30
Jake has been watching the most godawful movie on the giant flat screen for the last half hour, and I can tell he’s bored. He’s been channel-hopping, messing with his cell and laptop, and shifting position on the couch about a hundred times. He’s restless.
I’m reading one of the proposals for a small start-up Jake asked me to consider, and I’m fully aware he’s been avoiding conversation. I know that look on his face, a little wary and unsettled. He’s still unsure that we’re okay, but I’m letting him stew by carrying on with work and avoiding chatter.
“Let’s go running.” His listless tone drags me from the papers in my hand, and I sigh heavily.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you drag me out at six most mornings to jog with you, and I know you’re going to do it again tomorrow, so I’m not doing it now.” I throw him my best moody glare.
“You suck,” he sighs childishly.
“Jake,” I laugh, “You realize you’re my boss?”
“And?” He pouts, looking very much like a child about now.
“You’re behaving like a moody teen. Don’t you have any new bed-buddies to pester?” I chastise, sighing loudly.
“Hmm.” He sounds uninterested. He never seems to find any women that hold his interests for long. My irritation rises because he has that air of frustration that I know only too well. I can practically time how long it will be before his mood starts to tumble, and I get to be on the receiving end of grumpy-ass Carrero.
“For God’s sake! Okay!” I snap. This could go on all afternoon, and I can’t focus when he’s this way.
He grins and jumps up to get changed into sweats. He’s a smug winner who likes to throw his success at me with colossal champion grins. I swallow down the tension inside of me.
Back to normal then.
I go to my room and change into workout clothes and running shoes; I grab a hooded top and walk back into the main room as he walks from his door. He’s in gray sweats and hooded top and, as always, looks so much younger and carefree dressed this way, less playboy billionaire and more regular, good-looking guy going to the gym. He leads the way to the elevator in a far better mood, whistling the whole time, and we head down to the main floor in companionable silence.
My cell vibrates, and I haul it out to check; it’s a text from Sarah.
“Hey, are you home this weekend?”
We’re due to fly back on Friday, so I reply that I’ll be around. “I may need your DIY skills. I want to redo my room.”
I sigh; decorating is not what I planned for my first whole weekend off in a while, but Sarah is useless with a paintbrush.
“Okay. I’ll text later. I’m going for a run.” I reply, not wanting to talk about this right now.
She sends me back some kisses and a smiley face, and I slide my cell back into my pocket. I start smiling, despite my mild irritation at her request. Despite how distant we’ve grown, I do miss Sarah, and lately, I have begun to feel it more than before. I have no idea why I’ve changed, but I am more aware of how cold I have been.
We exit the Four Seasons Hotel into the gloomy afternoon, and I fall into a leisurely pace beside him as we hit the sidewalk. It’s wet and muggy and gray. The air is cooler than the previous couple of days, forcing me to jog energetically to get warm. We stretched in the elevator, but I’m still feeling stiff.
“Trying to race me?” he grins and pulls up his hood against the rain. The street is quiet and practically deserted, yet picturesque despite the overcast sky.
“You’d have no chance.” I pull my hood up too; the drizzle isn’t too bad, sort of refreshing.
“First one to the museum wins.” He lurches into an impulsive run and takes off without waiting for my answer, and I follow in hot pursuit. My heart is pounding as I try my hardest to keep up, but his stamina and long legs soon outpace me, and I have to stop to gasp air into my lungs. My throat and legs are burning from exertion, and I have to bend my head down between my knees to stop the rise of nausea.
Jake comes jogging back, noticing that I’ve given up. He bends over beside me and pulls me over to him with an arm casually around my shoulders, making me stand up. He pushes his water bottle into my hand, and I accept it gratefully. Tugging me with him, we start strolling as I catch my breath. Already I’m sweating all over. I’m not as fit as I thought I was, and we have barely run three hundred yards at full speed.
“Lightweight,” he teases.
“Shut up,” I breathe finally as my chest stops heaving and nausea subsides, throat clogged with overexertion.
“You need to get in the gym with my trainer; he’ll sort you out, take care of that wheeze,” he says, grinning as he winks at me. He’s barely panting.
“Boxing is not my thing,” I say as I shake my head. He still has his arm casually around my shoulders as we walk, our bodies leaning into each other. To the average onlooker, we would probably look like a couple.
“Maybe it should be. It’s better than therapy. Why do you think I’m such a happy-go-lucky guy?” He winks.
I hand him back his water, throwing him a look of indulgence that says, “All that casual sex?” He lets me go to take a drink; he empties the bottle and throws it in a nearby trash can, impressed with his bullseye. That juvenile boy inside fist pumps his ability to dunk a plastic bottle.
“Do you really want me to learn how to beat you up, Jake?” I smile impishly, watching him with amusement.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
