Page 39 of Gym With Benefits

“What the—?”

A Ford Bronco screeched around the corner from the opposite lane. The tires howled against the hot asphalt, a plume of grey exhaust belching from the tailpipe as the gigantic square hood swung into my trajectory.

I slammed my foot on the brake, the seatbelt locking violently across my collarbone as the Civic bounced to a halt. My bumper stopped exactly three inches from the Bronco as it whizzed past me.

“Motherfucker!”

The truck slid into my beautiful shaded spot with sickeningly smooth precision, the engine rumbling a few times before dying with a heavy thud.

For two seconds, I just sat there, my heart thumping in my throat while Sabrina begged someone not to bring her to tears. My hands shook with the effort to fight back tears of my own, the heat of homicidal fury prickling up the back of my neck.

The driver's side door of the Bronco swung open, and Dane descended from the cab. He wore an olive-green compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination, and a pair of faded gym shorts. The asshole went about his way, totally oblivious to me. He reached into the back seat, hoisted a canvas duffel over one shoulder, and turned to walk toward the glass doors of the gym.

But my assumption that he’d been ignoring me was debunked when he flipped me off over his shoulder without looking back or breaking his stride.

"You have got to be kidding me.”

I kicked the driver’s door open, leaving my car idling in the middle of the driving lane, the keys still in the ignition and Sabrina still rocking the chassis. My sneakers hit the hot pavement with a loud slap as I stormed after him.

"Hey! G.I. Joe!" My voice cracked slightly under the weight of the humidity. "Are you blind, or have the steroids finally reached your optic nerve?"

Dane turned around slowly, the heavy duffel shifting slightly against his back. He looked down at me from his ridiculous height, his face a mask of bored, asshole indifference.

"Oh. It’s you," he said, his voice coming out dry and flat. He knew it was me. He’d known all along. "I didn't recognize the car. I thought someone had left a motorized lawnmower out here. Was just about to report it to management."

"I had my blinker on!" I shouted, pointing a finger back toward the Civic, which was currently blocking three cars that had just entered the lot. "I was halfway into the turn. That was my spot and you know it."

“Is your name on it?" And he craned his neck to check the asphalt for good measure.

Dick.

“You’re a dick,” I said out loud. In keeping with the good measure theme.

A wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “What is it with you and my dick?”

“Shut up. I want my spot back.” Heat rose up the back of my neck, and got worse when he shook his head slowly.

"The rules of gridiron apply,” he said simply. “First come, first served. You hesitate, you lose the yardage."

"I didn't hesitate! I was avoiding vehicular homicide. You ran a stop sign to get in here and steal the spot from me."

"It was a yield sign," he corrected, shifting his weight. "And I yielded. Not my problem if you’re too slow.”

"You’re a child," I said, stepping closer until I was right up to the logo on his chest. "A giant, over-muscled, tactical-vest-wearing infant. Move the truck, Dane. Move it before I find out if my library card can scratch a vintage paint job."

A deeply obnoxious smirk crept onto his face. Not that the first one ever disappeared. He was just having fun with this now. It made me want to test the structural integrity of his jaw with my elbow.

"I'm not moving, princess. But I suggest you get out of the driving lane before someone lodges a formal complaint." He tapped his watch with an index finger. "Clock's ticking. Have a great workout."

Behind me, an SUV honked its horn, a long, angry blare that cut through the fading notes of the song still leaking from my open door. I glared at Dane’s retreating back, my teeth grinding so hard I could taste the metal of my fillings.

The SUV honked again, and snapped me out of it. I dove back into the driver’s seat, whipped the wheel toward a distant, gravel-strewn corner of the lot next to the dumpster, and killed the ignition.

Inside the building, the air conditioning hit me square in the face but did nothing to cool the furnace currently blazing behind my ribs.

I rounded the corner by the juice bar and stopped dead.

Dane and Hunter were deep in conversation, laughing about some shared amusement. My blood boiled. Hunter was amazing,but just seeing him being all friendly with Dane made him the enemy by association in this moment.