Page 11 of Waiting For Ever
I swallow and nod. “I do.”
“Okay.” She hands me the plates and gives me a shy smile.
“Okay.” I smile back.
“I don’t have to join the Cougar Club, do I?” she teases.
“There’s an age limit. You’re too young,” I throw right back.
“Oh, thank god. I didn’t have the right perfume for it anyway.” She crosses to the fridge and fills two glasses of water for us.
Our banter makes me way too happy. Happy feels strange. And scary. But so so good.
Dude, reel it in.
Chapter 11
Everly
Tonight is one of the best nights I’ve ever had. Embarrassingly so. By most girls’ standards, I’m quite sure it would be considered straight-up boring. But for me it’s perfect. After pizza, he pulls out his laptop and walks me through a training plan he personalized for me on the spot. He explains how I’d need to lift weights and not just do cardio. I’m more a fan of the treadmill or elliptical, mostly because I can read while I do it, but I don’t admit that to him. Non-bookish people don’t get it—the total immersion into a fictional world. I don’t even know if he is a non-reader, but most guys I know aren’t into reading.
Ironically, I don’t think about my current book boyfriend once. During most social activities, it doesn’t take long for me to wish it’s over so I can go home and read my book. But after the workout planning sesh, we pop popcorn and watch a movie. By the time we decide to go to bed, I’m too tired to even want to read or think about reading. And I’ve had the best night’s sleep I can remember in . . . I don’t even know how long.
At one point during the movie, he snags the blanket off the back of the couch and spreads it out so we can share it. We aren’t sitting close enough to touch each other. He keeps a polite distance. But sharing the blanket feels weirdly intimate. I hold my breath until he finishes spreading it across my legs. It seems like he was being careful not to touch me. And I wish he would. Touch me, that is. I imagine what his fingers would feel like tracing up my legs, then pulling me to him until they drape across his lap. My fingers itch to push back the wave of hair dipping down over his left eyebrow, almost long enough on top to fall into his eyes. My mouth waters wondering if he tastes as good as he smells. I decide in that moment that I read too many romance novels. I should mix in a thriller or mystery and give the hormones a break.
Once he settles back into his spot next to me, I inhale silently before his scent wafts away. His fingers thread through the hair on his forehead, pushing it back into its messy place on top, just like I wanted to do. Swallowing, I force my eyes back to the screen and tuck my hands under my thighs.
“Are you cold? You want another blanket?” he asks, mistaking me tucking my hands as a sign I’m cold.
He’s way more thoughtful and considerate than I gave him credit for that first day. In my defense, he was a dick to me about accidentally crashing into him—twice. In his defense, I guess colliding with a klutzy newbie, once while naked, would irritate even the nicest of guys. Speaking of . . . Julian naked is one of those things I’ll never be able to unsee, even if I wanted to, which I don’t. God, he’s beautiful. And attentive. My book boyfriends have nothing on this guy. Leave it to me to romanticize the situation. I thought I’d have dreamed of himlast night, but I slept a sound, dreamless sleep. Until Maroon 5 woke me up at five a.m. wanting “One More Night.”
How appropriate.
I immediately zero in on the sound of Julian moving around in the bathroom as I tap my phone to cut off Adam Levine. Is my music library for real right now? And how is Julian always one step ahead of me? Does he even sleep? I find I’m not groggy today but excited. Like a kid on Christmas, I can’t wait to get up and see what being trained by Julian entails. I hope it means he’ll put his hands on me. I ignore the voice in the back of my mind calling me a slut for my train of thought and instead remind myself that virgins can’t be sluts and liking boys is normal. But Julian is not a boy. Even if he weren’t a whole ass adult, his intensity tells me he’s seen more than most twenty-one-year-olds. I only know he is twenty-one because Lilly told me so. Maybe a little too old for me. For sure more experienced than me. But I don’t care. I can’t help it. Everything about him fascinates me. And I want to fascinate him too. Something tells me I do. I feel it when he looks at me, the way he speaks to me. I can’t wait to get up and . . . workout. I bounce out of bed and catch my flushed reflection in the dresser mirror.
Whoa, girl! Who are you and what have you done with Everly?
Just as I pull a pair of leggings and a sports bra out, I hear the latch of the bathroom door—our signal that the bathroom is free. A little detail we worked out last night before we turned in. We’d lock it when using it and make sure to unlock it when we finished. If the door is unlocked, the bathroom is unoccupied. I wait a full minute before opening the door to make sure he’s gone. When I open the door, his scent hits me first. Clean, yes, but warm and slightly sweet. I think it’ssandalwood. I know it’s more effective than coffee. By the time I head downstairs, just ten minutes later, I all but skip.
Julian leans against the counter sipping from a mug much like Allie was that first day. When he sees me, his eyes crinkle at the corners in a genuine smile.
I smile back with my whole face. I feel it in my cheekbones. God, I need to check myself. But it’s not all me.
His eyes travel down my body and then quickly jump back up to my face like he forgot I could see him. Clearing his throat, he asks, “Coffee?”
“Thanks, I got it.” I smile politely and reach into the cupboard, pull down a mug and pour from the carafe on the counter. “How’d you sleep?”
“Great. Like a rock. You?” His eyes track me as he answers.
“Best night’s sleep since I got here.” I nod my head earnestly. Taking a sip of coffee, I catch the frown Julian makes as I glance over the top of my mug. If I wasn’t watching, I’d have missed it.
He turns to the sink, rinses his mug and places it in the dishwasher. “Great. I’m going to warm up the Jeep. We can ride together.” With that, he leaves the kitchen.
What just happened? I’m getting whiplash from his mood swings. But he’s a puzzle I want to figure out. Maybe seeing him in trainer mode, up close and personal, will give me some answers.
***
At Fit, I watch him morph into Business Julian. We start on the treadmill, my warm-up cardio. He asked me tochoose—elliptical, treadmill or stationary bike. I chose the treadmill thinking we’d be able to talk. And he did talk, but only about my workout. How he divided it up into three sections—PPL (push-pull-legs), he called it. We started with legs because he said Leg Day was the most dreaded workout day, even by the diehards. Allie has already shown me the machines. Julian demonstrates some free weight exercises. I feel self-conscious, but I like that he spots me to help me keep proper form. I prefer the machines for a quicker workout, but sweating with this beautiful man, just the two of us in the gym, is something I wouldn’t trade right now. Who knew working out could be so hot? If everyone had a Julian at the gym, I’d venture a guess no one would skip their workouts. I’m sure that’s why we have such loyal and steadfast female clientele here at Fit.
