Page 22 of Moto
“Morning.” Sam hops on the treadmill next to me, glancing at my display.
“Honey, you’re pushing eleven miles. Are you doing penance for something?”
“Huh?” I break concentration and trip over my feet. Sam acts fast, pulling the emergency shut off before I go down and break my neck.
“Kayla!” She hauls me up and shoves a bottle of water in my face. “What’s going on with you?” Her voice elevates, highly concerned.
“Nothing.”Everything. “I’ve just missed a bunch of workouts and was trying to catch up,” I lie between heaving gulps.
She shoots me a doubtful look.
“I swear,” I huff.
“If you say so.” She turns on her machine once I’m steady and begins a brisk walk. I do the same, but at a much slower pace to cool down. I think I’ve punished my body enough for one day.
One phrase keeps playing through my mind as I walk next to my intuitive aunt. Crystal clear.
“How’s your man dilemma?” she asks casually.
It just got a whole lot more complicated.
“The same,” I fib again.
I haven’t spoken to Dev for a few days, and after the other night with Reese, I would like to avoid any man with the last name Dane. How am I supposed to look Dev in the eye after giving his twin a hand job?
At work, of all places.
“How’s your drug situation?” I redirect the conversation, wanting to talk about anything besides my disastrous love life.
“The same.” She shakes her head frustrated. “There was another OD last night. Fifteen years old.”
“That’s so sad.”
“It’s needless. And doesn’t have to be happening.” She increases the speed of her machine until she’s jogging. Sam and I are one and the same when it comes to dealing with stress. There’s one bona fide way to relieve it. Run it out of you. She taught me that a long time ago when my life hit a monumental rough patch. When I thought I could never come back from the darkness, the black feelings, and the despair. I was a stone’s throw away from being put on medication, but Sam refused to let me become some strung-out, pill popping, anxiety freak. Her words. So every morning she woke me up at the crack of dawn to go running with her. Rain, shine, or snow. I cried for the first few weeks, but she wouldn’t give up on me. She was determined to make me stronger, and she did. Soon, running became my go-to every time those feelings threatened to bring me down. I still battle with anxiety and depression, but a good, long run in the fresh morning air always helps me fight through it. Conquer it. It’s my medicinal marijuana, so to speak.
I hit stop on the treadmill and stretch my legs. I need to retain some energy for work.
Work. Blah. I really don’t want to go. I don’t want to face Reese or Dev. Or be constantly reminded that I’m a complete hypocrite. Not only is Reese a patient, but he’s also a motorcycleracer. Talk about breaking moral code, both personal and professional. He’s the friggin’ alpha and omega of the bike world, and I rode right over the line with him. Actually, it was like the line wasn’t even fucking there. It was just him and me and electricity crackling through the air.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and neck before I step off the machine.
“I’ve got to get to work,” I inform Sam.
“Have a great day,” she pants as she hits her stride, fully engaged in her run.
I shower quickly and head in. I find myself applying extra lip gloss before my shift, and I have to stop and wonder if it’s for Reese, Dev, or myself. I’m turning into a damn ping-pong ball.
I love them; I love them not.
I love them; I love them not.
I shove the pink tube in my pocket and resign just to concentrate on work and not the two undeniably sexy bikers who seem to have taken up permanent residence in my mind.
Not like it would ever come down to it, but what if I was forced to choose? That question has been plaguing me. I can’t stop wondering if Dev kisses like Reese. Is he as aggressive and demanding? As well-endowed?
“Morning.” Dev’s velvety timbre pulls me from my gyrating thoughts.
“Morning.” I try to smile and totally not stare at his enticing mouth. Which I’m failing at miserably, by the way.
