He blocks my first punch and my second, and on my third, he grabs my wrist and twists me around so my back is flat against his broad chest. My arm is wedged between us, and if I try to finagle my way out of the hold, my shoulder screams at me. Worse, he doesn’t let me go right away. “Okay! You’ve made your point.”

  He lets go and I shake out my arm as I turn around. My eyes are narrowed suspiciously now.

  “You’ve clearly trained in the ring before.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve done a bit of boxing over the years.”

  ‘A bit’, my ass.

  I would love nothing more than to sweep his legs out from under him and take him down to his back. Oh my god, I’d be so satisfied I doubt I’d be able to wipe the smile off my lips for months.

  “You going to just stand there?” he taunts with a lift of his chin.

  “I’m trying to decide if I want to go for your face. It’d be a shame to wreck your pretty boy image.”

  He frowns like he’s seriously worried I’m about to deliver on that promise. “No faces, Elwood. We don’t have mouth guards in.”

  “So you are worried about your face…trying to impress someone?”

  I strike while he’s distracted, going for a jab to his lower stomach, but he swipes it away easily. The odds are not in my favor.

  “You aren’t using your size to your advantage,” he tells me gruffly, like he’s annoyed I’m not beating him up harder.

  “I’m trying!” I groan.

  “Stop circling around me. You’re wasting your energy.”

  Fine. I reach out to try for a one-two punch to his chest, but it’s no use. In the process, Hudson leg-sweeps me. In a flash, I end up flat on my back, the air whooshing out of my lungs in a painful gasp.

  Like the arrogant ass he is, he leans over me so his handsome, sweaty face blocks out the bright fluorescent lights. I stare at his full lips, those sharp cheekbones, those perpetually angry brows, and I feel lit up like a live wire. It’s the adrenaline.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” he asks deviously.

  His reaches his hand down so he can help me back to my feet.

  Before he can blink, I hike my legs up and bring them around the back of his, taking him out at the knees so he crumbles to the ground beside me. We lie flat on the mat together, breathing hard. My right leg is pressed against his.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I tease right back before rolling over and purposefully grinding my elbow into his stomach as I push to stand up.

  Now that was a satisfying workout.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hudson

  I’m a man in my thirties with a crush.

  It’s embarrassing. I’m obsessed. And I don’t get obsessed with anything outside of maxing out my billable hours. Ever.

  I’ve been looking into how to get rid of these inconvenient feelings, but apparently, there’s no over-the-counter pill or cream for that. Maybe I need a shaman? I’m so desperate to go back to the way I was before Scarlett Elwood walked into this office, and if that means paying a back-alley priest $200 to spritz me with “holy water” out of a Gatorade bottle, so be it.

  Slightly less worrying than my developing feelings for very-young, very-off-limits Scarlett but still annoying is the fact that winter has descended on us. It snowed over the weekend. The city is currently blanketed with white fluff. So far, ten people have said the words “I just love the first snow of the season,” so now I’m playing a game with myself: if I hear it fifteen times before lunch, I’m allowed to take a shot from the For Emergencies Only tequila bottle I keep in a side cupboard in my office.

  The last emergency was Lucy’s birthday. She got me so drunk I slept on the floor under my desk, but it’s been months since then, and I’ve mostly forgiven her.

  I’ll have to relegate it to a single shot today though. I’m supposed to meet Scarlett in the gym later this afternoon.

  At least I think that’s the plan. We’re not in fucking elementary school comparing our Lisa Frank planners in art class. Just…we met last week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so I figure we’ll do the same this week. I mean, it would be convenient if we had a time set so I didn’t have to pace around that boxing ring for an hour waiting on her, but I refuse to look like a simpering fool. If I have to wait for her, I’ll just work later to make up for the wasted time. It’s fine.

  During last week’s sessions, Scarlett tried to take me on in the ring, and I tried to mostly keep my gaze above her collarbone while dodging her surprisingly well-timed blows. For someone so small, she’s feisty. She landed a solid punch to my stomach on Friday. I had to double over and breathe deep. She immediately gasped with horror and ran over to check on me, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back (inappropriate), her face down near mine (tempting).

  “Did I really hurt you?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you crying?”

  “A little.”

  She laughed and pushed me away playfully. God, I love making her laugh.

  Fortunately for me, I have a big closing in two days for the Zion Oil and SolarCo merger. It’s scheduled for the day before Thanksgiving, and it’s given me a lot to focus on outside of Scarlett. I work straight through lunch with my team, but by 2:00 p.m., everyone’s cranky and we’re starting to make stupid mistakes. I dismiss them down to the food court, and I’m about to figure out food for myself when Lucy’s phone rings. A few minutes later, she shouts out.

  “It’s your mom! Line two.”

  “Why does she call you first? She has my direct line.”

  “She likes me!”

  I pick up the phone. “Why do you call Lucy first?”

  “I like her!” my mom says as if they corroborated their story beforehand.

  Of course.

  I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder and keep working. “What’s up?”

  “I’m calling to see if you’re joining us for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  I wouldn’t miss it, but still, I string her along. It’s the Rhodes way.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “Turkey. Now are you comin’ or what?”

