Blue Crush (12 page)

I’ve never had brothers, or close guy friends. Maybe a bunch of adrenaline junkies will help with my confidence around men … but I can’t train with Lewis. That’s a recipe for disaster.

“Okay.” What the hell am I saying?

“Okay?”

“When do you want to train?” I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. It was the challenge he threw down, that’s all.

He lets out a deep sigh and shifts in his seat, pulling out his phone. He searches the screen for a few seconds and looks up. “Tonight. I’ll meet you at your place at six thirty. Wear running shoes.”

My car is back from the mechanic. Lewis’s friend didn’t charge much to fix the electrical problem. I don’t need a ride, but I guess I don’t know where we’re going. Is this really happening? I’m spending time with Lewis?

Even with his return to surly stoicism, the thought of being alone with him causes flutters in my belly. I have serious issues.

I’ll wear my running shoes, along with saggy-bottom running shorts, my hair in a sloppy ponytail, and no makeup, not even lip balm. Training with Lewis will be fine. I’ll be sweaty and ugly and he’s returned to his aloof self. I can handle this.

“And Gen—”

I stop and glance before walking out the door.

“When people are cruel, no one is to blame but them.”

My back stiffens. It scares me how much he knows, and how easily he reads the rest.

He may be right about Drake, but I could have spoken up for myself or fought, and I didn’t.

“Let’s stop and cool down,” Lewis says a block from my place.

We ran five miles. I’ve been running several times a week since Cali and I moved to Tahoe. I’ve acclimated to the altitude, so the run was pleasant.

Beads of sweat work their way down the smooth lines of Lewis’s brow, but he’s not breathing heavily either. He lifts the bottom of his T-shirt and wipes his forehead.

I trip on the asphalt.

Shit.
I hop a couple times to make it look like I’m loosening up.

We ran for forty-five minutes without incident, but Lewis pulls up his shirt, revealing a muscled chest and stomach, and my brain spasms. I saw him shirtless at the Beacon, but the sneak peek is entirely too sexy. Why did I think I could train with him?

“You’re a runner,” he says. “We’ll only use it to warm up if you’re running on your own. I’ll show you muscle-building exercises before I leave. Your backyard open?”

I nod and we head inside my house. I grab bottles of water and lead Lewis out back. He drops the duffel he pulled from his truck and it lands with a thud and a poof of powdery soil.

He takes a gulp of water and screws the cap back on, looking me over. “You have a sports bra on under that?”

Where’s he going with this? My extra-large T-shirt covers me from neck to thighs, stopping just above the bottom of my boxy running shorts. The sleeves bag out to my elbows. Attractive. “Yeahhh,” I say hesitantly.

“Can you take off your shirt?”

“What?”

He stares impatiently. “I’m showing you exercises. I need to make sure you’ve got the posture and movements correct so you don’t hurt yourself. I can’t do that if you’re covered in a sack.”

My mouth parts. Is he saying he noticed my effort to look shitty and he doesn’t approve?

I whip off my top and glare. “Better?”

His jaw tightens. He grumbles something I can’t decipher and reaches for his duffel. “Spread your legs shoulder-width apart.”

Something about him telling me to spread my legs in his smooth, rumbly voice sends a shiver down my back, which I ignore, ’cause it’s not helping. I do as he says and he hands me two seven-pound weights. He grabs another pair and executes a basic shoulder exercise. I’m transfixed, watching the muscles along his arms ripple.

He nods. “Your turn. Keep your biceps level.” Lewis moves in front of me, feet spread until his eyes are nearly even with mine. Wide palms lightly cradle my elbows as I repeat his example, his fingers warming my skin.

Wafts of aftershave and Lewis hit me. My movements falter. I breathe deeply, but that makes it worse. My arms still. I stare at his chin because I can’t look higher; his fathomless eyes are a dangerous place.

Lewis slides his hands off me and steps back, as if easing away from a feral animal. He crouches on his toes, watching me. “One set of twenty.” His voice is a touch unsteady.

I need to get my mind off this tension between us. Lifting my arms the way he showed me, I say, “I met your dad. What’s your mom like?”

His eyes follow the exercise. “Feisty. Smart. Runs the household.”

I exhale and repeat the movement. “Not your dad?”

