The Will (Magdalene #1)(66)

I looked down too, taking in the midnight blue silk with its simple bodice and deep hem of delicate smoke-gray lace.

“Fuckin’ hell, Slick,” Jake muttered, his voice holding a nuance of how it sounded earlier and I looked up at him to see an unusual look on his face that could be displeasure or possibly, and strangely, acute pain.

“You don’t like it?” I asked stupidly because it didn’t matter if Jake liked my nighties or not. I’d never have the opportunity to wear one for him in one of the particular ways nighties were designed.

At my words, his eyes sliced to mine and he replied, “Babe, a man tells you he doesn’t like that nightie, he’s either g*y or lying.”

I had no earthly idea what to do with that other than to feel relief (and other things) that he liked my nightie.

He let my hand go and ordered, “Suit up,” as he began to walk to the door.

I searched for any excuse not to go work out with him and if not that, at least delay so I could find an excuse not to go work out with him. This was difficult seeing as I was enthralled with watching his shoulders move in that tight white shirt as he sauntered away.

I finally found an excuse and called, “I need coffee before I do anything in the morning, Jake.”

“Then it’s good there’s a cup of it on your nightstand,” he returned as he disappeared out the door.

I looked down to my nightstand and saw a cup of coffee, its color black, like I took it at The Shack.

I would need milk and sweetener.

I moved my eyes to the plastic grocery bag, finding myself oddly intrigued with the idea of discovering what kind of athletic apparel Amber had chosen.

Therefore, I decided to peruse what was in the bag before I went to prepare my coffee.

Ten minutes later, I found myself in said apparel (skintight black capri leggings with a thin piping of lavender down the side, a skintight tank top in lavender that had a built in bra and a racerback, a rather attractive zip up jacket with gathers at the bottom side seams and at the bottoms of the long sleeves as well as Vs made of netting along the shoulders and coming up from the back hem, and I’d added my walking shoes).

I also found myself carrying my coffee downstairs to prepare it.

But when I did, I did this in a travel mug.

* * * * *

“What d’you want, Slick?”

I tore my eyes from the wall of donuts on display and looked up at Jake standing at my side.

“You eat donuts before you work out?” I queried.

“Not every time, but do it occasionally to remind myself why I’m workin’ out,” he responded.

This was absurd but I had to admit, it also made an absurd kind of sense.

“Josie, need to get to the gym to open it,” he told me and prompted, “What d’you want?”

I looked back to the wall. There was a large variety and donuts were donuts. It was impossible to make a split-second decision when donuts were on offer.

“Um…” I mumbled.

“Fuck it,” Jake mumbled back, then louder and to the counter assistant. “Two Boston creams. Two glazed. Two cinnamon twists. Two maple glazed. Two chocolate glazed. Two buttermilk.”

“You got it,” the counter assistant assured and moved to the back, grabbing a box.

“Is it necessary for us to have that amount of donuts?” I asked and Jake looked back down at me.

“It’s necessary for me to open my gym which means it’s necessary for me to get you to get a move on, so yeah. You got choice. And what we don’t eat, the boys will.”

“Oh.”

He tipped his head to the travel mug I was still carrying with me, holding it like it was a lifeline, even though we’d entered an establishment that served coffee and he asked, “You need that warmed up?”

I absolutely did.

I nodded.

His lips quirked and he looked back to the counter assistant. “And my girl here needs a warm up.”

His girl.

Oh my.

“No problemo,” the clerk assured again and dropped the box of donuts on the counter in front of us.

I got a warm up.

Jake just got a coffee.

I ate a Boston cream in his truck on the way to the gym.

* * * * *

“Right, now, skip rope,” Jake ordered and I stared at him.

Donut consumed, travel mug sitting on a ledge beside where we were standing in his gym, I stared at him.

Suffice it to say, my perusal of his gym from my car through a dreary day was not thorough. I knew this when we entered it from the back ten minutes ago and I looked around, taking off my jacket, while Jake walked around, turning on lights and unlocking the front door.

It was much larger and that was to mean cavernous.

There were not two boxing rings but three.

There was also a good deal of equipment. Further, there was an office at the back that was several steps up from the main floor and was made mostly of windows so you could see the gym from there. Beyond the office were doors that had words on them that I assumed described what was behind them, one declaring it was the Locker Room, another declaring it was Equipment and the last that it was Utility.

And finally, on the walls in the gym proper in very big script quotes were painted, including:

“Life is like a boxing match. Defeat is declared not when you fall but when you refuse to stand again.”