Gym Junkie

He turns and storms from the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

I stare at it for a long time. I’m hurt that he left but also weirdly relieved that he left, too.

Brock Marx isn’t the kind of man you can do just to pass the time.

He is all consuming, and damn it, I wanted another full night with him already.

Chapter 12

All is fair in love and war. But, is it really? Because it sure doesn’t feel that way at the moment. I thought I was doing the right thing by being honest with Brock. And by being honest with Simon. So why did everything turn to hell?

Brock’s the one who said we had no future. He’s the one who said we were too different to spend any amount of extended time together, and I thought he really meant it. Why wouldn’t I think that? He never once indicated that this was something more to him—that I meant more.

But after his reaction last night, I have this sinking feeling that he was just saying that to protect himself. He doesn’t even know how to feel for a woman. This is all so new to him. He’s saying one thing but feeling another. I close my eyes in disgust at myself. Last night, before I told him, things were so good between us.

Perfect.

And then he has to go and ruin it by being all demanding. I put my head into my hands and star at the computer screen in front of me.

I can’t read the words. I couldn’t care less about the stupid report I’m meant to be working on. I want to run to Brock and make everything better. I hate that he’s angry with me. I want to tell him that it was just a bad joke and that I didn’t mean any of it, because I can’t stand the thought of not seeing him again tonight.

And that in itself is a big fucking problem. What does that mean for my future with Simon? Why am I sitting here sad and depressed over a man I apparently had no future with, anyway? Fuck!

This is my worst fucking nightmare. Who was I kidding thinking that I could sleep with him and not get stupidly attached?

And Brock…

What was his problem? He set the rules here. The terms of our relationship. He never once asked me in the gym if I had a boyfriend. He wouldn’t have cared if I did anyway. He was focused on one thing and one thing only.

Sex.

Hard, beautiful, carnal sex. The kind that curls your toes and makes you thank God you’re a woman.

I get an image of Brock last night when I opened my front door to him, looking all naughty and mischievous with his black cap on. I smile as I remember the way he walked me backward into my apartment with his lips locked on mine.

I exhale heavily, and I know I’m not going to be able to relax until I speak to him. I just can’t stand it for one moment longer. I have to call him.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, back in a moment,” I announce suddenly.

“Yeah, sure,” Rourke replies as he stares at the computer analysis in front of him.

I slip my phone into my pocket and go out into the corridor, looking around guiltily. Nobody is around, the coast is clear. I dial Brock’s number and I wait.

Ring, ring… ring, ring… ring, ring. It goes to voicemail.

This is Brock Marx.

Leave a message.

I close my eyes. Damn it. I dial again. I know he has his phone in his pocket at all times. He’s not answering on purpose. Stubborn prick.

This is Brock Marx

Leave a message.

I wait for the tone. “I know you’re ignoring my calls. I’m going to keep calling until you pick up.” I hang up, wait five minutes and call back again.

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring.

“What?” he answers angrily.

A stupid smile crosses my face. “Hi.”

“What the fuck do you want, Tully?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, I got nothing to say.”

“I have.”

“I don’t care.”

“Brock.” My shoulders drop. “Can’t we be adults and talk about this?” I plead.

“We did that last night. You’re going back to your boyfriend. I got the gist of that conversation loud and clear.”

“There is more of a conversation to be had.” I sigh.

“Not from me.”

“Can I see you tonight?” I ask.

“No.”

My face falls. “Why not?”

“Because I have a date.”

I frown and glance up the corridor. “What?” I whisper. “You’re going on a date with someone else? But you promised you wouldn’t do that while we were seeing each other.”

He stays silent.

“Please, don’t,” I whisper. “I can’t stand the thought of it. We can work this out.” I’m in a panic now and not afraid to show it. What if he sees someone else?