Page 8 of For Your Heart
“Just running late this morning.”
“You’re still here in plenty of time. It’s always great to see your smile first thing in the morning.”
I’m pretty confident that she flirts with me. Although I’m not sure why since I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m gay. I tell everyone I can that I am, just because I had to keep it quiet for so long.
I beam a wide smile at her, and her cheeks pink. “You too, Carly.” Without encouraging any more conversation, I head back to the employee locker room. It’s not as quiet as usual. There are other people there now. Others who start at eight and arrive ten minutes early. The chatter reminds me why I arrive twenty minutes early, so I can have a minute to myself.
This too will not dampen my mood today!
I sit on the bench to change my shoes when Damon Whitaker walks in. My response to him is visceral. My heart jumps, my stomach flips, my breath catches, my dick plumps. He’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about.
Not quite as tall as me, and though he can lift and bench with the best of them, his body is lean and trim as opposed to being bulky and built. He’s like a swimmer or a surfer. He’s just got that look to him.
And he’s so freaking pretty with his hair falling to his cheeks in the front. Perfect pouty lips that I’m dying to taste. And his eyes!! I could stare all day. This unique shade of green or gray or something in between.
However, since the day I met him, he’s been a dark cloud. Broody and off-putting. He’s good with his clients and he manages a polite indifference to anyone he speaks to, but I can almostfeelthe angry energy radiate from him.
That doesn’t mean I’m not crushing hard. I’m fairly certain he’s gay. Like, really close to being positive. Of course, that doesn’t mean I have the courage to approach him. Though, it’s not his disposition that holds me back. It’s my lack of confidence and nerves.
That doesn’t stop me from talking to him.
“Good morning, Whitaker,” I say, offering him a wide smile when he looks my way.
His smile is weak and not at all genuine. But he gives me one, anyway. “Hello, Rossi.”
Have I mentioned his voice yet? Jeez, I could get off to that alone.
Blinking away my thoughts, I ask, “Have a good weekend?”
I immediately regret asking since he stiffens slightly. I’m watching closely enough that I see him take a deep breath. Maybe he’s so down because he’s going through a breakup? Maybe he has a rotten mother like mine who’s overbearing and overstepping.
“Yeah,” he answers and though we’ve only exchanged pleasantries mostly, I swear that’s a lie. He doesn’t say anything else until he sits on the bench across from me to change his shoes, too. “How was yours?”
I know it’s just polite talk, but it makes me smile all the wider at him. He asked me! He’s keeping the conversation going!
“It was great,” I say. “Ran around the park and then took a hike on Sunday with some friends. The weather was great for hiking.”
Damon nods, his focus still on tying his shoes. When he’s done, he sits back and looks at me. His expression is empty. Devoid of anything at all. Even his eyes look vacant. And tired.
Now that I’m looking at him, he looks exhausted. Which means I blurt that out because I have no chill at all. “You don’t look like you slept this weekend.” I meant to tie in like, partying or something. But the way his lips quirk up at one side kind of freezes my tongue.
“You saying I look like shit?” he asks.
I’m too horrified by that suggestion to hear the teasing in his voice. I jump to my feet. “No! You’re gorgeous. Perfect. I just mean that… Oh, my gosh, what did I just say?!”
He’s smiling now, which once again renders me speechless as I stare at him. I can feel my skin heating up and I want to stick my head in the oven that I swear is sitting around me, making me sweat.
Damon gets to his feet and shuts the locker behind him. “Thanks.”
I watch him leave the locker room and refuse to let myself watch his perfect round ass as he does. What did I just say to him?!
Okay, I know you’re not supposed to blame your parents for everything, but I’m really sure that it’s my mother’s fault that I have no filter this morning. She’s disrupted my peace with her horrible babble first thing. None of that would have come out of my mouth otherwise.
Except, maybe the comment about him being tired.
Biting my tongue so I don’t say something else stupid, I leave the locker room. I don’t have a client for another hour, so I meander through the gym; offering advice to those who aren’t quite hitting the right posture with certain machines or exercises. The entire time, I monitor Damon. Keep him in my peripheral.
Throughout the day, I watch as his manner gets darker and darker. The storm clouds grow over him until he looks almost dull and listless. Except that the tension in his body screams something else. The stiffness of his jaw. The permanent frown on his pretty lips.
