Page 24 of Burnout
“A couple hours, minimum.”
“That’s fine.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls what I’m assuming is his calendar. “How’s tomorrow from two to four in the afternoon?”
“Two hourseverysession. Colter came four or five times a week. If you can’t do that, I’d say three times each week minimum. I’d just be prepared for your progress to be slower.”
“You’re fucking with me.” His dark brow, the one with the scar cut through it, lifts.
My face grows warm under his scrutiny.
He rephrases. “You want me to come here every day for two hours? To do what? Some handstands and shit?”
“I don’twantyou to do anything. You asked how much time it would take. That’s what it took Colter.” My spine stiffens and that heat that seeped into my face climbs down my neck. Handstands and shit, really? If he thinks it’s such a waste of time, then why is he here?
“That seems…excessive. I’m already putting in a lot of hours on the track and working out on my own.” His jaw tightens and he looks anywhere but at me. “Are you sure you can’t write a few things down and I can add it into my regular routine?” He wavesa hand toward where Hope is still staring at us from the beam area. “Your other students are children, and you look like you would die if you broke a nail. How hard could it be?”
The nerve of this guy coming in here to ask for help and then insulting me and my sport.
“Really hard, actually,” I grind out the words.
“Fine. Whatever. Can we start tomorrow?”
“No.” I drop my hands and take a step back.
“No?”
“I forgot, I’m busy tomorrow.”
His handsome features twist with annoyance, but he says, “Okay. The next day?”
“Mmmm…” I tip my head up like I’m thinking. “Yeah, busy then too.”
His gaze narrows. “You were free earlier.”
“That was before I realized I might break a nail.” I gasp dramatically, bringing my unpolished, short nails up to my chest, and glower at him. “I’d rather douse myself in lighter fluid and set myself on fire than help you.”
I put another foot of distance between us. “It’s so easy, right? Figure it out yourself, asshole.”
NINE
“Well, hello, sunshine.”Brogan places a coaster in front of me. “Water? Beer?”
“Give me a shot of Jack.”
His brows rise.
“And make it a double.”
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, before turning to get the bottle of liquor off the back shelf.
I glare at him as he fills a shot glass.
“Some people find talking to their bartenders, me specifically, therapeutic. I have a kind face and soulful eyes.” He smirks and waggles his brows as he pours.
As soon as he’s done, I toss the drink back and motion for another.
“Uh-uh.” He holds the bottle hostage, making me glare harder. “Not until you tell me what the hell has you looking grumpier than Hendrick before he met Jane and drinking like Archer during spring break.”
“God, you’re annoying,” I say but my tone has no bite and I feel the tension in my chest loosening. I don’t want to get drunk any more than he wants to peel me off this barstool later.
