Run to Love (Triple R Book 1) (13 page)

“No. I need to keep up my workouts. It’s the one thing that keeps me sane and in tune with my body.”

After making our way back to the stretching area, I grabbed an elastic band and instructed her on exercises that wouldn’t overexert her already fatigued body. Yet, she would definitely feel the effects tomorrow. I stood behind her and gave her encouraging words softly and gently in her ear. I made sure to watch her breathing and for any signs that she was pushing herself too far. This workout was more mental than physical, getting her to a place where she was feeling something other than upset—a change of focus. 

I asked her when she had to be at work today, thinking that maybe I could take her to breakfast after this to talk privately. She said she had to be in early for a meeting and she wasn’t looking forward to seeing some Drexel guy.

“Why not?”

Presley did some woodchopper core exercises with the band. Her intense focus in the midst of her depressed mood amazed me.

She sighed. “Cause he’s an ass to every woman in the place. He makes the crudest remarks. Mostly innuendos and juvenile jokes, but since he’s usually the top salesperson, I don’t think the management will ever do anything about it.”

“Sorry to hear that. Guys can be jerks.”

“You can say that again,” she mumbled and her eyes darted to mine.

“Guys can be jerks,” I said again, firmly.

She let out a muffled chuckle but quickly her mood deteriorated right back to where she was previously.

              “Are you going to be okay, Presley?” I stood in front of her and adjusted the directional pull of the band.

Like many questions today, she chose not to answer. Instead, she asked me what I knew about Rahl.

I shared the truth. “Don’t know him that well. I’ve only worked at Two Fine for about a month. Why?”

“We have a date tomorrow night at Brix. Was just wondering.” She pulled the band taut. Her shoulders rolled forward, indicating she wasn’t totally comfortable with the conversation she’d started. I placed a hand on her back, and she straightened her posture. I moved my hand to her shoulder. She recoiled from the touch like my hand was burning her.

“I hope you get some rest and feel better before then.” The words were sincere. I was worried about her, more worried than I had been about any other person for a long while. I gave a supportive squeeze of her shoulder and stepped back.

On her last set of a chest-toning exercise, I stepped in front of her. My hands on hers, I helped the last movements be the best of the ten count. Her body responded very little and internally that lack of response tore a hole in my chest.

“Like that, Presley. Three … two … one. Good job.” She dropped the band to the floor, and I tagged her water bottle from a bench, handing it over. “How do you feel?”

She drained the bottle. A little life came back into her cheeks. “Actually, better. Mitch never did anything with the bands. I really liked that workout. I can tell I’m going to be very sore tomorrow. I had a buildup of tension everywhere and every move helped release some of that.” She met my gaze and her sad green beauties cut me with the raggedness of unpolished emeralds. “Thanks for a great workout, Pony—” Her eyes widened. “Jude.”

I grinned at her almost slip-up. “You’re welcome, Presley.”

The small smile on her face was so much better than the frown she had been wearing for the last hour.

“Did you ever find that envelope I mentioned Friday? At least I think I did, right?” She walked to her bag.

“Yeah, you did. But no, I didn’t.”

“Here.” Presley tugged a rolled and rubber-banded paper from her bag before returning to where I stood. “It’s the original sketch.” Her eyes flashed between mine. She sighed. “I should have known this was never meant to be mine anyway.”

The light paper felt like a brick in my hand.

Presley threw her bag over her shoulder and walked out the door.

I hated the emptiness I’d brought on myself. I did what I thought was morally and ethically right, but every part of my body was screaming that nothing was right, and I got in return what I fucking deserved.

I moved to the desk to fill out the VIP info form.

Blake’s voice rumbled behind me. “I’ll take that when you’re done.”

“Good morning, Blake. Here you go.” I handed him the form and waited to find out my fate as Presley’s trainer while he perused the paper.

“I think you redeemed yourself today, Jude. I watched carefully and as soon as I saw Presley I could tell she wasn’t feeling well. I think you realized that, too. It’s good to have that intuitive side as a trainer.”

I decided not to tell him it was more insider information than intuition.

He nodded over his shoulder. “Walk with me.” We headed toward his office. “I liked what you did with her and I’m sure she’s going to be feeling the effects tomorrow. Good job. I’m glad Presley convinced me to let you have another chance.” Blake eyed me up. “She’s quite the young woman. Can’t imagine why someone hasn’t snatched her up yet. Hopefully the guy who is lucky enough to earn her heart realizes what a treasure he has and doesn’t piss it away. Good luck, Jude.” He walked into his office.

