Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,49

reasonable hour.”

Franklin watches me for a moment as if assessing my words for truth. Finally, he says, “Apparently she was too busy to watch my evening show. Fucking sucks. I finally get somewhere, and my own flesh and blood wasn’t there to see it.”

Right. Because she was with me.

I redirect. “We should round up a cheering section for Saturday.”

Franklin aligns his hands on the bar. “Now that’s an idea. But you gotta confess to somebody. You told anybody yet?”

“Nope.”

Franklin pounds out another set of reps on the bench, his focus on the bar now that he’s approaching his max weight.

He stumbles a bit with the rack, and I guide it back into the slot.

He shakes his arms and sits up. “It’s about time we rallied the troops.”

Franklin hops to his feet, stepping up on the bench press cushion. “Hear ye, hear ye,” he calls out. “I would like to announce that my overdeveloped friend here, as well as myself, have both placed at the top of our most recent bodybuilding competitions.”

A grunting cheer erupts from the weightlifters, and Franklin makes an exaggerated bow.

“Both of us will be competing this Saturday at an invitation-only meet to qualify for Nationals. If you would like to attend, hit us up, and we’ll see about getting you passes to the evening show.”

When he hops down, Buster pushes away from the door frame where he’s been watching and heads over. “Sounds like we have a pair of winners on deck. I’ll put a sign-up sheet on the front desk, and I’ll personally spot the cost of the first twenty passes.”

Franklin claps him on the back. “That sounds perfectly grand, Buster. Feel free to put our names on all your marketing materials.” He gestures to an imaginary sign. “Franklin Schultz. Max Pickle.”

Oh, hell no. “Mine is totally not necessary,” I say.

Franklin waves me off. “We’ll be happy to recruit for you, if you want to even out the bodybuilders among the MMA fighters the McClure clan has brought.”

Buster crosses his arms over his blue Buster’s Gym tank. “It’s inspiring to see how things evolve. Boxing back in the day. Then MMA. Now bodybuilding. Always something new.”

Franklin leaps back onto the bench press cushion to get everyone’s attention again. “Buster’s got a sign-up at the desk. Get your passes to watch us DOM-IN-ATE.” He tightens his arms into the Most Muscular pose and another whoop fills the room.

This is a good idea. I can keep my support within the athletic community and avoid having to talk about it outside of this crowd. There’s no need for it to spill out to my personal life. My employees don’t need to know. With Franklin and Camryn and the Buster’s Gym crew, honestly, I have all the support I need.

22

Camryn

Max is coming.

Max is COMING!

I’ve spent the last two hours dashing around my apartment, making sure everything is how I want it.

Then myself.

I’ve showered and applied lighter makeup, something I can sleep in (with MAX!) Shaved all the things. Moisturized all the things. Well, most of them. I chose a different sundress, pale-yellow.

No bra.

Cute white underwear with yellow flowers.

I left my hair in curls, now all brushed and loose.

The bed is turned down. Fresh sheets. Candles burn on both nightstands.

FOR MAX!

A text buzzes through.

How are you?

I try to settle myself as I reply.

I’m good. How was the workout with my brother?

Too long.

Where are you?

In the parking lot of your apartment complex.

I jump up.

He’s here.

A feverish heat blasts through me. It’s time.

Coming to the door.

I pad across the apartment in my bare feet. When I open the door, he’s there, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt.

“You don’t look like you just had a killer workout,” I say.

“I stopped by my house first.”

I step back to let him in and close the door.

“So, this is my living room when it’s not all set up for tanning.” I gesture to the room.

He glances around. “It converts nicely.” His gaze falls back on me, my eyes, dropping to my neck, then the swell of my breasts in the sundress.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, barely able to get the words out.

“I hydrated after my workout.”

“Right. No alcohol during competition season.”

He sets his keys on the cabinet by the door. “I wasn’t done kissing you at the beach.”

“Is that your plan? To finish the job?”

“I absolutely intend to finish the job.”

Then he’s on me, his arms wrapped around my waist, his mouth crushing my lips.

I gasp, the power