Page 35 of The Making of Jonty Bloom
“Everything okay last night?” Vincent asked.
“Yep. Staked a few vampires and beat off the werewolf. Other than that, very quiet.”
Vincent laughed.
Jonty hurried off before Vincent asked him anything else and he had to lie. He decided to go down to the gym, even though he hated gyms, and use the treadmill before he went in the pool. Staff were allowed to make use of the pool and gym when they were off-duty, provided there weren’t too many guests using them. But not the hot tub. Jonty hung up his suit and put on his shorts and T shirt. His nipple was a bit red, but the piercing had already started to scab.
It was a bit of a waste going on a treadmill when there was all that lovely beach to run on, but first of all he didn’t want Devan to think he was following him, particularly when that was exactly what he’d be doing, and secondly, he suspected he’d last about ten minutes running outside. He wanted people to look at him and thinkwhat a fit guy, rather thanah, good for him, he’s trying, bless him. Jonty didn’t really need the exercise. He cycled over ten miles to work and ten miles back most days. But it was an easy journey with no hills.
This treadmill was noisy, or rather his feet slapping on the belt were making a lot of noise. He should have put the TV on, but he’d not thought to. If he got off to do that, he’d not get back on. He was breathing heavily within minutes. What speed had he selected?Nine? Shit! No wonder…He fumbled to knock the speed down, but his finger slipped, hitincline, and he found himself running uphill. He grabbed the bar with one hand and was flailing for the controls with the other when Devan walked in. Jonty tried to appear as though he knew what he was doing.Where was the fucking stop button? There!He lunged for it and the belt quickly slowed to a halt. Hopefully that had looked less frantic than it had felt.
Devan was shifting weights around on the resistance machine.Why isn’t he talking to me? Why isn’t he smiling at me?They’d had a near-death experience yesterday. Didn’t that mean something? That they were sort of friends at least?He held my hand!I cooked for him.God, they were practically married.Jonty stepped off the treadmill and walked to Devan’s side. “I hate it when I’ve been running on the treadmill for half an hour and then check the time and see it’s only been five minutes, don’t you?”
“You managed as long as that? You looked a bit flustered.”
“Were you watching me? Admiring my technique? Got any tips on how to hit the right button when you’re going too fast?”
“I think you already figured that out. Are staff allowed to use the gym?”
Jonty’s shoulders dropped.Oh, you dickhead.“Yes, as long as it’s not busy. But it appears to be swamped with surly testosterone, so I’ll go.” He slammed out.
You’re skilled at flouncing.
Don’t mock. At least it’s a skill.
Back in the changing room, he put on his trunks. He wasn’t going to be distracted from what he’d planned. He grabbed his towel and his goggles and went through to the pool, which was empty. After a quick shower, he slid into the water—ouch! my nipple!—setting off on a slow crawl towards the far end. The pool wasn’t deep. It only came to his upper chest so it was no good for diving and it was probably too warm for people who wanted to exercise. But most visitors just used it to have fun. Jonty swam up and down, changing his stroke every length. Breaststroke, backstroke, front crawl, and a hybrid butterfly that was probably more like a dying moth, but it elevated his heart rate.
He stayed in longer than he usually would have, and he knew why. He was hoping Devan might decide to have a swim, then Jonty intended to demonstrate his spectacular tumble turn before he pretended to drown. Or maybe he’d try to drown Devan. But the guy didn’t come in.
Jonty finally admitted defeat and climbed out. He had a long hot shower, occasionally wincing at the pain in his nipple when soap dripped onto it, then put on the shorts and T-shirt he’d worn yesterday, only to realise he’d left his hoodie upstairs. Before he went up, he filled his bottle at the water fountain and slotted it in the side of his backpack.
While he was in the room behind the reception, he heard Devan say something to Vincent. Jonty almost came out, but he couldn’t face another slap down.What was the point?The guy blew warm and cold and was currently on cold. Probably his default setting.
“But could I help you?” Vincent asked.
“I need to speak to the hotel owner.”
Jonty’s heart slumped to his toes.What?
“Mr McAllister isn’t in the hotel today, sir.”
“Can you give me his number?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
What have I done?Jonty chewed his lip. It might have nothing to do with him. But then again, it might. In an instant, his imagination went berserk. He hadn’t cooked the chicken properly. Devan had spent all night throwing up. The wine had been off.Shit.Devan had registered it wasn’t the right wine, but it was the only bottle open and he didn’t dare risk opening another. All he knew about wine was it came in three colours and it was sometimes fizzy. Maybe that comment Jonty had made about dessert had been taken in the way he’d intended. His smart mouth of yesterday coming back to bite him? Or what he’d said this morning?Shiiiit!
Jonty didn’t dare move. He stood and waited.
“Is it something I can help you with?” Vincent asked. “A complaint I can handle?”
“I’d rather discuss it with him. If I can’t have his number, can you give him mine and ask him to call me?”
“Certainly, sir.”
If it was about him, Jonty would find out soon enough. He waited until Vincent was on his own, then sidled out of the room.
“Jonty!”
