Page 41 of Work It Out
“Hey, Ray. You’ve got— Whoa.” Grace stopped so fast her shoes squeaked against the tile. She took in the can in Jake’s hand and the color of Rayah’s face and smirked. “Are the bananas kinky foreplay, too, or can I have one?”
Rayah chucked a banana at her. “Was there anything else you needed, Grace?”
“Not as bad as you, apparently. I mean, it’s a kitchen. I’m shocked. Shocked, I tell you.”
Rayah buried her face in Jake’s chest.
He patted her back and turned them enough that he didn’t have to look over his shoulder to scowl at Grace. Today’s sassy tank top, which Blaine had dubbed her snark tanks, proclaimed that exercise gave you endorphins and endorphins made you happy and happy people didn’t murder people, they just didn’t. Apparently, being a smartass gave her endorphins, too, because she looked freaking thrilled.
He had news for her, though. Sexually frustrated people thought murder was a fine option. Rayah seemed to be thinking the same thing, judging by the angry cadence of whatever she muttered against his chest before raising her head and taking one step to the side.
“Gracie, have you seen—” Nate bumped into Grace as he hustled into the kitchen. He caught her by the shoulders. “Sorry. Do you know where—” He finally stopped long enough to look around the room. His gaze snagged on Jake and Rayah, still standing very close, one of Jake’s hands on her waist, the other still holding the whipped cream. He grinned at Rayah, which made the dude so pretty Jake wanted to kick him where the underwear modeling career ended. “Get yours, girl. But you’ll have to do it later. Jake’s got company.”
She put another foot between them.
“You do, too,” Grace said to Rayah. “Z and Fran are here about the Hunt.”
Jake sighed. “I’m not even getting weird pancakes, am I?”
Rayah straightened away from the counter and patted Jake’s stomach. “Nope. Take one of the bananas and grab a protein shake out of the fridge. You can even put whipped cream on it if you want.”
“Hell, no. I’m saving that for later.”
She blushed, then threw her shoulders back, ready to go greet Zandar and Fran when a new voice said, “Jake?”
Everyone turned to the brunette standing just outside the doorway with a tentative smile.
Jake’s heart flipped for reasons that had nothing to do with his POTS. He crossed the kitchen in three long strides and crushed her against his chest. “Honey, what are you doing here? What happened?”
Because something was definitely wrong.
She glanced around at the room full of strangers, the wide, crystalline-green eyes for which she’d become famous hiding nothing and everything. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
She turned her face up, and fury swept through him like wildfire. Words tumbled from her mouth, words he couldn’t hear through the roar in his ears. She’d tried to hide it, but in the proper light no amount of makeup could completely conceal a shiner like that.
Chapter Fourteen
Center for Victims of Abuse website
“Leaving is the most dangerous time for any domestic abuse victim.”
Rayah wasn’t typically a jealous person, so the sudden urge to claw the brunette’s eyes out came as a bit of a shock. But come on, Jake’s spot on her mattress wasn’t cold yet, and he left her standing on the far side of the kitchen holding a can of whipped cream and a heart-ful of crushed ego while he rushed over to another woman? Fighting that urge turned painful when Jake pulled the newcomer into his arms, smushing her ginormous breasts against his chest.
Rayah’s breasts were big, too, damn it. Proportionally speaking.
Victoria Miller. Rayah didn’t watch much television, but she’d made a study of Jake since his arrival. His co-star was the internet’s favorite trifecta: young, pretty, and rich. During her fifteen minutes of fame Rayah would’ve settled for not being the internet’s favorite villain.
The way Vicky looked up at Jake when he leaned back was a fist to her sternum. Something was wrong, and she’d rushed to him, most likely all the way from L.A., for this exact reason. Completely confident in his answer, she asked, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
His entire demeanor shifted in a flash. It was subtle, at least at first, but Rayah had learned his tells. Then rage washed over his face. He bundled her against his side and rushed her out of the kitchen without so much as a backward glance.
In the blaring silence that followed, Rayah forced herself to put away the eggs and oats without slamming cabinet doors or cursing the fickle nature of actors. When she turned to go white-knuckle her way through a meeting with Zandar and Fran, she found Nate blocking her path. He bent down and squinted at her. He was almost as tall as Blaine, though leaner and less imposing, unless you counted the intimidation factor of being scrutinized by someone that attractive. And right now, that counted for a lot.
Stupid pretty people and their stupid pretty prettiness.
Without breaking eye contact, he said, “It’s all right now, Gracie. You can stop guarding the big knives.”
“Har, har.” Rayah backed up a step. Deep breath. “I take it you’re finished wiping down the cardio equipment?”
