“Oh, sorry, Nik,” I called after her. “And thanks.”
She didn’t answer, but Derek cut in, still seeming annoyed. “You doing anything after work today?”
As a matter of fact, I hoped to be doing something soft and pink, and she was headed back to her workstation right at that moment.
“Why?” I was already plotting my approach.
“Building E has a fitness center. It’s part of the complex, so we get a free membership with rent.”
My eyes went to my senior partner’s. “Good to know.”
“I need a spotter, and you look like you could work off some steam.”
Sitting in my chair, I had to laugh. “Look, Derek. You’re a hot piece of ass—I’m secure enough to say it—but I’m straight.”
That dark brow lowered over his blue eyes, and I could tell he could probably be one scary motherfucker when he needed to be. “Fuck you, too,” he said. “Be at the gym at five. On time.”
Exhaling loudly, I leaned back in my chair, squeezing the stress ball. He was probably right. Screwing Nikki could ultimately backfire. Still, I’d be damned if I went much longer without getting laid.
Chapter 2 – Removal of Long-Story Stacy
Derek loaded the bar to 285 and stood at my head as I lay back on the bench. “See how many you can do.”
I’d started exercising pretty regularly after my breakup. It filled the time and deadened the pain. It also had perks, as most women (all women?) appreciated a cut naked torso as opposed to a flabby one. Still, I wasn’t near as jacked as my partner here.
He’d overloaded the bar for me, and I was pretty sure he knew it. But hell if I was backing down from this pissing contest. I gripped the metal, inhaled deeply, and pressed. Immediately, the burn shot down the backs of my arms. I lowered it, tightened my abs, and pushed up again. Derek caught it at the top and guided it back to the rack.
“Good,” he said, walking around to take my spot as I sat up.
I took his place, pressing my lips together as I helped him guide the bar off the rack again. He did a set of four before returning it. Dick.
While he recovered, I adjusted the strap on my glove. “How long you been working out?”
“Going on five years.” He pushed his dark hair out of his face. That with the beard made him look like a beefed-up, blue-eyed Jesus.
“After the Marines?”
“After my wife died.” He said it in a way that didn’t invite questions. I didn’t ask, but hell if I wasn’t curious.
“I started about a year ago.” Then I turned on The Smile. “It helps to look good for the ladies.”
“Does that include Stacy?”
I had enough self-control not to pop him one. “Stuart tell you about that?”
“Just reading your arm. Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” He stood and walked over to grab his water bottle.
Fucking tattoo. I looked down at my inner forearm where I’d had her name inked in a cursive script. “Know anybody who can help me with this?”
For the first time he laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Pulling up his sleeve, I saw the requisite SF-with-eagle tattoo all Marines had somewhere on their bodies.
“That’s good work,” I said.
“I’ve known Carl a while. Runs a clean shop, and I handled a case for him last year. He’s a good guy.”
“I thought you didn’t take domestic cases.”
“I make exceptions for old friends. Sometimes.”