Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“We’ve been working out like this for a while,” Jake says from his spot across the room. I feel a little better when I see he’s on the floor too. He’s lounging against the wall, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Brayden and Levi are already wiping down our barbells, like they just went for a light jog or something. “I promise, when we first started, we weren’t going this heavy or moving this fast.”
Shay was right. The brothers are competitive. And they all pushed to beat each other in the workout, trying to get the most repetitions, but Levi ultimately won today. If the quivering in my legs is any indication, I’m guessing she was right about the other part too, and I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
Groaning, I push myself off the floor. “You’re all evil. I hope you know that.” I sense Brayden watching me but avoid his gaze. I’ve been avoiding him since I moved in yesterday. It was easy enough to do, since I had to unpack last night, but tonight I might not have an excuse. “I need to go shower,” I say to no one in particular.
“Will you be here tomorrow morning?” Carter asks.
I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning, but I say, “Wouldn’t miss it.” I turn into the back hallway and am pushing into the locker room when Brayden calls my name.
He hands me a towel.
If my heart weren’t still racing from that torture they call a workout, it would speed up at the sight of him—shirtless and sweaty, his athletic shorts hanging low enough to reveal the indent of muscle by his hipbones.
I mutter a thanks for the towel and pull my gaze away. He thinks you’re broken. Everything he does for you is out of pity.
The reminder makes me nauseated. Or maybe I have the workout to thank for that.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m not dead, so that’s something.”
He runs his gaze over me—quick, assessing—and I’m glad he can’t see just how much my quads are burning right now. My pride couldn’t handle it. “I told you to take it slow.”
I shrug. “I’m fine. You don’t need to protect me.”
He narrows his eyes, but I push through the locker room door before he can say anything else.
Brayden
Ralston & Taylor Investments is two blocks down from Jackson Brews. Far too convenient for me to pass up the opportunity to apologize to Jason Ralston on Monday morning. Unfortunately.
I don’t want to apologize for shit. When Jason arrived at the party on Saturday night, Molly was already drunk, and whether she willingly climbed into the backseat of his BMW seems like a moot point. Drunk women can’t consent. My father taught me that before I ever had a sip of alcohol. Sure, those lines get a little blurry when you’re dating or when you’ve been drinking too—hello, night in New York—but it’s a rule of thumb I’ve stuck by, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to judge this asshole for not giving it a second thought, for plying her with more beer when I already warned him she was drunk, then for taking her to the back of his car in a cold parking lot, of all places.
Molly might not know she deserves better, but I do, and I’m going to make sure Ralston knows too.
Molly’s been distant, and my reaction with Jason is no doubt part of the problem. I’ll apologize for her sake. If that means we still have our new investor, that’s just an added bonus.
The receptionist beams at me as I walk through the front entrance. “Good morning. How can I help you today?”
“Good morning. I’m here to see Jason Ralston.”
“May I tell him who’s here?”
I’d rather you didn’t. But I smile like I’m not asking to see the guy I assaulted two nights ago. “Brayden Jackson.”
“I’ll let him know.” She waves to the leather couches in the waiting area. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
I nod and wander in that direction, but I don’t sit. I’m too restless to be still. I stand by the window and watch the street outside. Snow-covered cars roll by and bundled-up pedestrians rush to their Monday-morning destinations.
“You can follow me,” the receptionist says from behind me.
It’s a power move, I realize. Making me go to him on his turf instead of coming out here to greet me. I was hoping to have this conversation on neutral ground, like the coffee shop across the street, but my temper got me in this mess, so my pride is going to have to step aside while I clean it up.
She leads me into Jason’s office, where he’s waiting, seated behind his desk. The large space has rich wooden paneling, a dual-screen computer, and a couple of leather chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “Would you like anything to drink?” she asks.