I collapsed against the wall in the hallway. I’d never been punched in the gut with words, but Blake succeeded. Maybe he saw our interaction last week and witnessed the attraction we had, or maybe it was her pleas to let me continue as her trainer. Whatever it was, his speech was like his blessing to pursue her.

Maybe he thinks of her as a sister?

My brain ran through how to proceed. First, I couldn’t be her trainer if I wanted to be something else to her. Maybe I could talk to Kai about what I thought would be the right training for Presley, and she could consult me before making any changes? Then I could ask Presley out, but one big problem stood in the way. The Ogre.

Rahl won’t let you join them at their table if you’re alone.

I needed a date for tomorrow night, and I didn’t really have an alternative.

“Emerson?”

She raised her head. “What, Jude?”

“You want to go get a drink tomorrow after work about seven at Brix, just as coworkers?”

Emerson eyed me up with a scowl. “You’re not going to dump me off on someone else, right?”

“No, this time, I promise, I’ll take you there and get you home.”

“All right. I’ll go.” She spun her chair to file something in a mailbox. “At least I’ve seen what goods I might get to enjoy if I play the night right.”

It didn’t surprise me that she’d lied about the drawing. I decided not to make her question my motives by dismissing her assumption of what might happen at the conclusion of our evening. She and I were coworkers and only coworkers.

I just needed a chance to tell Presley I’d made a big mistake.

I won’t mess up this chance.

Chapter Eleven

Lounging on the sofa, I choked down a cup of minestrone soup. If I wasn’t in such a piss-poor mood, the cup of shell noodles, beans, and veggies in a tomato broth would’ve been delicious, but my attitude even spoiled my taste buds. Willow made the thoughtful concoction before she left for work, promising intervention if at least two cups weren’t gone from the container in the refrigerator by the time she returned. Now I could pour the food down the sink disposal, but I forced myself to make an adult choice to avoid the wrath of purple hair. I ingested the two cups, one at a time.

I called into work and claimed I probably had whatever Drexel had last week, even though whatever he had on Thursday was either brown-bottle flu or an overconfident attitude—or more likely, both. The first ailment he would’ve brought on himself thinking he could celebrate another successful month, and the second disorder was a character flaw he’d probably never get rid of. Whatever the reason, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the deluge of crap comments and wisecracks from his giant asshole of a mouth today.

My behavior wasn’t productive, and I made a much bigger deal than I should out of something I never had. It was the thought that I could’ve had something special that kept me ruminating in a circle of unanswerable questions.

After I sent the text that I wasn’t going to be at training, a tidal wave of guilt had rushed over me. More like culpability for continuing my training, with or without him. I’d worked too damn hard to let any man mess with my head in a way that would mess with my body. So I dragged myself from bed and made my way to my training session. I either proved I was a glutton for punishment or proved to Jude I was okay after his declaration on Saturday. Pretty sure I accomplished some of both.

Jude surprised me with a change in workout. I think I surprised him by handing over my drawing as if I didn’t want to have the personal reminder of him anywhere near me. Whatever hadn’t happened between us was never meant to be, and I needed to accept it. Believing I was at a point where I could be only his trainee was probably delusional but I pulled the illusion off that one time. The significant feat felt like I’d stood up for myself. Although, repeating the performance on a weekly basis seemed like a monumental act that I might not be able to accomplish.

Monday came and went quickly without much transformation in my attitude. When the sun came up on Tuesday, I rolled over to have the alarm clock glare that it was after seven a.m. I considered making my illness a multi-day event, but I didn’t. I rolled out of bed and was at the dealership before my starting time of eight a.m., putting minimal effort into my appearance. I chose simple dark brown slacks, a creamy-white silk shirt, and a camel-colored sweater with kicky cheetah-print heels on my feet in an attempt to put a little boldness in my step.

I was sitting at my desk when my phone buzzed.

Rahl:
You still in for tonight at Brix?

I took a deep breath. I could say I wasn’t feeling well, and even if he asked Jude about my condition, it would have been a passable truth, but I needed to move on.

Prez:
I’ll be there. See you right after 6pm.

Rahl:
Looking forward to it.

