The Love Series Complete Box Set (177 page)

I finish my protein and energy drink and look at the clock. Rachel should be in soon to close up for the evening so I can run the last minute errands for this weekend.

The phone rings at the same time the bell above the front door jingles. It’s the guys from last Saturday. They’re both wearing business suits—classically cut and snug in all the right places. Seeing the one who I held the door open for actually makes me stutter as I pick up the phone.

“Hi−uh−” I forget the greeting I’m always on Rachel to use. “Michelson’s MMA. Conner speaking. How can I help you today?” I recover, my voice, professional and cordial. The suits walk up to the counter and I cover the mouthpiece of the phone as I say, “I’ll be with you in just one second.”

“Con, it’s me.” Rachel’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. “Migraine. Can’t make it in.” Her words are clipped; she’s obviously in pain.

“Sure thing, kid. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” She grunts her goodbye, in too much pain to say another word.

I turn my attention back to the suits, who I’ve not so creatively named Suit Number One and Suit Number Two. Their backs are turned to me and my eyes immediately rove over the one on the left. He’s taken off his navy blue jacket and hooked it on his finger, draping it casually over his shoulder. It falls just past his narrow hips, grazing the upper curve of his ass. His other hand is in his pocket and I follow the rest of his arm, fully appreciating the way the material pulls over his bicep and broad shoulder. The guy next to him catches me staring and smirks at me.

If I had a man who looked like Suit Number One, I guess I’d have gotten used to people checking him out. As they both turn their attention back to me, Suit Number Two extends his hand, introducing himself. “Nice place you got here.”

“Thanks,” I accept his comment quietly, trying not to get too proud.

Suit Number One follows his partner’s lead in introductions. His hand is warm and firm, sending little shocks up my arm. “We met the other morning,” he clarifies, pumping my hand.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right.” I pull my hand away, needing not to have contact with him if I want to sound somewhat like I have a brain. “The stroller, right?” I play it off as if I barely remember him because telling him I remember his scent as he strode past me, or the green flecks in his blue eyes as he tried to avoid looking at me, would seem just a bit too forthcoming.

“It’s Dylan, actually.” His full lips spread into a shy smile as dimples form in his cheeks.

“Conner.” I smile back.

Suit Number Two clears his throat. I’d completely forgotten about him even being there. “And I’m Reid.” He shoots Dylan a look that I can’t exactly place before turning his attention back to me. “Now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way,” he leads.

“Right.” I suddenly remember what I should be doing. “Let me show you guys around and then you can sign up.” I let them walk in front of me into the space where the treadmills and stationary bikes stand in rows facing a wall of televisions. “If you’re interested, that is.” My words come out suggestively and I know I need to tone it down. Hitting on someone else’s man isn’t my style. Doing it right in front of the boyfriend is totally unlike me.

As I step into the gym behind them, I slip back into professional mode. Having to focus on the machines and the classes we offer keeps my attention off Dylan and the pull of his suit across his body.

Mentally calculating how long it’s been since Austin and I were together, I lose focus for a second.
It can’t be
that
long!
I think to myself. We had only started dating a month before my accident and he stuck by my side through my recovery, but at the end of the day, when I could no longer offer him the celebrity lifestyle that my MMA career had promised me, he was out the door in two seconds flat.

It’s been six months since I’ve even seen or heard from his sorry ass.

“So where do we sign?” Dylan’s voice cuts through my sidetracked brain.

Refocusing my attention back on him, I stammer. “Huh? What?”

He steps next to me, pats me on the shoulder, but his touch lands more on my chest than my arm. I stare down at his hand, struck dumb—well, dumber than I currently sound, anyway. He pulls his hand away, chuckling at me. “The gym. We like it. Where do we sign?”

Reid laughs along with Dylan as they follow me back out to the front entrance. I give them the paperwork and before long, they’re both off to the locker room to get changed.

I do
not
think about what Dylan looks like out of his suit. Nope, I definitely don’t do that. It’s been so long since anyone has worked me up like that. And it’s ridiculous really, if I think about it.

Dylan’s here with his partner. They have a kid together. And here I am fantasizing about someone else’s man just because I think he’s attractive.

