I slide the ring on her finger, warmth expanding in my chest at the sight of my ring on her hand. It feels so fucking right, and I can’t stop myself from standing, and crushing her body to mine.
“I love you so much,” she whispers into my neck, and I shudder, the impact of her words rocking through me.
“You’re the only woman on this earth for me, Sophia. I love you. Always.”
Chapter One
Alison
Gravel crunches under my tires and dirt kicks up behind me as I pull into the rundown parking lot. My skin prickles with unease as I look around. After pulling into a parking spot at the very end of the lot, I throw the car in park, making sure my doors are locked as I reach for my phone to double-check the address he sent me. If it weren’t for the line of cars all along the chain link fence covered by a flimsy green material that’s obscuring my view, I would think this place was abandoned. After I confirm that this is, in fact, the right place, I look around in a desperate attempt to figure out where I am. Isn’t this how all horror movies start? The stupid girl goes into the creepy place even though all her instincts are telling her to turn and run like hell, and then the next thing you know, someone is wearing her skin. At this point in any movie, I would be rolling my eyes and screaming at my TV, telling the girl to get out of there. And yet, here I am, sitting in my car and waiting for my date for the evening.
A sign hoisted up on a large pole in the corner of the lot catches my eye, and I groan when I see the name of the place. Mud Runner Obstacle Course. Seriously? My date, Troy, didn’t tell me anything about where he was taking me, only sending me an address and telling me to meet him at five. Who even takes a girl to an obstacle course for a first date? First dates are supposed to be fun, flirty, and have a little edge of mystery. Me, running through an obstacle course and sweating my ass off while my date watches, does not sound fun or flirty to me. And while a good first date should leave you a little breathless, this was not what I had in mind. With a grumble, I grab my phone and check the time, relieved that I still have a few minutes to just relax before I have to go in there. I toss the phone back into the passenger seat and lean my head back on the headrest, letting my eyes drift closed.
I hate this whole thing already, and I hate Mr. Klein, my boss, even more for making me do this. I can’t believe I’m even in this position. Last week, I thought I was a shoe-in for the columnist’s spot that opened up at the paper I work at. But when Mr. Klein called me into his office, it was to tell me that I was up against Chelsea – a woman who has only been at the paper for a year and has worked her way up on her knees, if you know what I mean. My boss, the disgusting pig that he is, came up with the idea to hold a little contest for us. We would each sign up for an online dating service, go on three dates, and write about them to best give him an idea of what our column would look like. If I didn’t want this job so damn badly, I would have turned him down, but I’ve been working for so damn long, and the thought of just giving up killed me.
I’ve been a crime reporter at the Baton Rouge Times for the last five years, and I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am. First, in high school so I could go to a good college, and then even more so in college so I could land my dream job. Since starting at the paper straight out of college, I put in countless hours to build a solid reputation for myself. I love my job, and I’ve learned so much and grown as a writer, but lately, something has been off. There is this stirring in my soul for more. So often, the only time someone sees me is after they’ve already become a victim. I’m the person that comes in and digs into their pain so I can tell the world about it, and after doing it for so long, I’d like to do more. I want to find a way to help people instead of hurting them more. I don’t exactly know how I’d like to do that yet but I can’t help but feel like the columnist position is exactly where I need to be to do it.
My phone chimes with the two-minute warning for my date, and I suck in a steadying breath as I peel my eyes open and grab it, shutting the alarm off. I glance up and scan the line of fence, looking for an entrance, and my gaze lands on a hulking figure standing near an opening that must be the entrance. Even this far away, I shrink back on instinct. Good lord, please tell me that man is not my date. He looks like he could crush me with his bare hands and not in a sexy, “oh, your muscles are so big” way. More like a “please put down the steroids, even your muscles have muscles” kind of way. Looking down at my phone again, I log into the dating website and read his profile one last time. His name is Troy, he’s thirty-two, and a personal trainer. I roll my eyes and gaze at him through the windshield. A personal trainer who brought me to an obstacle course for our first date?
How original.
Glancing up once again at the behemoth I fear is waiting for me, I suck in a fortifying breath and turn off the car before stepping out into the dense Louisiana heat. Time to get this over with. Walking a little taller as I near the entrance, I remind myself that I’ve got this. Chelsea’s writing is, at best, mediocre, and as long as Mr. Klein remains professional, this job is as good as mine.
Then again, I shouldn’t rule out the possibility. He has been banging her right in his office for the past six months.
“Ali?” the giant asks as I draw near, his crystal blue eyes sparkling and a wide smile stretching across his face in greeting, and my fears are confirmed. I muster every ounce of politeness I can and extend my hand. Truthfully, it’s not Troy’s fault that I don’t want to be here. Mr. Klein is the object of my anger, not him.
“You must be Troy,” I say, pulling forward my professional side as my hand hangs in the air between us. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I expect him to shake my hand but instead, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his body and pinning my hand between us as he embraces me in the most awkward hug of all time. My body tenses up, and time seems to stall. I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable in my life. Besides a few quick messages back and forth to set up this date, we haven’t even spoken and he’s holding me like we’re old friends. When he finally releases me, I take a deep breath, the tension easing out of me slightly but I’m still on edge as he smiles at me, his gaze leisurely dropping down my body and back up again.
I force down the disgust trying to rise up inside me and remind myself why I’m here. If I leave now, I’ll never get this job, and I’ll be forced to read Chelsea go on about sex tips and how to give a perfect blow job twice a week. It would be hell.
“You ready to do this?” Troy asks, motioning to the gate behind him that leads to a massive obstacle course. Oh, hell no. I could maybe be a good sport if the guy had given me a heads up and told me to bring a change of clothes, but no. I’m standing here in a skirt and heels, and there is absolutely no way that I’m doing this. I’m about to answer him when two women stroll by, engrossed in conversation with each other. Both of them are covered, head to toe, in mud. It’s smeared across their faces, caked in their hair, and stuck to their slim, toned bodies like a second skin. When I look back at him, he smiles at me again, almost reminding me of an eager puppy.
“Um…” I say, not sure how to break this to him, and his face falls.