Unwrapping Holly

“Bullshit,” laughed Brody. “I was the first date, so I get first dibs on which—”

“Guys, stop.”

They stopped instantly, all three of them. Once again they were looking at me.

“I… I need some time to process this whole thing,” I said. “So for now, give me tonight. Let me wrap my head around this, and I’ll… I’ll be in touch?”

Donovan and Brody nodded. Lincoln smirked. “Sounds fair.”

“You’ll stop ducking me at the gym though, right?” Donovan asked. “It’s hard to train you when you’re—”

“Yes,” I interrupted with a grin. “I promise I’ll be at my sessions. Effective immediately.”

“Good.”

“And the offer to look over my financial statements still stands?” Lincoln asked. “I have to admit, I’ve scoured them three times already and I don’t know what the hell I’m—”

“Definitely,” I smiled. “Bring them on our next date. I’d be happy to.”

Our next date…

Holy shit.

Lincoln squeezed my hand before returning

to his side of the table. All three of them were leaning back now, arms crossed, shooting sideways glances at each other. Their body language was, in a word, competitive.

“Thanks for… understanding,” I said awkwardly, rising from my chair. “And again, sorry for—”

“Holly,” said Donovan. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but—”

“It’s alright,” said Lincoln. “Really.”

I managed a smile, but it seemed contrived. When I opened my mouth to say something else, Brody shushed me by placing a finger against his own lips.

“The old men are right,” he grinned diabolically. “Better get the hell out of here now, before we all end up taking you out together.”

Twenty-Four

HOLLY

The treadmill beeped again. I felt the belt rising beneath me as it went into another incline, this time five-percent. The muscles in my ass and lower back threatened to cramp up in response.

“How’s it lookin’?”

I was sweating bullets. Hot and sticky. Whatever hair wasn’t bouncing around behind me in my ponytail was now plastered to the sides of my face. I used to hate him seeing me like this — in fact, I was very self-conscious of it. But over the last week and a half, Donovan had seen me a lot more sticky.

“Looking… like this program… might be bullshit…” I gasped.

My trainer broke into his familiar sadistic grin. “Does it hurt?”

“All over,” I said. “And… I’m sweating… like a…”

Whore in church?

“Sweat is just fat crying,” Donovan interjected. It was one of his more corny sayings, but I think he particularly liked this one. “Your body’s going to thank you for this later.”