Me? I’m not one of them. No way could I stand him bossing me around all day in the office and in the gym. No, I drew the short straw when I was given Chase Callahan, Harrison’s best friend and right hand, when I was seeking a personal trainer. Actually, come to think of it, I didn’t draw a straw at all. Chase just sort of claimed me.
Whatever.
Part of my daily fun is that I actually get to torture him mentally in the gym as much as he physically tortures me. It’s part of my charm. Chase, on the other hand, has none. He’s an egotistical pain in the ass who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Okay, so the guy looks as good in basketball shorts as he does in well-worn blue jeans, and his T-shirt always molds beautifully to his ink-covered arms, but that doesn’t mean every woman wants to bone him.
Especially not me.
Definitely not me.
I’d rather cover him in jelly and throw him in the lion enclosure at the zoo.
Actually, that has merit.
I reply to a few emails from our website, inquiring about classes and training sessions, as the door to Harrison’s office opens. My thighs clench when the sound of Chase’s deep chuckle carries through the open door as he enters my domain. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I keep typing furiously, refusing to even glance his way. I know what’ll happen when I do. I’ll be hypnotized by those intoxicating blue eyes. Eyes that I swear can see straight into my soul, bypassing all the walls I construct around myself. It’s like his superpower. Of course, Chase uses his superpower for evil, not good. His uncanny ability to find every tiny thing that annoys the crap out of me is one of the main reasons I despise him so much.
“Oh, you made it. What happened with your car?” Harrison asks, pulling my attention away from my monitor.
“No clue. It wouldn’t start,” I confirm, taking another sip of my cold coffee drink and maintaining eye contact with him.
Do not glance at Chase.
I glance at Chase.
Danger, Will Robinson!
I try to avert my eyes, but I can’t. I’m trapped in those expressive blue orbs. I can practically feel my panties dampening and my will to resist flying straight out the window.
Dammit!
So, to combat my overactive libido and the naughty images of Chase and me on my tiny couch that conjure up in my dirty mind, I glare at him.
“What the hell, Gabby? I told you that piece of shit was gonna take a dump on you one of these days,” Chase practically growls, crossing his arms over his chest in a manner that is supposed to be intimidating, yet only makes my mouth water.
Time to shut this down.
I roll my eyes at Chase (because I know how much he likes it) and say, “Don’t be a jerk, Jerky McJerkface.”
His eyes narrow into laser pointers. “Jerky McJerkface? Did you learn that on the playground during recess?”
Again, I give my eyes one big, long roll. “It’s my car, Chase, and if I want to drive it until the wheels fall off, then so be it. It’s. My. Life.” Who cares that my Honda is approaching her fifteenth birthday and two hundred thousand miles? This car has gotten me from point A to B on every occasion (present situation excluded). I’ve cried in that car, sang at the top of my lungs in it, and even lost the ol’ V-card in the back seat. Why get a new one just to add a car payment?
“Well, congratulations, genius. It sounds like you did just that,” Chase argues, running a frustrated hand through his hair.
I growl and open my mouth to argue, but am cut off by Harrison. “Well, this is fun and all, but maybe you two can continue this later? I have a few things to go over with Gabby before my nine o’clock appointment.”
Glancing at the clock, I realize he only has minutes. “Ready, boss man,” I tell him, grabbing my tablet out of my desk drawer and standing to follow him into his office, completely giving Chase the cold shoulder as I go.
“Gabrielle Lynn, tell me that scone is not yours.” I hear as I enter my brother-in-law’s office.
I go ahead and glance back, even though I really shouldn’t, and find Chase standing at my desk, his hands on his lean hips, and his T-shirt molded to his chest. His tan legs stand firm, his thighs like muscular tree trunks I want to climb. And let’s not forget that his ink is on full display, the flames sliding up his bicep and disappearing beneath his shirtsleeve.
See? Told you I shouldn’t have looked.
Knowing it’ll drive him absolutely bonkers, I shrug. “Oh, that?” I could just tell him it was a free peace offering for my forgotten coffee order, but instead, I go the antagonistic route and goad him along. “What if it is?”