my cheeks only growing hotter.
He shrugs. “Your eyes are really dark tonight—like midnight: black with a hint of blue.”
I swallow down the bite I just took. “Yeah, they do that sometimes. Usually it’s only when—” I stop myself from talking and shove another bite into my mouth. “Never mind,” I say, shaking my head and dropping my fork in the sink. “I’m going to bed.”
“Wait,” he says, standing up. “You’re not going to leave me hanging like that, are you?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I am. Night.” I push my way through the swinging door and almost run to my bedroom. I can’t believe I almost admitted that my eyes only darken like that when I’m turned on. But I couldn’t help it. I was standing there—watching him closely as he savored each bite. I could smell his body wash: cottonwood and musk. We were so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body and I wanted nothing more than to feel it against me again.
I push off the bedroom door I’m leaning against and get into bed. Maybe sleep will help me calm down. I can only pray.
I’m at the gym and hate him more than anything. I also hate myself for not staying in shape. I hate the trainer who’s not cutting me any slack. But mostly, I hate that I like it. I’m sure I’m probably screwed up in the head, but something deep down is telling me to do this—to try—to see if I can become his type. I know this isn’t the way to start a good relationship, but I’m not exactly trying to start a relationship either. I just want to see how differently he’ll view me . . . and maybe have some fun with him along the way. If he thinks I’m suddenly his type after this Pygmalion makeover, he’s more lost than I thought.
By the time I get back to his place, my clothes are soaked with sweat. My hair is drenched and I’m completely worn out. He’s in the dining room when I come in, but I pass him by and go to shower. I wash off quickly, much too tired to spend any real time scrubbing my body. All I want to do is get clean, eat, and crash out. I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and go to the dining room to grab something quick for dinner. To my surprise, he’s still sitting in the same chair.
He looks up at me when I enter. “Hey, you missed dinner, but I had them leave it out for you if you’re hungry.”
“Thank God. I’m starving. I would’ve joined you, but I think the smell coming off of me would’ve ruined your appetite.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I’ve been there. How’s the gym going, by the way? Are you learning to like it yet?”
I take my plate and fix a salad. “Sort of. I mean, I hate it, but I like it at the same time. It’s really weird.”
He nods. “I know exactly how you feel. I felt the same way when I started. But the good part is, if you don’t stop, you just like it more and the hate seems to slip away.”
I take a piece of grilled chicken and slice it up to top my salad.
“It looks like you’re already seeing some improvements.”
I look over at him to see him checking out my ass as I reach across the table for the salad dressing. I laugh. “Did you just check out my ass?”
At first, he looks like a deer in the headlights who’s been caught, but that look fades away and his cocky attitude returns. “What? I’m not allowed to look at the progress I’m paying for?” He’s wearing a smirk.
I shake my head clear. I feel like I should be mad, but instead, I feel almost giddy that I’ve gotten his attention. I don’t know what that says about me, but I like it regardless. At least I don’t have to explain these weird emotions to anyone, because I probably wouldn’t be able to. I mean, how can a woman be so attracted to a man who’s so cocky, arrogant, and downright mean at times? Yes, I’m pretty sure this speaks volumes about my character.
I take my seat and begin eating, only focusing on getting the nutrition I need so I can go to sleep. I push away all thoughts of him and how he makes me feel. It’s nothing but confusing—even to me.
“I’ve called