Hands Down - Mariana Zapata Page 0,57

didn’t want to get griped at.

I just barely managed to hold back rubbing at my eyebrow and sighing.

“Bianca? Did you hear me?”

“Sorry. What did you say? They’re filming a commercial?”

“Yeah, in the building next door. I saw the camera crew and heard Gunner on the phone. Maybe it’s not a commercial for TV, but it might be for some online promo. I thought you’d want to go scope it out, but you-know-who is over there.”

“That’s neat.” I wondered what kind of equipment they were using. Maybe I could find a reason to sneak over there real quick and peek at it. Not like I needed any new equipment since I’d just bought a new 4k camera not too long ago, but it would be interesting to see what they were using. Something out of this world expensive, I’d bet.

“You okay?”

I made sure not to look at her as I said, “Yeah. I just don’t want to call these people. If they wanted to join the gym again, they would. They’re just going to be annoyed, you know?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her nod, and I was pretty sure she peeked at me too before saying quietly, “Bianca, you don’t need to stay here if you’re just doing it for me. I know you don’t need this job.”

I glanced at her and made a face. She had said the same thing to me last week at my apartment. “Don’t start again—”

The sound of the front door opening had me standing up straight, ready to scan someone’s keychain to give me an excuse not to start going through the stupid list.

But just as soon as the smile came onto my face, it fell back off.

And it stayed off as the four men approached the desk I was working behind. The one on the left was a bulky, buff man with a tiny mohawk. The guy in the middle towered over the one beside him, in height and size. He had a buzzcut and the whitest teeth I’d ever seen as he laughed at whatever the big, buff guy had just said. But it wasn’t either of the two fit men who wiped the smile off my face. Or the older man with salt-and-pepper hair and in a suit that screamed expensive.

It was the man on the right who had me staring blankly as the group stopped in front of my desk.

That dark blond hair.

Those eyes that could be described as baby blue.

A face that was so lean, it highlighted the high cheekbones, defined jaw, and a chin that had only gotten cuter over time.

A mouth that had an incredible smile.

A smile that was currently taking over all the rest of those features that made up a face that was striking.

Unforgettable.

But mostly, it was familiar.

And I couldn’t freaking help but go up to my tiptoes, lean forward, and say a name I had just spoken out loud not even a week ago when he’d left my apartment. “Zac?”

Fucking Zac, in sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and most of all, a surprised—but happy—expression on his face. “Darlin’?”

From her spot down the counter, Deepa gasped, and I was pretty sure she whispered, “Is that…?”

But I couldn’t process the fact I knew she was a football fan—and that I hadn’t told her about Zac—because I was too busy being surprised he was here.

I waved at him and then smiled at the men with him. Leaning forward against the counter, I tipped my chin up. What were the chances? “What are you doing here?” I asked.

He’d left my apartment a week ago in kind of a trance. Distracted. Maybe shocked? He’d finished his food, offered to help me wash the dishes—I’d said no—and then left after giving me a quick hug, saying he needed to make some plans and calls. I’d made sure to tell him again to take care of himself and to wish him good luck with the workout he had scheduled in Miami. I mean, I’d been surprised and elated for him. Of course, I figured he’d feel the same way since we’d literally just been talking about it, about his chances and his future.

I had gone to bed that night thinking that I was glad he had come over and shown me those pieces of him that I had hoped were still there. It had been easy to resign myself to the idea I’d see him again in the future. Maybe for Boogie’s wedding. Not just days later.

“What are

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