I’d use the date as a reason to keep the day going and not head straight to bed after getting home.

I forgot I was supposed to get my picture taken yesterday, so when Jillian’s hubby, Mark, rounded the corner into my office, I made an annoyed sound that was probably very rude. Although, I’m not sure anyone loved to have his or her picture taken, except maybe models. Photographs were like going to the dentist. I did what I needed to do to get the unpleasantness over with, not because I enjoyed the attention.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I guess you’re looking forward to this.”

Mark was a great guy, and we instantly hit it off when Jillian invited me over to their house. I taught him how to change the oil in his own car to save a little money. The dealership’s service department probably wouldn’t appreciate that. But as an artist, I knew saving a little here and there could make a big difference.

“I just haven’t been feeling well and didn’t put much effort into my appearance today.”

“Presley…”

I plastered on a smile. I motioned to my face. “Just give me a couple of minutes in the bathroom to reapply, and we’ll get it done.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, I’ll wait here for you.”

In the bathroom, I applied a little powder to cover up the semi-oily parts of my face, added a little more eyeliner and mascara than usual, and a soft rose-colored lip gloss. I pulled my hair out of the low bun I had it in to dry and arranged the tousled waves around my shoulders.

It’ll have to do.

Mark was standing outside my office when I returned.

“I want to do something a little more unconventional with your shots, Presley. Let’s head outside.”

After what felt like 5,000 photos, he extended his congratulations for beating the Great Dixless and indicated he would have the photo up on the wall in the morning. I told him there was no hurry. I wasn’t a fan of myself in pictures even though I was sure he would do his best.

Mark sighed loudly. “Presley.” His voice was so direct that I couldn’t help but be rapt in attention. “Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but any man would love to be holding your beauty in his arms. It will be no challenge to make your photo beautiful because you already are.”

My eyebrows were in my hairline when he was done speaking. If it were anyone other than Mark, I might think they were trying to get something from or maybe hitting on me. But he was so genuine that I inhaled a deep breath and swallowed to clear the lump in my throat.

Maybe he’s right? Come on! You know he’s right.

“Thanks, Mark. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Good. Have a nice day, Presley.”

“You, too.”

Pulling into the Brix parking lot after six, I sat in my car for a few minutes. Anticipation had my stomach doing impressive gymnastics moves, mostly because I ate more than yesterday and my stomach threw a little tantrum at the introduction of more than a cup of food at a time. If I was going to be enjoying a glass of wine, I needed sustenance to keep me from becoming a bawling idiot.

I texted Willow.

Prez:
Going into Brix for my date. Wish me luck.

On the way to the door, I got a return text.

Willow:
Good luck. I’m out with Kanyon. Probs won’t be home tonight.

Prez:
You go girl!

Willow:
LOL … thanks. <3

Inside, I located Rahl in a booth along the front wall.

He stood and kissed my cheek. “Hi, Presley, thanks for meeting me.”

“Hi, Rahl. Sorry I’m a little late, traffic.”

“No problem. What would you like, red or white?” He picked up a wineglass from the table.

“White, pinot grigio or sauvignon blanc, please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Rahl crossed the room to the white wine self-service dispenser. Solid from the tip of his nose to the tip of his toes, he wore jeans that skimmed his legs and emphasized that he wasn’t a small guy. With the jeans he sported a button-down hunter-green shirt that brought out just the touch of green I hadn’t noticed before in his soft brown eyes. Casual brown leather shoes shrouded his feet comfortably. His hair was styled differently today than on Friday at the bar. The short, thick, dishwater-blond strands were standing straight up in front and he was clean-shaven, unlike on Friday when multi-day dark-blond stubble sullied his young-looking face. I would say he was mid-twenties but he had a maturity about him that made me think he might be older. The whole package was quite handsome, but there was little real physical attraction to him.

“Here you go.” He handed me a glass of wine. “Sauvignon blanc from New Zealand. My friend, Joe, suggested it. He’s at the bar waiting for his wife.” Rahl pointed to a muscular man with kind eyes who gave a wave when our eyes met. I waved back to him.

“Is he your date safety net if our time doesn’t go well?” I joked.

Rahl’s deep chuckle got a return of the same from me. “No, just coincidence. How was your day?”

“Decent. I dragged a little this morning, but doing better this evening. How about you, and what do you do?” I cringed. The conversation sounded too familiar.

