Page 16 of Playing to Win

“Brooks, I’m done for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I spin quickly and feel as guilty as I must look. I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed with contraband. “Thanks, Charlie. Have a good one.”

When I turn back to the window, Miss Attitude has vanished from the sidewalk.

I check my watch and get a little buzz when I see it is second lunchtime. See, I train folks who work office jobs over actual lunchtime, so I eat two smaller helpings of lunch before and after that time. Meh, small for me. I guess you could call it a little Brooks quirk—I’m always hungry.

The bistro is still busy. Adding the café to the premises was one of the best business decisions I’ve made. People fill the seats all day, whether it’s breakfast, brunch, snacks, coffee, smoothies, dinner. There’s a cheerful vibe about the place—people high on endorphins putting the world to right.

Dipping my head to the familiar faces around the bistro, I move toward the smoothie bar. Before I get to the counter, my ears find the English girl first, then my focus lands on, well, her ass, then the rest of her. She’s leaning on the counter with both palms, standing on her tiptoes for no apparent reason, as if she’s been walking on eggshells her whole life.

“Oh, no, those combinations don’t really do much for me. Let’s make it easy. I’ll take the green roots smoothie but leave out the shot of that Xcell protein. I don’t rate that stuff at all. Could you also switch out the cucumber and add kale? Do you have asparagus? That would be great in there. You know, I could leave you one of these…”

I watch, one brow raised, my teeth digging hard into my cheek, as she takes one of her books—the one from the TV commercial—from her sports bag and holds it out to Angie.

“This is my new book. It has great recipes. I think they would do really well here.”

I try to keep my cool, since that’s what people expect from me—hell, it’s what I expect from me—but my words are sharp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Izzy jumps and spins quickly, leaning back when she realizes how close my face is to hers. “I was just—”

“You were just shitting all over recipes I put together. You were just bad-mouthing one of my sponsors, when I’ll bet you’ve never even tried their products.”

“I—”

“You were just pimping your book in my gym, uninvited.”

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at her as she takes a step back. When she looks down at the ground, guilt strikes me. I went in too hard. I don’t know why. It’s not like me.

An apology of some sort is on the tip of my tongue when she whips her head back up and there’s bloody murder in those blue eyes. They no longer shine; they’re cold as an ice queen’s. “You know something—I’d heard about this gym, and about you, Mr. Brooks Adams, Trainer to the Stars.” She puts on a mocking tone that makes her sound petty. “Kerry wanted me to come here because she said the gym and you are the best in the city.” She throws her head back on a fake and damn annoying laugh. “Well, at least I understand why now.” She gestures with her free hand from my head to my toes. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? When a personal trainer looks and talks like you, there are no distractions. Your clients can focus one hundred percent on working out because there’s no risk of them falling for their trainer.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Really? You’re throwing out cheap shots about my looks because you’re having a tantrum? For a moment there I almost forgot that you’re a wannabe with a hell of a lot of attitude. Thanks for the reminder.” I turn to Angie, who is watching the show with an empty blender cup held midair. “Give her what she wants just this once, Angie. It will be the first and last time.”

Shaking my head, I abandon the lunch idea and turn to leave the bistro. But it seems Izzy Coulthard just doesn’t know when enough is enough.

“You really are precious over a piece of bloody cucumber!” she shouts after me.

“At least cucumber tastes of something. I mean, kale? Really? Be original.”

Her jaw drops before a childish scowl takes over her face. “Yeah, well, kale tastes better than those shitty protein shots.”

“That’s BS. And, for the record, you don’t need to salsa yourself slim if you eat like a goddamn rabbit in any case.”

I leave the bistro as she shouts something about the diet of a gorilla.

Did that really just happen in my bistro? In front of customers? Did I just argue with a woman over cucumber and kale?

By the time I reach the mezzanine level, I’m laughing. For some ungodly reason, I’m in kinks. I really did argue with a woman I don’t know over cucumber.

I have a flashback to her childish pout. Like Kirsten Dunst in that cheerleader movie that Cady watches. What was that, Bring It On? That’s it. I swear Izzy’s pout was worse than teenage Kirsten Dunst. I laugh harder. Damn, it feels good.

It could be her pout. It could be the realization that, while I was having an argument with a hot woman over vegetables, I didn’t think about Cady going off the rails, or the fact the only woman I’ve ever loved is having another man’s baby.

Either way, give the most obnoxious woman in the world her due, I never laugh after I’ve heard from Alice. Never.

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