He chuckles sardonically. “No. My dad can be scattered, organization-wise. But they’re good partners. My mom does the bookkeeping for the business. She’s just—you know—a strong woman.”

I swallow, my next rep less steady. I don’t often exude the strength he describes in his mother, but I feel it. I’ve just kept it locked away. “I think I’ve got this. What’s next?”

He shows me four more exercises to build upper body strength, his steady gaze as I practice driving me nuts. Does he have to do that? I’m in a sports bra, which pretty much reveals everything, but he’s not even staring at my boobs. He’s looking at the motion, my face, my eyes. There’s definitely something there—like he’s seeing something not obvious from the outside.

I don’t know why that notion stirs something in me.

A stupid, wild fantasy of tipping him off balance and pouncing on him runs through my head.

God, I’m more like my mom than I thought.

Lewis stands and collects the heavier weights. “That’s good. Do the exercises I showed you every other day. Tomorrow we’ll train on obstacles.”

“Mudder obstacles? The race lets us do that?”

He zips the duffel closed. “No, we’re making our own.”

“The whole team?”

He shakes his head. “Just us. You need more work than they do.”

Sad, but true. “Are the other participants creating mudder obstacles to practice on?”

He shrugs as if to say, who cares. “You want to finish, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Crap. That’s all I need, to get annihilated on the field by a bunch of alpha dudes.

“Do you want to win?”

“That’s not something remotely realistic, but of course I want to win. Who wouldn’t want prize money?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want the prize money?”

I grab my T-shirt and yank it over my head. “I just do.” Why is he so negative about me doing the race? “I could use it for school, okay?”

He nods as if I’ve given him an acceptable explanation.

What the hell? Who cares if I want to buy a new nose with the winnings?

His mouth spreads into a sexy grin, and my heart skitters in my chest. “Good luck.” He walks toward the gate. “You’ll be up against me. I finaled last year.”

Friggin’ hell.
Women don’t compete against men, but still. He just threw down another challenge.

I tug a sweatshirt over my pajama tank and tread into the kitchen in sleep boxers. There are thirty mugs to choose from in the cupboard. I usually grab the Adult Sippy Cup, but my hand gravitates to the Challenge Accepted mug with the arms-crossed caricature on the front. It’s been almost two weeks since Lewis showed me exercises in the backyard and he is extra careful during training to avoid touching me, as if he believes that what Drake did has me shying from men. He’s partially correct.

I don’t want to be touched by other men, but Lewis? Lewis I’d like to climb and lick—it’s disturbing and intensifying the more time we spend together. I repeatedly remind myself he’s no good for me. That I’ll get hurt by the strong emotions he brings out, and that Mira, in some twisted way, is in the picture. For some reason my libido, which has taken this moment in life to make a staggering appearance, doesn’t agree.

Lewis’s first obstacle replication consisted of a trip to an indoor climbing wall. Holy shit, my forearms hurt that night, and I haul heavy trays for a living. My arms quivered like crazy at work. Fortunately, I didn’t drop anything.

The next outing was a boot camp regimen at his gym, where Lewis finagled a free thirty-day membership for me through his buddy who runs the place. After that bit of hell, I couldn’t sit without falling into a chair for two days. My muscles are never going to forgive me for what I’m putting them through.

I ease into the plastic lounge beside Cali on the patio and peer at the pines. A warm breeze swirls around my bare legs, giving me pleasure goose bumps. Cali returned from her mom’s, and after a few days of cold reception, we talked things out.

“I wasn’t supposed to like Jaeger,” she told me. “I was trying to set you up with him, but I couldn’t help myself and one thing led to another.” She glanced at me guiltily, then shook her head. “My mind was a mess after you said those things about Eric. I overreacted. I’m really sorry about that.”

“I should have said something sooner. I feel terrible how it came out.”

“Yeah, about that, it sucked what he did, but you need to tell me these things.”

I nodded. She was right. No matter how dirty I felt after Eric’s actions, I should have put my feelings aside and told her.

“I am over him, you know—Eric. It was the betrayal that hurt more than anything. When I thought you and Jaeger had hooked up—well, I freaked out.”

Cali had come into work to talk to me after our argument and had seen Jaeger hugging me after the Drake incident. She got the wrong idea and ran.

