Controlled Burn (Blackbridge Security 8)

“Hey there, stranger,” the man says, that thick accent of his making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Good morning,” I tell him.

“Finnegan,” he says.

“I remember,” I say, unscrewing the lid to my reusable water bottle.

He grins down at me, and when I say down, I mean the man has to tuck his chin into his chest because of our height difference.

Normally the size difference would make me worry, and that’s on having a horrible ex who used my small size as a means to regularly intimidate me. The man never lifted a hand to hit me, but I knew it was only a matter of time when he started getting so angry that he’d break things around the house. Sooner rather than later, a broken vase or smashed picture frame wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy his fury.

Finnegan never looks angry. His bright green eyes are always smiling in a way that proves the man is always in a good mood. He’s happy, always. He’s polite, offering to switch machines at the gym when he notices someone hovering around.

This is how we met. I wasn’t the one hovering, but I was watching as another woman stuck close to him, so close he noticed and offered her the leg press he was working on. I smiled when he wiped the thing down for her, nearly laughing out loud when he bent in the middle to blow on the seat to dry it faster when she just stood there and smiled at him.

Eventually, he nodded at her and walked away, landing on the exercise bike directly to my right. It put me between him and the woman settling on the leg press, and I could feel the irritation in her eyes as I blocked most of her view of him.

His grin grew wider that day when he noticed me beside him.

“She wasn’t interested in the leg press,” I told him, thinking he was oblivious to the woman’s blatant desire.

“I know.”

Those two words lit a fire inside of me. St. Louis is a melting pot of many nationalities. Accents aren’t something new to me, but the rumble of his voice just lit me up.

It took three more trips to the gym for us to finally introduce ourselves, and we’ve chatted nearly every day since.

He’s cordial, asking about the weather more often than anything else, but his eyes sparkle when doing so, as if he’s waiting for me to change the direction of our chats.

“The leaves are starting to turn,” he says, and the tone is lower, as if he’s whispering something different.

I swallow thickly, nodding as one does when chatting with a near stranger.

“They are,” I tell him, but honestly, I haven’t even noticed. I don’t have much time to stand around and take in the world these days.

“Glad the gym is in the building,” he says, drawing another smile from me.

I pull my now full water bottle away from the machine and recap it, wishing I had a two-gallon jug, so I had a reason to stand here a little longer.

“It’s very convenient,” I return.

“It means you won’t have to put on more clothes once it gets cold.”

If there was ever any doubt that he was flirting, that flies out the window when his eyes sweep down my body. I’m no stranger to men looking at me with heat in their eyes, and I want these looks from him. It’s why I’m in skintight athletic leggings and a sports bra, rather than the baggy t-shirt and sweats I used to wear while working out.

“We wouldn’t want that,” I say with a shy grin, wondering what it’s going to take for this man to actually ask me out.

I’d have to say no because I have way too much going on to get involved with anyone, but the request would be nice.

“What are you focusing on today?” he asks, the same way he does every day.

“Legs, more specifically, the very top of my legs.”

“Your glutes?” His eyes sparkle mischievously.

“If my ass gets any bigger, I’ll have to switch back to my sweats.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, his eyes studiously locked on mine, whereas most men would probably try to look around me to see the ass in question.

“Sweats aren’t that fun to work out in.”

“It’s a shame you’re trying to shrink your ass. It’s a great ass.” He winks before walking away, and I swear I stand there with my jaw hanging open before someone else approaches to fill their own water bottle.

I keep my eyes on the mirror as I work out, appreciating my hourglass figure more now than ever before. Because of these little interactions, I feel like I’m in the best shape of my life. I work out harder and longer than before, and in an effort not to be like that creepy woman from the first day I met him, I keep my eyes to myself, all the while picturing him watching me. It’s really helped me not give in as easily as I used to. I push myself more, up my weights, and exercise longer.