Though, anyone would be a fool to think otherwise. His light blond hair flops forward in his blue-grey eyes. Everything about him screams perfection; a hard jawline, dusted with the perfect five o’clock shadow; high cheekbones create a square shape without being too hard-edged. The one thing that’s not perfect, his nose; it’s crooked, looks like it’s been broken more than once. It actually makes him even more perfect than if it had been straight, somehow.

I can’t let myself go there, though. There’s too much on my plate right now to add in a relationship. When the hell did staring down a gorgeous man become looking for a relationship.

Maybe I just need to get laid.

Or sleep. Yeah, that’s it. I definitely just need some sleep.

It’s official. I’ve crossed the line into crazy.

Just as I try to shake the crazy away, I look up from my paperwork, and see Reid and Dylan step out of the locker room. Mesh shorts and t-shirts replace Dylan’s high-end suit, but he doesn’t look any less attractive. If it’s possible, he looks even more so.

I take a deep breath and get back to work. I need to get a ton of crap done if I want to stay on top of everything, especially since chances are Rachel won’t be in tomorrow either. Her migraines always last at least two days. So much for that day off I was hoping for.

An hour passes quickly, and as I focus my attention back into the gym, shamefully, I’m disappointed that I don’t see Dylan anywhere. Leaning forward on the desk, I stretch across it, trying to look into the weight room.

I’m not sure what sight makes me happier, seeing a small handful of people in there or watching Dylan do lateral side raises.

I’m gonna go ahead and cast my vote for Dylan. He’s got his short sleeves rolled up, exposing his muscled arms and golden skin. The cords of his upper arms bunch and pull with each movement, causing my dick to strain in my khaki shorts.

It’s a good thing I’m not wearing workout shorts because nothings screams “I’m a professional” like sporting wood at the front desk of your own gym.

Like the idiot I am, I laugh at myself, shaking my head and my own dumb thoughts away. Even if Dylan wasn’t here with his partner, hitting on a client an hour after they’ve signed up isn’t exactly the kind of precedent I want to set. Just as I’m about to return to the last of the files in need of my attention, I hear a weight crash to the floor and someone cry out in pain.

The word
lawsuit
flashes in my head. Just my freaking luck.

I run around the corner of the desk, opening the door to the main room. When I see Dylan crouched on a bench, clutching his shoulder, doubled over in pain, I feel like an ass for my first thoughts being about me being sued and not who could have been hurt.

I squat in front of him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

His face is twisted in pain and he won’t let go of his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. It’s an old injury, torn rotator cuff.” He tries to stretch it out, maybe prove to me that he’s better than he actually is.

Breath hisses past his lips as he winces again. He immediately pulls his arm back into the position it was just in, crossed against his chest, his left arm supporting the weight of his right at the elbow.

“We have a trainer on staff,” I offer, hoping that he’ll take me up on it. “Might be able to help soothe some of the pain, get it moving again before too much swelling sets in.”

Reid jogs over, a bag of ice in his hand. “Here you go, Dyl.”

“Thanks.” Dylan takes it from Reid, but the exchange is odd, not at all what you would expect to see when one person in a couple is tending to the injuries of the other. There’s a casual air about the whole thing, which I dismiss as it being a routine injury, something they deal with all the time.

Dylan tries to move his shoulder again, but he’s not having much success. “I think I’ll take you up on that trainer,” he says as he gets up from the bench, looking over at Reid.

Something passes between them and then Reid pulls his phone from his pocket. “I should get going now anyway.” He swallows back the rest of his water before chucking the empty bottle into the recycling can. “It was good meeting you, Conner. See you tomorrow, Dyl.” And then he just walks away, leaving me and Dylan alone, our only company the excitement I feel that I finally have him to myself.

We walk to the back room and I want to ask him if he’s okay that Reid just left him here when he’s obviously hurt, but I know that would be overstepping my bounds. Considering that I don’t even know him, yeah, asking him about the ins and outs of his relationship would definitely be weird.