“I guess you don’t remember some things from Friday?” he teased.

“Honestly, not everything.” I sipped a drink of the delicious wine, and grapefruit and kiwi flavors skimmed my palate.

A waitress stopped by our table. “Would you like an appetizer tonight? Cheese plate, margherita flatbread, or Brie with bread?”

Rahl didn’t hesitate and didn’t ask me if I was hungry, but I suspected as a big guy he was probably hungry all the time. “The Brie, hummus platter, and the steak frites, please.”

She nodded. “I’ll get it ordered right away.”

Rahl turned to me. “If you’re hungry after that, I’d be glad to buy you dinner, too.”

He sipped his red wine. The sight was quite the contrast—this brawny, testosterone-dripping male with a delicate wineglass balanced in his large hand. A manly beer might be more apropos but somehow he made it work.

Still don’t feel a thing for him.

My lack of interest made me wonder if there was something wrong with me.

Rahl cleared his throat. “To answer your question, I had a good day. I own a private security firm. Think mall cops with more than mace as a weapon.”

“Ever have to use more than mace?”

“You really want to know?” His grip on his glass firmed.

“I think you just told me without telling me.” I scrunched up my nose. “Sorry.”

“I was in the Army, Afghanistan, four and a half years. So, yeah, more than just mace, unfortunately.” A moment of sadness and maybe distress passed through his eyes. The emotion flickered in and out, but it was there.

“I think you told me that on Friday night, right?”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t expect you to remember. Was there a reason for the pitcher-sized consumption of lemon-drop martinis, or was it just an unwinding gone horribly wrong?”

In other words, was I an alcoholic or just temporarily messed up?

Our appetizers arrived and we dug in. My appetite seemed to be returning.

“I’m not an alcoholic, Rahl.”

He chuckled heartily, dimples indenting his cheeks. “I wasn’t thinking that, promise.”

I took a sip from my glass after swallowing a smear of Brie on a piece of bread and contemplated how much to say.

“Honestly, I was supposed to be celebrating that I was the dealership’s top salesperson for the month of April but unforeseen circumstances caused me to get a little out of control. I’m not proud of it. Just happened.”

“Congrats on the success. Everyone has those nights where things get out of hand, Presley. I promise I wasn’t trying to pry or judge your behavior.”

“I know you weren’t.”

It wasn’t so bad to be a friend with a guy.

I sipped the wine. “So what do you like to do in your free time? Not that you have any, working two jobs.”

“I’m working the second job to add to the down payment on a home I’m having built, so Two Fine will be temporary. But in my spare time I like to shoot skeet competitively, and I brew my own beer at home.”

“I thought you looked more like a beer guy than a wine enthusiast.”

“Wine is okay, but, yeah, I’ll probably move to a beer after this.”

Our conversation was light and easy, nothing too-too personal—family, work, and hobby-related. He was a native of Omaha, like me, but he grew up in a different part of the city. He was older than me. His twenty-six years to my twenty-four. He shared that he’s the oldest child of his family with two sisters and divorced parents. I relayed I was an only child, divorced parents. I could tell he was trying hard to make a connection. But it wasn’t there.

Rahl’s eyes pinched slightly and his jaw tensed into a line.

“Something wrong?” I watched his face soften again.

“Not really.” The tight quality of his voice spoke the opposite. I sensed a presence approaching the table. “Hey, Jude, what’s up?” He raised his voice with an unfriendly edge.

Jude? Really?

“Not much. Just out for a drink with a coworker from the gym. Hi, Presley, how are you feeling today?”

My eyes met his. “Hi, Jude. Sore, but overall, better. Thanks.”

“Glad to hear that. We didn’t make an appointment, but would you like another session on Friday?”

“Not this week. Appreciate the offer.”

Jude nodded and smiled his crooked grin. My body responded, sending tingles all through my chest. I took a deep breath, which did nothing to calm anything; in fact, the surge of oxygen ignited the tingles to follow a path farther south. I cursed silently and kept my eyes on Rahl across the table. He was safe and didn’t cause a single tingle.

“Jude, let’s go to Kona Grill, there’s no place to sit.” Emerson’s whiny voice had my eyes rolling involuntarily. Rahl grinned and elevated his eyebrows quickly at my reaction. I shook my head to indicate it wasn’t a big deal.