  “What kind of sides are we working with? I noticed last year you tried to experiment with a new sweet potato dish, and I didn’t care for it.”

  “You know what? You can get your butt in the kitchen and help make any side dish you want. How about that?”

  I think if people at work were to meet my mom (something I’ve avoided at all costs because I do not like to integrate my separate worlds), they’d understand my personality a little better. She’s a single mom who raised my sister and me while working full-time. She also put herself through night school to get her social work degree after my dad left us. For the last twenty years, she’s worked in the foster care system, but don’t let that fool you. She’s not soft. She’s like an old southern grandma fused with a calloused New Yorker, from Chicago, a combo that should make you shiver and avert your eyes. She will say everything that’s wrong with you straight to your face, and she has done so to me plenty of times.

  “I’ll be there and I’ll bring pie,” I tell her.

  “Chocolate mousse or pumpkin. Don’t get cutesy and bring cherry.”

  “I like cherry.”

  “Eat it on your own time. You’ll be in my house and I want chocolate mousse or pumpkin.”

  I laugh. “Understood.”

  “Should I expect a plus-one?”

  “When’s the last time I brought a woman home to meet you?”

  She doesn’t even have to think before she replies, “2004.”

  “Right.”

  I’ve been in relationships since then, but none I felt were worth bringing in front of a family audience.

  “Well I just thought I’d ask. Here, connect me to Lucy and I’ll get the real answer.”

  “Don’t interrogate Lucy about my love life.”

  “What love life?!” Lucy shouts back.

  I really need to get better about closing my door.

  “Just me,” I confirm to my mom.

  “All good.” Her voice softens. “I can’t wait to see you, kid.”

  “Same here. Love you.”

  “You too.”

  I was going to rely on fate to bring Scarlett and me together in the gym, but with this closing, I end up emailing to let her know I won’t make it down to work out until close to 9. I figure she’ll beg off. Just because it’s a hard week for me doesn’t mean she has to be in the office that late. The snow has picked up again; everyone wants to be home, cozy in front of their fire.

  Her email comes back right away.

  See you then.

  I stare at those three words, trying to quell the pure elation. Then my phone rings. Someone with questions about the closing, no doubt. I click away from the email and answer it before the second ring.

  As I expected, the gym’s a little less crowded than usual when I arrive. Scarlett and I will have the back corner to ourselves while we train. She’s already on the treadmill doing her warm-up; she sees me in the mirror but doesn’t smile or nod. We play chicken with each other, seeing who’s going to be the one to cave first.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m working through a series of bench presses when she leans up against the railing nearby to watch me.

  “Don’t…interrupt me,” I say, focusing to push the weights up. I went heavy tonight because I’ve got energy to burn. I’ve been stuck at my desk all day.

  “I was just saying hi,” she remarks, all innocence.

  “See? I lost count.”

  “You were on twelve.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s too embarrassing to admit.”

  I laugh and then holster the heavy weights before I accidentally send myself to the hospital because I’m too distracted by Scarlett. I sit up and wipe my hands on a towel, taking my sweet time before I give in to the urge to look at her. I’m sure I look cranky, but she doesn’t even balk.

  She’s wearing an electric blue workout set tonight: skintight leggings that thank the lord are high-waisted and a scoop-neck sports bra that doesn’t do enough to conceal her cleavage. I haven’t seen the outfit before, and I know that for a fact because I catalogue everything she wears to the gym in my mind for future reference. If HR had access to my thoughts…oof. I’d be fired ten times over.

  “Almost done?” she asks, propping her hands on her hips. For a second, I imagine her hands are my hands. I wonder what she’d feel like, how smooth…

  “No,” I bite out brusquely.

  She frowns. “Well too bad. I’m ready for you.”

  Then she turns and walks off.

  Ten minutes later, we’re in the ring together. Her fists pound against my padded hands. She’s completely focused on her quick-fire punches. She has good form, good concentration. She puts her whole heart into it when we’re in the ring, though I’m not surprised. It’s clear she bleeds passion for the things she cares about.

  “Pick it up a little,” I challenge.

  Her eyes spark with excitement. Sweat trickles down her neck, running over her collarbone, pooling in the cleavage above her sports bra. I shouldn’t look down, but she’s all fucking curves on her small frame.

  My hand slips and she accidentally slams her fist into my chest.

  She immediately halts. “Oh my god! Sorry!”

  “It was my fault.” I rub the spot knowing I’ll be sore tomorrow.

  She props her hands on her hips, her mouth flattening disapprovingly. “Should I chastise you for not focusing? The way you do to me?”

  Another gymgoer walks up to the ropes. “Hey man, think we can get in the ring?”

  “No,” I bark, still rubbing the spot above my heart.

  Scarlett laughs and spins around. “He’s joking! We’ll be done in fifteen minutes and then it’s all yours.”

  “Thanks,” the guy says, shooting me a sharp glare before walking away.

  “Why do you have to be so mean all the time?” Scarlett asks, walking up to me and pushing me hard in the chest. “Stop being such a bully.”

