Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
More people have come in, so it takes a minute, but Mrs. Nguyen stops by with a container, lid, and a paper bag. I thank her as she lifts my soup and pours it into the container while Derek gets up and holds my jacket out for me.
He helps me into it and the proximity means the heat is again rising, not just up my face and up my neck, but also in other places too.
He steps around to face me and begins to button up my coat for me.
I stand still, sort of statue-like, sort of deer-in-the-headlights like, eyes on his face while his fingers work their way up my coat.
Why is he buttoning my coat? Why am I not backing up and taking over?
He’s got fascinating bone structure. Cut jaw. Really great skin. Grooves in his bottom lip that have me licking my lips for some reason. After doing up my top button, he straightens my collar for me and looks straight into my eyes while still holding it. “Get home safely, Chloe Turner.”
He remembered my last name.
“Thank you for the book,” I say, awkwardly. Because this whole situation is beyond awkward.
“You’re welcome.”
“Gonna let me go?” I ask.
He smiles so wide and so attractively with something sparking in his eyes that manages to set my panties on fire. He doesn’t answer.
I back away and he releases me.
Blushing, I grab my takeout bag, wave at the Nguyens, and move out, hearing him say, “Book report,” before I’m outside.
Friday Night
Exercise is kicking my ass. It’s been way too long. I’m in a pitiful, breathless state as I turn the incline and speed back down two notches on the treadmill, doing it painfully aware of the fact I’m nowhere near ready for anything more than a brisk pace. I’ve already spent time on the elliptical machine and on some weight and resistance training and feel like I’m about ready for some ibuprofen and a nap.
Something catches my eye as I reach for my water bottle and now I’m taking in the shocking vision of a shirtless, shiny, Derek Steele who is doing bicep curls with his eyes on me. As our gazes connect, I stumble, crash to my knees, and of course the conveyer belt sends me backwards until I wind up flat on my back, on the floor.
My eyes are closed tight, but the place is busy so I’m sure there are multiple sets of eyes on me. Could I just lie here on the floor behind the running treadmill, until everyone leaves?
Sadly, not.
Must open eyes and covertly get out of here, avoiding the urge to do it on all fours pretending no one sees me. Pretending Derek Steele didn’t just watch my treadmill fail which I will probably see later on in a compilation on TikTok or YouTube.
What are the odds of him being here tonight?
Granted, I haven’t been here in over half a year, but this isn’t the only gym in the city. This is definitely not another coincidence.
I open my eyes, expecting a view of the rafters and lord have mercy, Derek is standing over me, looking down at me, with his hand extended to help me to my feet.
I shakily accept it and one of his muscled arms goes around my waist as I get to my feet. Now we’re face-to-face and far too close.
“Hurt?” he asks, concern etched into his features.
“Just my pride,” I whisper.
His lips slowly split into that very nice smile of his as he looks me over. I look him over, too, which provides an added benefit of me not looking anywhere else to see who might be gawking slash laughing at me.
“Muscles. So many muscles.”
He’s laughing and I realize I’ve just whispered about the muscles aloud.
It’s true, though.
Gorgeous shoulders. Neck. Chest. Abs of steel. And his skin is all shiny from sweat. He’s strong. Muscled. But not steroid level. And his skin tone is a beautiful golden color. Tan. But not fake-tanned.
And he’s still holding my hand. He’s still got an arm around me.
“You done, miss?” An elderly lady with purple hair, in full makeup along with a headband around her head asks and then cracks her gum.
“Oh yeah, I think I’m beyond done. One second.” I take the opportunity to move out of his orbit, grab a sanitizing cloth, wipe down the machine and grab my stuff.
“Sure you’re all right?” Derek asks, following me.
I drop the cleaner and cloth on the ledge by the changerooms. “I’m fine,” I say, failing to hide my embarrassment. “Stuff like this happens to me all the time. I’m like a cartoon character or something. Bye.” I escape into the locker room out of his view.
When I’m done showering and changing, I’m unsurprised to see him sitting in the lobby on a bench, eyes on me as soon as I emerge. Of course he’s waiting for me.