Consistency is good, I reminded myself sternly. I wouldn’t be happy with anyone whose feelings turned on a dime.
God knew I was consistent—still longing for the same guy, no matter how many signs pointed to us staying just friends.
Like the fact that we were gym partners.
That screamed be my friend.
It didn’t whisper be my lover.
Tonight, I needed the friend, but I wanted a little of both.
7
John
Mindy’s eyes narrowed, lasering in on the punching bag. “This is for calling me ‘doll face.’” She turned her body, angled her hips, and flicked a kick at the heavy bag. Mad as she was, she still had great form.
Objectively speaking.
Subjectively too.
I was pretty sure there was a rule against asking a woman out within four hours of her losing her job. If not, there should be.
I’d have to table those plans, no matter how much I’d wanted to seize the moment earlier today. No matter how ready I finally was to level up from coffee to drinks to maybe a whole lot more.
And no matter how damn sexy the woman looked taking out her anger on the bag. There was just something hot as sin about a woman who knew how to channel her frustration into the physical.
And that had me wondering about other ways she might want to work off her frustration.
Ways I’d like to help.
But Mindy had more punches in her.
And I was smart enough not to start sparring until she’d taken some of her anger out on the literal punching bag. Just steadying the bag for her was workout enough.
She bounced on her toes, her blonde ponytail bobbing as she shifted her weight. “And this is for enjoying it so much.”
Jab, jab, jab. Hook. Jab, jab, and . . . kick.
Oof. I felt that last one through the seventy-pound bag.
Perhaps that final kick did the trick, because she lowered her guard and shook out her hands, pacing now.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
“Much. Better. I needed that. Oh hell, did I need that.”
I surveyed her up and down, taking stock—her breath was coming in a rush. Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were wild. “You look . . . good.”
Fuck.
That came out all wrong.
Or rather, it came out too right. Too direct. Too crystal clear. “Better, I meant.” I backpedaled because . . . four-hour rule, right. “Like you feel more like yourself?”
She looked at me like I’d switched to speaking Swedish.
Goddammit.
I had a well-practiced poker face, but it required firing up my brain before my mouth.
I blamed Sophie. I’d been sparring with Mindy for nearly a year, keeping my thoughts on the straight and narrow, even when it took some willpower. Because when it came down to it, I’d rather have a successful friendship with her than an unsuccessful romance.
I didn’t cross boundaries I set for myself. Not even in the gym when she wore those tops that made it impossible to tell if they were a bra or a shirt.
That was what she was wearing tonight, and it didn’t help my resolve to be her shoulder to lean on.
She was flushed to a rosy glow and sweating the sexiest sweat a woman had ever sweated. It was like someone had opened all the blinds and I couldn’t ignore the sunlight anymore.
“I do feel better,” she answered.
“Want to spar a bit?” I asked, hoping it might keep my thoughts in line if she was trying to knock my block off.
“You sure?” She cocked an eyebrow. “You wussed out earlier.”
“I did not wuss out. I didn’t want to get my head caved in as a stand-in for your boss.”
“Aw, it’s sweet that you think I could dent your thick skull, Detective.”
“Money where your mouth is, Ms. Gamble.”
Working defense while Mindy let out more of her angst kept me focused where I should be. We maintained a comfortable silence as she set a slow, deliberate pace. I could tell she was thinking about something other than her strike placement but didn’t ask what.
“Maybe this is a sign,” she said as she edged up her speed. “Sometimes you need something to shake up the status quo.”
She tried to sneak a hook in, but I blocked it. “But the hotel let you go because of a regime change,” I pointed out. She’d sworn me to secrecy then explained about the buyout. “Not for a weakness or anything you can control.”
“Not that.” She threw a flurry of quick strikes against the pads on my hands. “But work is the only stable thing in my life. Or was.”
“How can that be true? You have friends and family who aren’t going to abandon you.”
“I know.” With a sigh, she lowered her hands and straightened from her fighting crouch. “But, John . . .” Her voice was more vulnerable than I’d ever heard it, and those two words, the sound of my name like that, dug into me and took root. “When Jensen dropped that bomb, it felt like he’d ripped the floor out from under me. I was mad, sure, but I was also really scared.”
All my instincts told me to wrap her in my arms, to pull her tight for a hug. But I couldn’t swear I could keep all touching friendly. It would be a dick move to make a move while she was so vulnerable.
“I can understand how that would knock you for a loop.” Work took all my time, sometimes all my energy, but my job was part of my identity, private and public. “I’d feel adrift if I suddenly wasn’t a detective.”
“That’s exactly how I’d describe it.” She pulled off one of her gloves, signaling she was done for the night. “So, I think it’s time to make some changes.”
I blinked, surprised. “What kind of changes?” I was fine with change; I just liked enough warning to prevent it from happening, especially if it involved Mindy.
“The don’t-put-all-my-eggs-in-one-basket kind, I guess.” She shrugged and turned away to put her gloves in her gym bag. “And I hate that I don’t get to see my sisters and their kids very often. I could move back to Colorado.”
Shit. That was a terrible idea. No way could I let that happen. “But you hate the snow.”
She shuddered, even in the heat of the gym. “True. I do. I despise the snow.”
“There’s a lot of snow in Colorado,” I said leadingly.
Her eyes glinted with laughter. “That’s some brilliant detective work, Winston.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I deadpanned. But she didn’t say anything else about Colorado, so I could breathe again. Breathe and think more tactically.
Throwing the last of my gear in my gym bag, I picked it up and reached for hers too. “You want a life outside of work, right? Then you should talk to Sophie about the fundraiser she’s doing.”
“John . . .” She started to protest my carrying her bag, but then redirected. “First of all, you live in a glass house when it comes to work-life balance. Second, charity galas are really not my scene.”
“Hear me out,” I said. “Remember the three-legged dog from the park?”
“Sergeant Jackson? Of course I do.”
I opened the door and gestured her ahead of me, thinking fast. Sophie wanted to play matchmaker, and Mindy wanted a life outside of work. A satisfying project while she weighed her options might show her what Las Vegas still had to offer her. Besides me.