Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“For real?” he asks.
I glance around like I’m checking for spies. “For real. And look, don’t tell anyone that I agree with you. I need to give this business my all. I want Afternoon Delight to be a big, raging, ridiculous success. Romance is a distraction.”
“Damn straight it is. Always choose the bear,” he says, still shaking my hand.
“The bear,” I echo with a decisive nod, like we’re sealing a deal for picking the bear over the man when confronted with that choice. I meet his gaze. “And hey, it works both ways. You’ve been a little romance-shy since Ginny.”
He glares at me. “We don’t need to mention her.”
“I’m just saying, if and when you get back out there, you should let me do some vetting too. I can make sure you’re not with a backstabber.”
He peers over his shoulder. “Is the knife she twisted in me still there?”
I pat his shoulder. “Nope.”
When we resume our pace, he tilts his head. “Afternoon Delight, huh? That’s a little naughty.”
“So’s Sweet Cheeks. So’s Hot Buns. So’s Tease and Taste.” I rattle off the names of some of the top bakeries in Los Angeles, Seattle, and Portland. “Know what all those bakeries have in common?”
“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“They’re successful.” We arrive at the double doors that lead to the personnel-only entrance. Theo slides his key card against a lock and swings the doors open. The corridor’s mostly quiet, but up ahead, a man in a purple polo pushes a laundry bin down the hall.
As we pass a series of framed photos of the lineups over the years, my brother takes me to the weight room. Corbin’s alone on a bench, doing preacher curls. Have his biceps always been so…big? So strong? So mouthwatering?
“Have fun,” Theo says, then takes off.
Easier said than done. Corbin lowers the big barbell to the gym floor, lifts the hem of his T-shirt, and wipes the sweat off his brow.
Is this a test of my newfound resolve? If so, I’m failing.
I swallow and stare, my eyes darting across the expanse of fair skin, glistening and firm, but not in a picture-perfect, polished way. A bruise lives right under his pecs, that appendix scar dips in his abs, and a dark trail of hair travels down and disappears into his shorts.
And his muscles are just so…hard. And so muscly. And so—
“That work for you?”
Shit. I jerk my gaze up, meeting his eyes and rolling my lips together. “Mm-hmm,” I say, without opening my mouth. I have no idea what I’m agreeing to, but hey, I only told my brother I wouldn’t date. I never said I wouldn’t ogle his hot hockey-playing best friend.
“Great,” he says, then grabs a towel and slings it over his shoulder.
I snap back to reality. “If you have a towel, why did you wipe your forehead on your T-shirt?”
His smile is wicked. “I did it for you, Mabel. I did it for you.”
I let out a big breath. Corbin crosses the room and sets his water bottle right next to an exercise bike.
“We’re going to talk while you’re on the bike?” I ask as I follow.
“Are you worried I can’t bike and talk?”
I shake my head. “No…I…I’m not.” I’m just still stupidly flustered by that shirt-brow-move, and I kind of want to see it again.
He steps closer to me and sets a finger under my chin. “Are you sure? I did ask if you minded if we talked while I did cardio. I need to get my twenty minutes in.”
Ahhhh. “Riiiiight,” I say, dragging out the word as I nod. “You did. Of course you did. And I heard you perfectly. I knew exactly what you were saying. Twenty minutes. Who doesn’t need to get twenty minutes of cardio in before an NHL game?”
He laughs, shaking his head as if he doesn’t believe my lies. “You get me,” he says, then hops up on the bike. At least he’s still wearing his shirt.
The second he starts pedaling, he nods to me. “What do you want to show me?”
I am a woman on a mission. I will not be distracted by miles of glistening skin or how his thigh muscles show off with every pump of the pedals.
I hold up a finger, then reach into my bag to grab my tablet. “I took pictures, but I also have paint chips,” I say, but when I raise my face, he’s…shirtless again. “Corbin!”
“What?” he asks so innocently.
“I asked you not to—” I wave a hand, dismissing my prior request for him to keep his shirt on. “Never mind.”
Taking a soldiering breath, I show him the pics on the tablet, and if I thought he smelled good before, that’s nothing compared to how his lake-and-campfire scent mingles with the sweat of his workout.
I really should have talked to my friends before I agreed to this partnership. They’d have sat me down and made me face the reality of the fact that I want to bang my business partner. They’d have made me confront my newfound attraction to…sweat so I could be aware of the perils of this situation.