Prologue
Grant-Two Months Earlier . . .
I pull open the door to the gym, my eyes immediately scanning the floor for the petite brunette who keeps me coming back here almost daily.
“Hey, Scott.” I wave to the man behind the desk as I walk toward the men’s locker room, still in my scrubs and fresh off a 12-hour shift. Do I like the attention I get from women in these scrubs? Hell yeah, and fuck any doctor who says otherwise. One of the perks of giving your entire life over to this career is the godlike adoration that comes with it.
I quickly change and double-check my watch: Pilates starts in four minutes. I toss my bag in the locker and head to the studio in the far corner of the gym. There she is, her chocolate curls pulled up into a high messy knot on her head, and her big hazel eyes crinkling at the edges as she smiles and welcomes the students to class. As compelling as her eyes are, my gaze doesn’t linger on them long, not when her full, natural D cups are on display in her green strappy sports bra. Her waist looks almost unnaturally small compared to her curvy hips and petite shoulders. She’s got a figure women pay tens of thousands to achieve.
Her smile goes from wide and earnest to falling when she sees me approaching the door. But it doesn’t deter me. Instead, I flash her my megawatt smile then throw in a wink for good measure.
“Looking fantastic as usual, Leigh.” I don’t even attempt to hide the way I’m dragging my eyes up her body.
“Dr. Rossi,” she says with a curt smile, ushering me inside before closing the door behind us.
“Hey,” I say reaching out and grabbing her hand as she starts to walk away. She looks down, pulling her hand out of mine before crossing her arms, which causes her tits to press together.
“What?”
“I might need some special attention with my form tonight. I haven’t been sleeping well and I’ve practically been living at the hospital lately. I don’t know if you heard, but . . .” I lower my voice, “I was practically dumped at the altar recently and my brain has just been struggling ever since to make sense of everything.” Annoyance is written all over her face and I have a hard time not smirking at her. I pull my arm across my chest to stretch it. “I’m just crazy tight, so if you wouldn’t mind helping me tonight, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Does that line actually work on women?” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me, causing a smile to slowly spread across my lips. God, I love it when she’s pissed. “And for the record, you dumped August and everyone knows it, so don’t try to play the sympathy card here and use your failed relationship as hookup bait.” She flashes me one last look of disgust before flipping on her mic pack and walking to the front of the room.
“Okay everyone, welcome to tonight’s Pilates class. I’m your teacher, Leigh. Make sure you have a mat, a yoga block, and one of the small balls.”
Over the next 45 minutes, I twist and contort my body into different positions that challenge my muscles in ways weights don’t. I actually started taking this class just to get closer to Leigh, and then somewhere along the way I realized how much I actually enjoyed it.
We end the class with a five-minute yoga cool down. I fold my legs, pushing my body back onto my heels as I stretch my arms overhead then toward the mat as I move into child’s pose.
“Just breathe through it. Inhale through your nose deeply and release with a slow, controlled exhale out of your mouth,” Leigh says softly as she walks up behind me. The lights are dimmed for the final portion of the class, when she usually walks around, assisting with people’s forms and allowing them to deepen their stretches. I feel her crouch down behind me as she presses softly against my lower back, deepening the stretch in my hips. She’s there for barely a second, but the warmth of her fingertips still burns into my skin and her vanilla scent lingers.
“Thank you for coming tonight, everyone. I’ll see you on Thursday evening. Bring your used items up here and I’ll sort and clean them.”
I stay in the stretch a moment longer, listening to the sound of everyone packing up their mats and dropping their used items at the front of the room. The room is nearly empty when I stand up and grab a disinfectant wipe for my mat.
“I know I’ve asked previously, but when are you going to start offering private one-on-one lessons?” I toss my wipe in the trash before grabbing another and picking up a few used yoga blocks to wipe down.
“You really don’t need to help me, Dr. Rossi. That’s why I get paid.” She ignores my question, like usual.
“And I’m saying you could get paid even more if you offered private lessons.” She continues to ignore me. “But that’s right, you don’t need the money. I forgot. Daddy set you up pretty nicely, didn’t he?” That earns me an icy stare that could cut through glass. I just smile.
“I do offer private lessons—just not to you, so stop asking.”
I’d just bent over and picked up a ball, but she grabs it out of my hand and I chuckle.
“That time of the month, huh?” I know I’m poking a bear, but I’m a twisted fucker. Something about the way she glares at me—the challenge of getting past her walls—just makes teasing Leigh all the more tantalizing.
“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but in what world does this actually work for you?” She juts a hip out, with the ball resting between it and her hand. “Is that why you’re still single at, like, 50, because you can’t seem to understand that negging isn’t a thing anymore and that it’s fucked up?”
I toss my head back and laugh. She’s got so much spice for being barely over five feet. It’s always the short ones.
“Fifty? Damn,” I whistle. “Is 37 the new 50?”
She shakes her head and walks away, but then turns back around and walks up to me. “You know what? Actually . . . never mind.” She shakes her head but I reach out and grab her elbow.
“What?” I ask.
“Maybe if you didn’t rely on your looks so much and you put in some effort to actually build a personality that wasn’t centered on being an asshole, you’d find a nice woman who could stand you long enough to stick around.” I can see the look on her face change in a split second. She’s proud for speaking her mind but regret instantly mars her complexion.
I run my hand over the scruffiness of my five o’clock shadow before reaching over my shoulder with one hand and pulling my shirt over my head. Her expression morphs from doubt to a very dramatic eye roll.
“So you find me attractive?” I wink, tossing my shirt to the floor and taking a step closer to her. My 6’3” frame is towering over her. I stare down at her tits as they rise and fall with her breathing.
“You’re an actual pig, you know that?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I smirk, stepping a centimeter closer. I can see her pulse in the small dip at the base of her throat and I have to mentally stop myself from leaning down and running my tongue over it.
“No, I don’t.” She widens her stance, placing a hand defiantly on each hip as she says the words—trying to convince herself.