Junk Mail(13)

Shit, I zoned out and haven’t been spotting Brody. Lucky for both of us, he didn’t need any help—and he didn’t die. He finished the set, no problem. Well, maybe a little bit of a problem. His face is red as fuck.

“Jesus, shit. Now I’m done?” It’s less of a question and more of a plea.

I nod, putting the poor sucker out of his misery. “Yeah, you’re done. Go towel off before you flood the place. I’ve got one set left.”

Brody peels himself off the bench, leaving a shimmering, sweaty outline behind. “I’m never skipping the gym again,” he grumbles under his breath as he heads for the towels.

While I load the forty-five-pound plates onto the bar, I find myself wondering if Peyton is into muscles. More specifically, I wonder if she’s into my muscles. What did she say about me at lunch yesterday? You’re not so bad on the eyes yourself. Paired with those bright blue eyes she locked on mine? Have fucking mercy.

Conjuring up the image of her in that little black dress sends a jolt of interest to my crotch. Shit. I fucking knew I shouldn’t have worn gray joggers.

It takes a solid minute of visualizing Brody’s sweaty forehead until my dick relaxes back into place. Just in time for Brody to get back too. I let him wipe his disgusting sweat angel off the bench before I slide under the bar and pound out my last set of the day, throwing in a few extra reps for good measure.

“Shit, man. Do you always lift that heavy?”

I mutter something about adrenaline and focus on re-racking the weights. Brody doesn’t need to know what, or who, has my blood pumping a little extra lately.

Once the weights are back in place, Brody tilts his head in question toward the basketball court, but I shake my head. We’d originally planned on shooting hoops after our workout, but Brody’s snail pace put an end to that idea.

It’s been a long day, and I’m eager to get home. I’ve got errands to run before our event tomorrow, and still have a tux to pick up. It will definitely be a full evening of schmoozing wine-drunk business partners. God, I hate working the big events. That’s the sort of stuff that Brody is better at. Me? I prefer working with people one-on-one.

And just like that, an idea pops into my head. An idea I like a hell of a lot. I decide to run it by Brody.

“Should we invite Peyton to the event tomorrow night?” I ask as we head for the locker room. “I know it’s technically for existing partners only, but I think it’d be a good chance to show her how we run things. You know, impress her with the full swanky treatment. Let her see what she could be getting herself into.”

Brody mulls it over for a second, then shrugs. “Not a bad idea. I say we go ahead with it. You’re her point of contact. You should be the one to extend the invite. Although, who knows if she’s even free. It’s pretty last minute.”

“True,” I say. But it’s still worth a shot.

The first thing I grab once I open my locker is my phone, and I quickly compose a text to Peyton asking if she’s available tomorrow night. She responds instantly that her calendar is completely empty.

Perfect. I forward her our digital invite, but this time, she doesn’t respond so quickly. I send her another text, letting her know it’s cool if she wants to bring a plus-one with her. If she has a plus-one, I guess it’s better that I find out now before I get too carried away with my low-key obsession with her.

A watched phone never rings, or something like that, so I grab my body wash and hit the shower. When I come back, no messages. Also, no Brody. He must have bounced, clearly not as interested as I am in whether we’ll have an extra guest joining us for the event. Makes sense. At an event where we’ll be entertaining over a hundred guests, what difference does one extra person make?

The bigger question is, why the hell does it make such a big difference to me?

Just a week ago, I was prowling the digital dating scene, searching for a girl of the ButterflyGirl6 variety. I needed someone to help me blow off the year’s worth of steam that had built up from being all work and no play. One night of fun, that’s all I was looking for. One and done and back to my regularly scheduled program, dividing my time between the office, the gym, and the occasional night alone with my right hand. I had things all figured out.

Until Peyton.

And now here I am a few days later, checking and rechecking my phone to see if I’ve got half a chance of seeing this girl tomorrow night. A girl who, a few short days ago, I never could have seen coming. A girl who showed up in my life, and suddenly my dating apps are completely forgotten, practically developing cobwebs from lack of use.

As I’m toweling off, my phone buzzes in my gym bag. I can’t snatch it up fast enough.

Peyton: See you tomorrow. smiley-face emoji

There’s no one in the locker room to see the enormous smile spread across my face. She’s said nothing about a plus-one, so I have to hope that means she’s coming alone.

Let the seduction game commence.





Chapter Ten


Peyton



“Come on, Gram! Our ride is here!”

I put on my favorite gold chandelier earrings and checked my makeup one last time in the foyer’s full-length mirror. Josh’s last-minute invite to a formal corporate event might have thrown me if not for my stockpile of bridesmaid dresses. Luckily, this emerald-green dress from a wedding last winter still fits like a glove. It’s modest, to the knee, and has cap sleeves. It looks particularly good paired with my game face. I’m ready to network like a boss. Because, well, I am a boss.