“I like Jaeger. A lot,” she confessed. “It’s crazy how much I like him. When I saw you two hugging, and after you told me what Eric had done, I thought Jaeger was doing the same thing.”

“There was never anything going on between me and Jaeger,” I reassured her. “He is one hundred percent into you.”

She smiled this sweet, secret grin. “I figured that out when I visited Jaeger after I returned.”

When it comes to this guy, I’ve realized Cali isn’t her normal laid-back self. In any case, there’s no more tension between us, thank God, but now Jaeger’s ex is causing problems.

And seriously, what is up with the ex-contingent messing with everyone? Jaeger’s been MIA dealing with this other girl, and Cali’s stressed out about it.

I lean back on the lounge chair and point to the sky to distract Cali from her worries, and hey, because teasing her is fun. “I thought you wanted to get rid of your freckles? Shouldn’t you be in the shade or something?”

“They’re not freckles.”

Cali’s overly sensitive about her freckles. She’s got like two on her nose—nothing compared to most strawberry blondes. I enjoy playing up her paranoia. It’s the least I can do, considering how much crap she gives me about my conservative clothing, my lack of makeup, the music I listen to—the list goes on. I’m doing her a favor; this will take her mind off Jaeger and his ex.

“I have a light smattering of
beauty marks
and I’m wearing sunblock.”

I’m already loving this argument. Cali is logical, except when it comes to her freckles. We’ve had this one before, but it never gets old. “Why risk it when the shade will prevent them?”

Her pale blue eyes peer above her book,
Poetry and Prose.
The title alone triggers a yawn. “You’re starting to sound like my mother. I’m making vitamin D. It’s healthy.”

“But if you’re wearing sunblock, doesn’t that prevent vitamin D production?”

Her face turns a bright shade of pink. Steam will be coming out of the top of her head soon. “Are you done?”

“Making a logical point? Yes, I’m done.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’ve been out and about lately. Still seeing Lewis?”

I frown. She knows nothing is going on, but I guess teasing is a two-way street. “We’re friends. He’s helping me train for that mudder competition I’m doing.”

Lewis doesn’t have a girlfriend, he has a Mira, which apparently is a hell of a lot more stressful than an actual girlfriend. Cali witnessed them together. Even if this thing with Mira isn’t romantic, I doubt very much that Cali will endorse him. But Lewis has kept things platonic between us during training and I’ve managed to contain my lustful urges, so it’s a nonissue.

Lewis has been a great coach and I already notice a difference in my strength. With his help, I’m sure I’ll finish the race. I might even come in with a good time. That would be a huge confidence booster.

“Good luck with your training. I’ll salute you the next time my spoon dips into butter pecan goodness.”

Her addiction to strange ice cream flavors, butter pecan being on the top of that list, is about as natural as her love of green olives. I scrunch my nose. “Don’t worry about saving me some.”

She grins and sets her book down, her expression turning serious. “Gen, I’ve gotta find a job.”

Aaand
that was a topic change, but one I understand. I told Cali what happened with Drake and why Jaeger had been hugging me when she saw us together. It turns out, Drake has done this sort of thing before, confirming my worst suspicions. Only he’s done it closer to home than I’d imagined.

I thought maybe Cali had gotten feisty with one of the managers and that’s why she lost her job, but she was hiding something from me. She told me after she returned from her visit with her mom that Drake tried to force himself on her the night we were all at the club. She didn’t tell me about it at the time, because Jaeger showed up and punched Drake in the face to get him to stay away. Cali was still keeping silent about her feelings for Jaeger, so her options were to either lie about what happened that night or lie through omission. She chose the latter.

To say Drake wasn’t happy about receiving Jaeger’s fist to his face is an understatement. Cali lost her job the next day. She put two and two together, and figured Drake must have been to blame.

“You never would have gone to that suite if I had told you what happened the night of the club,” she said. “I’m responsible.”

“I might have gone up anyway, Cali. It was my job, and there were customers in the room. It didn’t look like a set-up until it was too late and I was caught in the middle of it.”

Cali’s story about the club incident adds a scary new light to the entire Drake situation. The way things went down for Cali—getting fired, no questions asked—I’m not convinced Drake is the only person pulling strings. Others must be corrupt inside the casino as well.