Page 43 of Bone Deep
And I kept going.
I sigh and rub a hand over my chest, feeling the firm line of muscle under my dress shirt. Okay, fine—working out with a professional athlete has its perks. Sue me.
My lower body has always been naturally strong. Pair that with years of gymnast discipline, it became my best physical feature. But Ryan’s routines have made it thicker. Denser. My quads strain against most of my slacks now.
But the real noticeable difference is in my upper body. I never focused on it before. Never needed to. Ryan has opinions about that. Lots of them.
My shoulders are broader. My chest fuller.
My arms…well. I glance down at my sleeve and flex unconsciously, watching the fabric tighten around my bicep. I’m going to have to buy new shirts soon.
Not mad about that either.
I swivel in my chair and stare out the wall of windows overlooking downtown Phoenix. Still, I broke my rule. I’m hanging out with a straight guy I’m undeniably attracted to.
Nothing’s happened. Nothing will happen. I won’t let it.
That doesn’t seem to dissuade him, though. The little fucker flirts relentlessly. He’s gotten way too comfortable touching me every chance he gets.
Squeezing my biceps. Slapping my ass after a heavy set on the bench press. Clapping a hand on the back of my neck while leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath when he says something outrageously inappropriate.
Every other sentence out of his mouth is a sexual innuendo. I have never met anyone who can turnanytopic dirty. Mergers. Protein shakes. Ride shares. Doesn’t matter. Ryan can make it sound obscene. Once, I was telling him about a paralegal that could never manage to get to the point in a time manner. Ryan’s response?“So, he’s a real clocksucker?”
It’s killing me. But it’s all surface, I’m sure. He doesn’t press harder. Doesn’t make a move. And I sure as fuck will not make one. Rules. Hard lines. He’d make that sound dirty too, the little shit.
I sigh and spin back toward my desk. I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy his company. He makes me laugh on occasion—and that is not easily accomplished. I just need to keep him at arm’s length.
I still don’t know what the deal is with his sexuality, and I’m not asking. That would be opening the door. I haven’t asked. He hasn’t offered. Not like there’s been opportunity for it to come up anyway. We don’t hang out outside the gym. He keeps asking and I keep shutting him down.
Do I enjoy spending time with him? Sure. Do I want to see him naked? Absofuckinglutely yes. Would I love sinking balls deep into that fine ass? Obviously.
Look, I might have a tiny sexual crush on Ryan. Most red-blooded gay men would. I’m not immune to how painfully hot he is, but this is just aphysicalcrush. Let’s not make too much of this, people. It’s not like I sit here pining.
None of that matters anyway.
I’m not going to let it get physical.
My thoughts derail when my office door suddenly flies open. I expect to see a tall, broad-shouldered quarterback leaning casually against the frame with those stupid dimples.
Instead, Jen storms in with her usual chaos, practically slamming the door behind her. “Got a minute?” she says, pointedly. “We need to talk about something.”
I knit my brows together, a little concerned.
Jen drags out the chair beside the one holding my gym bag and plops down. “It’s nothing bad,” she says quickly, waving her hand in the air. Then she notices the bag, and her grin turns positively devious. “Got a playdate tonight?”
I sigh. “Shut it, Clark.” Her grin widens. “What did you need to talk about?” I ask.
She leans forward, elbows on my desk. “We’re quitting our jobs.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Yeah, okay.”
Jen furrows her brow. “I’m serious, Spence.”
Deciding to indulge her momentary psychotic break, I gesture toward her. “Well. Go on then.”
She leans back in the chair, crosses her legs, and pulls out her phone. “In a minute.”
“What does that mean?”
