The physical pull of the man was overwhelming and quite frankly pissed me the hell off.
“Drop that booty lower,” Vernon barked, bringing me back to my present suffering.
“You…drop…your…booty,” I wheezed as I dug deep, preparing to exploit the last remaining molecules of energy in my legs.
“Bring it home, Solavita,” Nolan called from the weight bench behind me. Apparently he and Nash had reached some sort of peace accord and were working out together now.
I managed to raise both middle fingers off the bar and then muscle my way back to standing.
The whoops of approval from my elderly workout buddies echoed in my ears as I parked the bar back on the rack and hinged at the waist to catch my breath.
Unfortunately, I forgot to close my eyes and caught a glimpse of the Man Who Didn’t Exist full-on staring hungrily at my ass.
Knox, sweaty and grumpy from his morning workout, walked up to his brother, noticed the direction of Nash’s gaze, and slammed an elbow into his gut.
They both had fading bruises on their faces, but I was so over Nash, I had zero interest in finding out what happened.
Okay, maybe, like, ten percent interest. Fine. Forty percent tops.
Not that I’d ask either one of them. Knox and I had maintained our tentative truce as long as neither of us brought up Nash. And Nash seemed to have finally gotten the message that he didn’t exist. After three days of me refusing to answer my door or my phone, he’d stopped knocking and calling.
It was better this way. We’d proved on multiple occasions that we couldn’t be trusted in any kind of proximity to each other.
It wasn’t cowardly of me to time my own comings and goings to make sure we didn’t run into each other on the stairs. I was not a big, giant chicken for tiptoeing past his door. For once, I was making the safe, smart decision.
I straightened and took a long hit from my water bottle, pretending I couldn’t physically feel Nash’s attention on me.
Just like I chose to ignore the low-level buzz of awareness that sparked in my veins when I knew he was next door, only one wall away.
Well, I still found myself straining to hear the sound of his shower.
But I was only human, okay?
I was committed to the new and improved, healthier, slightly more boring but definitely in a better head space Lina. I’d cut back on caffeine and alcohol, upped my vegetables, and was on a four-day meditation streak. My PVCs had stopped for the most part. And now there was nothing else distracting me from the investigation.
I’d left three more messages on Grim’s weird answering service but had yet to get a response.
Thankfully, my research team had come through for me. Morgan managed to work her nerd magic and identify the two henchmen from Tina’s vague descriptions. Face Tattoo Guy was Stewie Crabb, a two-time felon with a dagger tattooed under his left eye. Chubby Goatee was Wendell Baker, a beefy white guy with a shaved head and a Fu Manchu mustache that connected to a goatee. He had only done time once for an assault charge.
Both had been in Anthony Hugo’s employ since they were teenagers thanks to their friendship with Duncan. Morgan hadn’t had any luck identifying the mysterious Burner Phone Guy yet, but at least I had leads on Crabb and Baker.
I’d set aside my property search in favor of surveillance. Unfortunately for me, watching low-level criminal henchmen who knew the feds were probably keeping an eye on them mostly involved sitting in a lot of strip club parking lots.
“Nice job,” Stef wheezed. His T-shirt was soaked from neck to hem and his black hair was spiked down the middle in a sweaty faux hawk.
“Thanks,” I said, sucking down more water. “I keep waiting for it to get easier, but every time I still feel like I’m going to die.”
Stef grunted.
“So are you ever going to tell me how your date went Sunday after you abandoned me with the tipsy twins?”
He closed his eyes and doused himself with water, but I still caught the curve of his lips.
“It was…fine.”
“Fine?” I repeated.
“Nice.” The curve was becoming more pronounced despite his best efforts. “I didn’t have a horrible time.”
I elbowed him. “You liiiiiike him. You wanna make ooooout with him.”
“Don’t be a third grader.”
“Did you end up in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g?” I teased.
“He did the hand on the lower back thing when we walked into the restaurant.”
“That’s hot.”
“So hot,” he said, taking a swig of water. The ghost of a smile still played on his mouth.
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Maybe,” he said smugly.
“So that little barstool therapy session was actually meant for you, not me.”
Stef shot the scowling police chief a glance. “I figured one of us had to man up and take the leap.”
“Excuse me, jerk. The man pulled me over, yelled at me, and gave me a speeding ticket for doing my job.”
“I’m sure you were driving the speed limit.”
“That’s not the point.”
Stef looked at Nash again, then back to me. He smirked. “Like it or not, there’s something volcanic between you two. And I can’t wait to see which one of you explodes first.”
“You went on one date. You don’t get to pull the smug committed relationship thing on me.”
“Two dates. We had lunch yesterday. I’d love to stay here while you pretend you aren’t dying to get in Nash Morgan’s pants, but I’m meeting Jer for coffee. Don’t fight it too long. You might miss out on something pretty great.”
“Bite me, heart eyes.”
He headed off to the locker room and left me brooding by myself.
“Yo, BFFF!” Mrs. Tweedy sauntered up to me, a sweat towel slung around her neck. “Your face looks better.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. My black eye was slowly fading to a sickly yellow green. In a few more days, I wouldn’t have to cover it with makeup anymore.
“You’re takin’ me grocery shopping today,” Mrs. Tweedy announced.
“I am?”
“Yep! Be ready in ten.” She slid the towel off her neck and snapped me in the butt with it.
Rubbing my abused ass cheek, I gathered my things. It was a good thing bad guys didn’t bother getting out of bed before noon, I supposed.
“Lina.” Nolan gave a head jerk, signaling for me to swing by.
I gave Nash a wide berth and joined Nolan in front of the mirror.
“What’s up?”
Nash walked past me to rerack his dumbbells, and I felt the disturbance of his proximity.
Our eyes met in the mirror and I deliberately looked away, not wanting to see what those troubled blue eyes held.
“Wanna go for a drink tonight after I put the kid to bed?” He hooked his thumb in Nash’s direction.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether a drink is just a drink, seeing as how you just took my friend on a date.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to get in your pants, Solavita.”
A drink with a friend who was a guy sounded like the only kind of social interaction I was up for. That meant no talking about feelings. No dealing with sexual tension. And no drunken gal pals to babysit.