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Tristan straightens and his six-foot-three frame towers over me. Sparing him a glance, I look up at him from under my lashes and watch as his chest inflates with a deep breath. Heat glimmers in his eyes as he stares down at me. For a brief moment, my mind flashes, wonderingif this is the same look he would give me if I were in front of him…on my knees…taking him in my mouth.
What?! This is Tristan. The bane of my existence.
Shaking my head, his eyes flicker back to his usual shade of hazel where his eyes look more green and gold, rather than the darkness which was staring down at me. Was he thinking the same thing I was?
He reaches for my hand, but I refuse to take it as I push up from the ground, slowly, with my water bottle and keys in my hand. “Let me grab my things, and I’ll meet you out front.”
With a terse nod, we funnel out of the room and go our separate ways. I need space and room to breathe.
A few minutes later, I'm walking out of the locker room and heading to the front when I hear his deep, throaty laugh. Turning my head, I watch as the receptionist shamelessly flirts with Tristan, and he returns the gestures. There’s that ice-cold bucket of water I needed to remind myself that he’s my rival, not my friend. And definitely not the guy I should be imagining dirty, hot, explosive sex with. I blame Olivia for putting the idea in my mind.
Deciding not to interrupt him, I push through the glass doors and start walking. To punish myself even more, I spare a glance back inside the building. The receptionist is passing a note to Tristan, no doubt with her number on it, but he’s not looking at her. No, his face is marred in a scowl as he storms away from the desk, eating up the space between the desk and the front door. Turning on my toes, I move at a brisk pace and hope to get away from him. I’m feeling much better, so I don’t need him anymore.
“Kennedy!” he calls, and the seriousness of his tone has my feet faltering. He’s behind me in seconds, grabbing my elbow in a gentlebut firm grip. Spinning me around, I'm met with a flurry of emotions. “Where the hell are you going?”
“Home,” I snap, hands clutching the straps on my gym bag.
“Okay,” he draws out, eyes searching mine. “My car is over here.”
“I’m fine, Tristan. Thanks for everything back there, but I’m fine.”
His hands fly to his hair, where he pushes them through dark locks. “Why are you so impossible? Get your ass in the car and let me make sure you’re okay. For once in your life, just trust me and let me take you home.”
I thought wrong, because the light-headedness comes back with full force as I nod reluctantly. His shoulders physically relax as he turns toward his car. Quickening my pace, I fall in line beside him. He mumbles something that sounds a lot like “you’re insufferable, woman,” and I can’t help my small chuckle.
If I'm insufferable, he’s incorrigible.
Twenty minutes later, after giving his driver my address, the sleek black BMW parks in front of my hideous brown townhouse. The sight is ridiculous on this block. Pushing open the door, I thank Tristan’s driver before exiting the vehicle and walking up the few steps to my front porch.
“Firecracker.”
Clutching my chest, startled, I drop my keys as I turn around. “Shit, Tristan.”
“You weren’t even going to thank me?” He sounds hurt, and for some irrational reason, I hate that.
My eyes scan the street, and the unmistakable car is no longer there. “Where’s your car?”
His feet carry him closer, and I watch on bated breath as he lowers himself to pick up my keys. “I sent him home.”