  “I’m not.”

  “God, you are. You’re so mean to everyone.”

  “I’m not mean to you.”

  “You are. Or…you used to be.”

  She’s still going at me, pushing me so I have to keep taking baby steps back. She’s right on me though, push for push, so eventually, I’m forced to reach out and grab her wrists to still her. She doesn’t relent. My hands tighten and I can tell she’s about to really let loose on me.

  “Relax, will you? I’m still recovering from your last punch.”

  “So? Maybe this is a fair fight for once.”

  She gets one of her hands free from my grip. Good girl. Then she tries to reach her hand around to punch my damn kidney, but I recapture her wrist and spin her so I have her wrists cuffed together at her lower back. “You good?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you have to be so difficult?”

  “You like it,” she taunts, bucking back against me, and her butt accidentally grinds against the front of my shorts.

  Oh shit.

  I immediately unhand her and take three steps back. My back hits the rope.

  Don’t look down, Scarlett. DON’T LOOK DOWN.

  She does though, and her eyes go wide, her cheeks flushing bright red. She’s so shocked and innocent. I look away and imagine bad, horrible things, anything but Scarlett in her matching leggings and sports bra set, the fact that it’s so tight it might as well be glued to her skin.

  She takes her bottom lip between her teeth as if she’s the one who should be embarrassed. “Sorry. I took it too far.”

  I don’t even say anything. What can I say?

  I walk around the perimeter of the ring so I can climb down and head to the locker room. I need a cold shower, and I need it now.

  Unfortunately, Scarlett’s waiting for me when I’m done. She’s showered too. She’s washed off her makeup and let down her long hair. It’s air-drying slowly, framing her face. She looks heartachingly young and sweet without makeup. Her brown lashes are clumped together from the shower. She’s wearing a Columbia t-shirt and a new pair of leggings.

  “Where’s your coat?” I ask her.

  “What? It’s in my bag. But listen, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  I shake my head, not about to go down this path. This is why men my age should not have CRUSHES. I’m too old to be making excuses for anatomy I can’t control. “Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  Her face falls. “Forget the training stuff?”

  “No. Forget what just happened.”

  Her shoulders sag in relief. “Okay cool, yes.” She smiles. “I can do that.”

  “How are you getting home?” I look toward the gym doors then back to her. “Jasper?”

  Her face scrunches at the idea. “Oh. No. I was just going to walk. I live just around the corner.”

  “It’s snowing,” I point out dryly.

  She waves away my concern. “Okay…so I was going to walk fast.”

  “Don’t you have a car in the city?”

  “I feel like we’re getting into the weeds a bit here…”

  I shake my head and motion for her to walk on. “Let’s go.”

  “To your car?”

  “No, to the moon, Scarlett. Yes, my car. I can’t let a junior associate get frostbite on my watch. It’d look bad for the company.”

  “I could see if Barrett is still here. Or my dad?”

  “Okay.”

  That’d be preferred. It’s a stupid idea to put her inside my car.

  But probably because I was so willing to relent, now she doesn’t want to. “Whatever, fine. If you’re willing to, I’d love the ride. Thanks.”

  A major perk of being a partner is that I get primo parking in the underground garage. Though when I make senior partner, my spot will be even better. Right up front. I’ll get someone to shine my reserved sign every week. No, every day.

  I unlock my Toyota Land Cruiser and toss my briefcase and workout bag in the trunk. Scarlett hovers near the passenger side door, her hand outstretched toward the handle.

  “Up front okay?”

  I don’t even deign to give that question a response. I’m not going to Driving Miss Daisy her ass through the streets of Chicago.

  “Up front,” she confirms, tugging open the door and making herself right at home among my crap, though it’s not fast food wrappers you have to contend with in my car; it’s papers: files, documents, memos.

  She has them all tucked neatly into a pile on the floor by the time I’m behind the wheel. Her scent is everywhere, hitting me like a wall when I close the door and buckle up. She’s perched herself on my leather seat, her hands folded together on her lap. I flip on the seat warmers and show her where she can adjust hers.

  “Thanks. I love toasty buns.”

  I shake my head and start to back out. My car started streaming music from my phone as usual. It’s a Marcus Mumford live set, and Scarlett asks if she can turn it up.

  I nod and she reaches over, ever so carefully turning the dial until she’s satisfied.

  I loop around to the back exit of the parking garage. “Tell me where to go.”

  Once outside, she points ahead. “Take a right here.”

  Then a moment later, “Left. And…home.”

  Okay, so her apartment is as close as she promised it would be, a laughable distance from the office, but it’s snowing and the people outside look miserable. Like look at that smiling lady; I’ll bet she wishes someone were driving her.

  “You really saved me.”

  I look over at Scarlett with a droll glare.

  “I would have been cold for like two minutes.” She mock-shudders at the thought.

  “Out.”

  She laughs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and leans toward me.

  It’s muscle memory that has me leaning back toward her, like my body knows what it means when a woman crosses over the console of a car with her chin tipped up and promise in her eyes. It takes everything I have in me not to take ahold of her chin, not to tip her face up toward mine and bend down to kiss her.