Page 26 of Playing to Win

“Did you write it?”

“Yes, but—”

I turn to her now, trying not to focus on how beautiful she looks in her green dress, which is patterned with vines of exotic flowers and butterflies—sweet and expensive looking. Ironic, given this woman is anything but sweet. I push the image of her sitting alone in Barnes & Noble from my mind. The moment in which I thought she might be something other than a loudmouthed fame chaser.

“Is that really how you want to get book sales? By trashing my gym and my advice?”

“No, I—”

“Why? All over a kale smoothie? I let you into the gym to film. I noticed you didn’t mention in your little blog post that the reason I didn’t just let you walk right into my gym to work out is because I respect my clientele too much. Because I don’t think that you should take the space of someone who has waited on a list for months, just because you have a book deal. Just because you’re…” I gesture to her with my hand and stop short of calling her stunning, or saying that she has the most mesmerizing smile I’ve ever seen, that her body is exactly what I would savor in a woman—svelte and feminine, while being strong and lean.

Her jaw drops and her eyes narrow. “You know something, I ran here. Yes, ran, barefoot, from Fifth Avenue. I wrote the beginnings of that blog post but that was before…”

She shakes her head and seems to find another line of attack. She steps close to me, her finger pointing in my face. “You! You. You…”

I inhale and instantly find out what a mistake that was as her darkly sensual perfume assaults my senses and travels straight to my libido, blurring my thoughts.

She drops her finger and steps closer to me still, so she’s right under my nose, looking up through her lashes. Her eyes widen now, with surprise or perhaps knowing, and her chest rises and falls quickly. I feel her breath against my bare chest. And I want to rip that fucking dress from her with my teeth.

“Would you please put on a shirt?”

I force my eyes shut, killing the link, murdering the moment. Murderous. Yes, murderous, that was how I was feeling before her perfume. I put a hand on her shoulder and take a step back from her.

Grabbing a clean shirt, I pull it over my head and tell her, “You’re better than this. You must be. Look what you’ve managed to do already. Your name is out there. You have a book deal. Don’t let yourself fall into the trap of having to put others down to succeed.”

Her tongue slides along her bottom lip. Thankfully, she drops her head so I can’t see any more. All the same, I can feel blood rushing to my cock at just the thought of where I’d like to feel that warm, wet tongue.

Christ.

“Don’t crave fame and fortune so much you forget how to be a decent person, Izzy.”

Her head snaps up and her hands come to her hips. “I am not craving fame and fortune. I want to put my work out there. I want to help people get fit. Unlike you, I want people to do it in a healthy, sustainable way.”

I scoff. “We’re back to this. Right. You don’t even know the people I train, how they feel, or the advice I tailor to them. You run around professing that kale and cucumber work for everyone. Let me tell you, if you advise people to eat like pigeons, they will lose weight. But they won’t feel good, it isn’t sustainable, and they won’t tone up.”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I? At least I’m saying it to your face and not on some pathetic blog.”

“My blog is not pathetic.” She’s all but screaming at me. Her cheeks are flaming red. It starts to tickle me.

“Please, you don’t even follow your own advice. There’s no way you eat lettuce leaves and have an ass like that.”

She spins around on the spot like a dog chasing its tail. It’s hilarious. I bite my lip and cover my mouth with my hand to keep in my amusement.

“What’s wrong with my bum? And why have you been looking at it anyway?”

I can’t help the short chuckle that escapes me. “You have a fine ass, Izzy Coulthard, but you didn’t get that from eating kale. Admit it or not, you like protein. As for why I’ve been looking at your ass, ibid.”

“Huh!” She straightens her already straight dress then points her damn finger in my face again. I contemplate taking it between my teeth. “You just wait, Brooks Adams. You thought the first post about you was bad. You just wait!” She stomps her foot like Thumper, making my laughter bubble out of me.

Ah, Jesus. I can’t decide whether this woman is the best or worst thing that’s happened to me in a long time.

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