I stay focused on the task at hand, customer service. And in this case, there’s the added bonus of not being sued. Even though I know Dylan signed all the releases and consent forms, and even though my insurance covers minor injuries, I still worry about losing everything over someone getting hurt.

“Hey, Eddie.” I step into the training room where some loud rock music is playing as Eddie, the in-house trainer, is setting up his equipment. He turns down the music, and puts away the last of the medical tape he’s in the middle of unpacking.

When Eddie sees Dylan holding his arm, obviously in pain, he helps us over to an exam bench. “What happened?” he asks as Dylan hops up on the table, trying desperately not to wince with the movement.

Dylan pulls the ice pack off his shoulder. “It’s an old baseball injury. Must have overdone it with the weights. I think it should be fine if I just rest and ice it.” Eddie pokes and prods at Dylan’s arm while Dylan sits there with his jaw clenched as he tries to stifle the pain.

Eddie asks him to move it this way and that way. He’s able to comply with most of the requests, but I can see the stiffness of his movements, the need for some kind of relief. “I think you’ll be okay. You seem to have good mobility, but if you’ve aggravated an old injury, I really think you ought to go see your doctor tomorrow and make sure that you don’t need any kind of physical therapy.” Dylan nods as Eddie finishes up the rest of his instructions on how to take care of it for the night.

Eddie rifles through a drawer to the side of the exam table. “Where the hell . . .” his words trail off as he tosses around a few items in there. “Ah, here it is.” Eddie pulls out, opens a sling, and helps Dylan slide his arm into it. “This should help keep some of the strain off it. Try to keep it on through the night. You might have to sleep sitting up a little.”

Dylan inches his way forward on the bench before sliding down. I notice his shorts slide up a little, exposing his upper thigh—his firm and nicely muscled upper thigh.

He has a partner.

He has a kid.

You’re an asshole.

I shake away my own foolish thoughts as Dylan and Eddie finish up.

By the time we get back out onto the main floor, Carla’s class is wrapping up and the space is pretty much empty. Dylan glances up at the clock and curses. “Shit.”

“Everything okay?”

He shakes his head, hiding a small laugh. “Reid drove me here. My car’s at the office.”

“Oh.” I mentally flip through the options here. Should I offer to call him a cab? Somehow, volunteering to drive him home seems wrong.

Awkwardly reaching across his body with his left arm, he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. After a few swipes and taps on the screen, he starts talking to who I’m assuming is Reid. I turn my attention back to the front desk and the end-of-the-night procedures that are awaiting my attention.

Through my yawn, I hear bits of their conversation, not that I’m trying to listen in or anything like that.

“Really . . . you’re shitting me . . . you suck, asshole . . .” I can’t help but laugh at the parts I’m hearing and I can only imagine what’s being said on the other end of the line.

When the conversation stops, I look up from what I’m doing to see Dylan tapping on his phone some more. He looks like he’s looking something up, not dialing another number.

“What’s wrong? Boyfriend leave you high and dry?” I joke.

Dylan lifts his eyes from his phone, tilting his head to the side as he shoots me an odd look. “Boyfriend?” he asks, skeptically.

“Yeah,” I tap a stack of papers on the desk before dropping them into a manila folder. “Reid’s your boyfriend, right? Partner. Husband. I mean whatever you guys call it.” The stupefied look on his face intensifies, as he continues to stare at me like I’ve just sprouted horns or something.

Dylan walks over to the desk, placing his phone down on the counter. “Let me get this straight. You think Reid and I are,” he pauses before saying, “together.” The last word comes out like a question, a ridiculous question accompanied by an amused chuckle.

“Uh, yeah.” I answer, dumbly, not really sure how I could possibly be wrong. “Aren’t you?”

He shakes his head as a crooked smile dances across his face. It’s a daring smile, one that extends a challenge, while concealing a deep dark secret at the same time. “No, we are most definitely not together. He’s married, but not to me. To his wife.”

I’m sure the look on my face says what my mouth is incapable of uttering. When I finally regain some ability to speak, all I can spit out is, “The kid?”

Dylan leans against the counter, resting his good elbow on the black granite top. “That was Braden.” A proud look takes up residence on Dylan’s face. “Reid’s son and my nephew.”