I look at Scout in the doorway and pat the top of her covers. He follows my wordless order and takes a running leap, settling himself next to her.
“Sweet dreams this time, Ms. Quill,” I tell her, making it sound like an order as I look down at her. She blinks up at me, searching my face, and then she gives me a little nod, throwing her arm over Scout, closing her eyes, and burrowing farther into her pillows.Chapter 4AstridFirst thing this morning, I called the gym and asked if they had availability in any of their barre classes for two people to do a trial today. The girl on the phone was super perky and nice, instantly making me more excited to actually get out of the house and try something new and physical, and she signed us up for the 11:00 a.m. class.
When I went downstairs to tell Neil, I found him downing a bottle of water in the kitchen, his chest bare, droplets of sweat running down his torso and being absorbed into the waistband of his black running shorts, having clearly just gotten back from a run. It took everything in me not to either drool or swallow my tongue—he made such a delicious image. Somehow, I managed to let him know about the class, and I could tell he wanted to approach me, to wrap me in his arms and tell me he was so proud of me for getting us set up and for even wanting to go. And half of me wanted that so very badly.
I have never, never in my life felt something so life-altering than being wrapped up in Neil’s arms. His wasn’t just an embrace or a hug. What I feel when he holds me can only be described as a full-on soul connection. I feel it from the very top of my head to the tips of my toes and everywhere in between, including deep down in my gut, my heart, my very essence—truly alive for the first time. And when he lets me go, it’s like pulling the plug, removing the damn battery pack, and disconnecting the freaking backup generator all at once.
And I know he wants me. God, do I know. He uses every single breath he takes to prove that I am the only woman on this earth who he desires, cares for, and dare I say feels even more than that.
But I’m too fucked up. I’m damaged goods. I have entirely too much baggage to haul around that I’d be bringing into a relationship with Neil, with anyone. They say you shouldn’t bring your past relationships into the new ones you start, but how can I not? Brandon ruined me for all others. He ruined me, period, to a point there’s no coming back from what he did to me. And I refuse to drag Neil down with me, no matter how badly I want to grab onto him to try to stay afloat.
A couple of hours later, Neil is opening the glass door at the front of the gym, and I’m shocked when the girl at the front desk greets, “Morning, Doc! This is an odd time for you, isn’t it?” She glances at her Fitbit.
My eyes lift to his, my brow furrowed. “This is your gym?”
His gaze twinkles down at me. “Oh, did I forget to point that out? I was just letting fate do her thing.” He winks, and then he turns to the receptionist. “My guest Astrid and I are here for the barre class,” he tells her, holding out his phone for her to scan. When I glance at it, it’s a barcode, the words Membership Card bold at the top.
She snorts then covers her lips. “Doc. You’re going to do a barre class?”
He narrows his shockingly bright blue eyes, which would be intimidating as hell if his lips weren’t in a playful smile. “What? Are you saying guys shouldn’t do barre? That it’s too girly and easy? How sexist of you, Johnna.”
I lift an eyebrow at that, because he has another think coming if he thinks this is going to be easy. She takes the words right out of my mouth when she shakes her head. “Oh hell no. I’m just wondering how you’re going to be able to make your big ass do the things these women can do. I’d bet you don’t make it halfway through.”
“What’s the wager?” Neil prompts, sticking his phone in his pocket and crossing his massive arms over his white tee-covered chest.
She cocks her hip and crosses her own arms. “Copay of my next session,” she bets, lifting her chin. And I realize she must be one of his patients. I look at her more closely, my head tilting to the side, wondering what this pretty, curvy, and bubbly girl could possibly have wrong with her. She makes my figure seem downright boyish. And then I recognize I’m being an idiot. He’s a psychologist, a doctor of the mind, and her scars most likely wouldn’t show on the outside. Anyone looking at me wouldn’t be able to tell what a shitshow I am unless they look too closely into my eyes. But they’d have to really care in order to look past all the pretty makeup and fake smiles. And most people don’t.