6
LEIGHTON MITCHELL
It’s only been a few days, but I’m settling into my role as Scarlett’s nanny. She and I are establishing a routine. She demands a bottle at six, which means I have to hit the treadmill by four-thirty if I’m to get in my hour-long run and shower before she wakes.
I don’t mind. I’m used to getting up early anyway. I’d feel like a bum if I slept late.
I’m thirty minutes into my run when River comes into the gym. And shit, he’s shirtless. Not that I’ve never seen his exposed chest and stomach, but this is different. His chiseled chest and sculpted stomach and broad back and bulging biceps are minus the button-down shirt he always wore to the nursery for skin-to-skin with Scarlett.
Dammit. I may be salivating a little.
River mouths something I don’t understand so I remove my earbuds and slow the speed of the treadmill to a brisk walk. “I’m sorry. What was that?”
“I said that I wasn’t expecting to see you in here so early.”
And I definitely wasn’t expecting to be seen… especially looking like this. But I guess it’s inevitable that River would see me at my worst at some point, considering that we live under the same roof.
“I have to get in my run before you-know-who wakes up for her morning bottle.”
“You’d better or you’ll suffer the princess’s wrath.”
River isn’t wrong. That tiny little girl can throw one hell of a tantrum. I should have nicknamed her Miss cranky pants. “I know that’s right. Did she get that terrible temper from you?”
“It’s possible.”
“Why are you in the gym so early?”
I never see hide nor hair of River before eight. I think he stays up late working on new music. Several times, I’ve heard him playing his guitar and singing well after midnight.
“Scarlett’s arrival has thrown a wrench into my routine. I typically work late and sleep late, but I’m trying to adjust to her schedule so I can spend more time with her.” He touches his abdomen. “Plus, it’s time I get back into my usual workout regimen. I’m getting a little soft around the middle.”
“I doubt that.” There’s not an inch of soft anywhere on River Winfrey. The man’s body is as chiseled as Michelangelo’s marble statue of David. Although I strongly suspect better endowed, judging by the bulge I’ve noticed in his jeans.
There. I admit it. I’ve looked at that bulge. More than once.
“Okay, I’m done bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me.” I enjoy talking to River. Probably more than I should.
“I usually turn on some music while I’m working out. Do you mind?”
“This is your gym. Your house. You get to do whatever pleases you in your home.”
“This is your home now too. You understand that, right?”
This is your home now too.Those words make it sound like River means for me to stick around a while.
Does he? We’ve never had that conversation—the one about the duration of my employment. It’s not like Scarlett will be a growing preemie forever. This job has an expiration date.
River thumbs the screen on his phone and “Mama Tried” begins to play through the speakers mounted around the gym. “Can you run to Merle Haggard, or do you need something more upbeat?”
“I could run to Mozart.”
He goes to the elliptical. I strongly suspect he does so because I’m using his first choice. “Do you need the treadmill?”
I know that a lot of guys like to do a short but fast run to increase their heart rates before lifting.
“Nope. You’re fine right where you are. I can get the same cardio kick start on the elliptical.”