The Boss's Son Box Set

“Don’t bet on it,” Britt said ruefully.

No matter how much she tried not to think about him, there he was. She saw him get into the elevator as she went down the hall. Instead of pressing the button to make it wait, she took the stairs. If she got in that elevator with him, especially if he was alone, the sexual tension would be too much, and she’d forget who she was and what she wanted. She’d only want him.

Britt went to the gym and tried to flirt with guys who worked out. She reasoned that she’d enjoyed licking Jack’s abs so much because he was in great shape, so all she needed to complete her rebound transition was to bang another guy with fantastic abs.

She put on her most flattering tank top and a pair of shorts. She climbed on a stair stepper and adjusted it to the easiest setting. Britt figured it would be easier to look approachable and sexy if she wasn’t gasping for air and sweating buckets. She took to putting a little switch in her climb, trying for a cute butt angle in case any of the gym rats walked by. Ten minutes in she was ready for a bottle of water....or a bottle of wine. She stepped off and wiped her face with a towel in annoyance. All that work and she hadn’t pulled a single guy. She’d hoped for the blond guy on the elliptical. He looked about 22 and ripped. She could really go for 22 and ripped. He might be able to take her mind off Jack...not Jack, her breakup, her broken heart, not her one night stand.

Britt walked by him deliberately on the way to get a drink at the juice bar. She dropped her towel with what she hoped was the subtle flair of a Victorian lady dropping her handkerchief. She glanced at him sideways while she picked up the towel. His muscular calves were pumping along uninterrupted on the elliptical trainer, not leaping off the machine to come to her aid. She got a carrot guava juice to be virtuous but it tasted like dirt, so she changed clothes and debated getting a Starbucks. On her way out of the locker room, she crashed into Hot Elliptical Guy.

“I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?” he asked.

He was tall and broad and gorgeous in the sandy-haired Ken doll way. Smiling as dazzlingly as she could, she laid a hand on his bicep lightly.

“I’m fine now. It’s so sweet of you to be concerned.” About little ol’ me, she wanted to add with an eye-roll. But sarcasm wouldn’t get her in his pants, and she needed a new fling to erase the old one that was haunting her.

“You seemed a little-disoriented back there. I thought maybe you didn’t feel well or you were on heavy cold medicine or something. You were blinking a lot,” he said sheepishly.

Britt shut her eyes for a moment in mortification. All that eye-batting had just made him think she had allergies.

“I tried Mucinex once, and I was so out of it. I nearly got stuck in one of the weight machines,” he went on.

“I’m okay. But thanks,” she said.

“You look familiar. I’m Wade Hanson. Gilda’s boy.”

“What?”

“I guess you’re not...I thought you were one of my mom’s friends. Some of them come here, and you just looked familiar.”

“Wow, Wade. That totally made my day. Have a good one,” she stalked off, gritting her teeth. His mom’s friend? At least he didn’t think she was his grandma’s age, she thought ruefully.

“Hey, Marj, I tried to pick up a guy at the gym, and he thought I was his mom’s age. Call me,” she said to her friend’s voicemail.

They met for coffee to talk it over. It was a post-mortem that demanded immediate attention.

“Girl, are you trying to pick up kids again?” Marj teased.

“Ew, no. He was at least 21.”

“And you are...”

“Twenty-EIGHT. Don’t I look twenty-eight? I bet I need eye cream.” Britt groaned, sinking into a chair.

“Fine, I’ll buy the coffee. Unless you want to use your senior discount,” Marj teased.

“I need a muffin. A big one with chunks of chocolate all over it.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“Hey, I went to the gym, and I didn’t get laid.”

“You obviously need to join a different gym. Not mine, mine only has yoga, not gigolos.”

“I don’t want a gigolo. I want to get it for free and get over my breakup.”

“You mean your hook up. Because you haven’t been boohooing about Kevin. I mean you bitched about missing out on the roof garden more than you said you missed him. I think you’re stuck on Mr. Margarita.”

“That’s not his name,” Britt huffed.