Page 17 of Entranced in the Mountains
Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice about a comment like that, but today, it stings. Old man.
Damn. Am I too old for her?
What was she? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?
I’m fifty-two. We might have twenty-five years between us. Is that too much?
Does age even matter when two adults have a connection?
I know that if she was twenty-five years older than me, I’d still want her. Nothing would quench my thirst for this girl. Nothing.
“Is that a personal record?” Cara asks, counting the plates on the bar.
“Doubt it,” I say with a shrug of my jacked shoulders. “I used to be a beast in my twenties.”
“Heusedto be,” Emmanuel says with a laugh. “Sheriff, I think you are still very much a beast.”
“Watch this,” I say as I grab some more weight and slide it onto the bar. If these guys want a show, I’ll give them one. I’ll show them what an ‘old man’ can do.
“What the fuck?” Santino whispers as I lay down and start lifting.
“Seriously, Sheriff,” Cara says, watching in awe. “Did you get bitten by a radioactive spider or something?”
I just ignore them all, staring at the ceiling, but only seeing her, as I lift up and down, up and down, up and down.
I looked her up last night. There were a few stunning pictures of her on the Angelic Divine website. I must have stared at them for hours.
My arms start to shake as gravity begins to win out. Emmanuel grabs one end of the bar and Santino grabs the other.They both grunt as the three of us lift up the bar and place it on the rack.
Everyone stares at me in awe as I stand up and take a sip of water. I roll my shoulders and shake out my arms. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and damn, I do look jacked. My muscles are pumped to the max and I’m bursting out of this sleeveless workout shirt.
I try to imagine myself through the eyes of a twenty-eight year woman. I’m tall and muscular with tattoos that I think are pretty cool. Maybe my hair is too gray. There’s a lot of black in it, but maybe too much gray? When the hell did that happen? Damn, is there like a dye or something I can fix it with?
I sigh as I run my hand through it. I’m not into the whole beauty scene. I’ve never stepped foot into a salon and I wouldn’t know what to do if I did. I’ve had the same barber—Ron—for the past thirty years. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dye someone’s hair.
Cara is on the treadmill, so I wander over and hang out beside her while she jogs.
“That was so impressive,” she says. “I can’t wait to tell Graham how much you lifted.”
I grin, knowing that’s going to bother the hell out of my arch nemesis. Let the fire chief try to lift that without tearing something.
“Hey, what do you think about my hair?” I ask, keeping my voice low so the guys don’t hear.
“Your hair?” Her eyes dart up to the top of my head. “What about it?”
“Is it too gray?”
“No,” she says, looking confused. “It looks good. Wait, is this about that girl from yesterday?”
“What girl?” I say, trying to sound calm and casual even though my heart is suddenly racing.
“That harp player,” she says with a grin. “The one you kept staring at.”
“No,” I say, backing away. “That was for… a… work, and…”
“Sure, Sheriff,” she says with a chuckle as I get tongue tied. “You have nothing to worry about with your hair.”
I’m about to tell her how she has it all wrong, when Santino calls my name.
