Page 63 of Work It Out
“Beautiful and feisty.” Doc wiggled his eyebrows. “If I was forty years younger—”
“You’d still be too old to handle her,” Jake cut in.
Doc continued to flirt good-naturedly as they made arrangements for early Monday and said their goodbyes. She heaved a sigh of relief when they left him.
“You know that was a compliment, right?” Jake asked while they looked for the Explosion crew.
“What?”
“When I called you fierce, you got quiet. I hope you weren’t offended. It’s one of my favorite things about you, and that’s quite a list to top.”
She waved that off. “It’d take way worse than that to offend me. My teammates used to say I could’ve been the eighth dwarf if they’d wanted one named Bitchy.” She resisted the urge to slap her hand over her big, fat mouth. Barely. Years, she’d gone years without admitting that to anyone, even Blaine.
He stopped walking. “They what?”
Oh, that tone didn’t bode well.
“It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had nicknames.”
His silver eyes turned molten. “Cupcake’s a nickname. That’s bullshit. What happened?”
She pulled her hand from his. “They were catty girls in an uber-competitive sport. What makes you think they needed a reason?”
“Again, bullshit.” Jake looked around, then pulled her toward a hallway. A small table held fliers for Bible study groups and Boy Scout meetings, a quilting club and what looked like a mixology class at the Thirsty Cactus. She pointed at the last. “Do you think Glen gets a lot of takers? I mean, don’t Baptists generally frown on hard alcohol? Or is that just Mormons? Then again, he is a pastor who owns a bar.”
Jake plopped his plate on top of the fliers. “No idea. I grew up Catholic. We hit the sauce every week during mass.” Grasping her shoulders lightly, he twisted her around to face him. “What happened, Rayah? Why were your teammates so nasty to you?”
She’d been close to her teammates once. If she had to look back, she preferred to remember the time before they’d turned on her. One look at Jake’s face told her it wouldn’t be that simple, however. He could be as stubborn as her when he wanted.
She had to give him something, and she certainly had enough baggage to choose from. “I started competing in gymnastics at four because it was fun and I was good at it. By the time I turned sixteen, I’d given up on making the Olympic team. My only goal was to get through college on athletic scholarships. I’d already hurt my shoulder once, but I also wasn’t…” Cheeks heating, she cleared her throat. “I wasn’t built right for it.”
Silver eyes swept her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. “If you were built any more perfectly, I’d be a walking hard-on all the time.”
That tingle flared to a sizzle. “Let’s just say my assets weren’t an asset in that world.”
He frowned. “I don’t—”
“Boobs, Jake. My boobs were too big.”
His jaw dropped. “They kicked you off the team because your breasts were too large?”
“They got in the way. Coach wanted me to get a reduction. I said no.”
“What did your parents say?” His fists tightened until his knuckles cracked. “I know your dad sucked, but tell me he punched the son of a bitch.”
She rubbed her earlobe. “Not exactly. Dad scheduled a consult.” The fury that crossed his face made her smile. “I don’t know what he was thinking. Like he’d drop me off at the office and I’d be all, ‘Well, since I’m here…’”
He pressed two fingers to his temple. “Why, Rayah?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The other girls treated me like dirt because they thought I didn’t deserve to be there, that I’d lied and cheated my way to where I was.”
“That’s ridiculous.” The bite in his words startled her. “You’re the most open, honest person I’ve ever met.”
“Now,” she clarified. “I’m open and honest now.” Mostly.
For instance, she’d been choking on all the things she wanted to say to him for weeks. She’d been dying to explain how it drove her crazy when he drank the last cup of coffee or hogged the bathroom in the morning. She’d never told him how incredibly proud of him she was or that she wished things between them could be different. She’d failed to mention that she still dreamed of his hands on her body and the way his mouth made every bad thing in her life disappear, if only for a moment. And she wouldn’t begin to know how to explain being terrified to face a morning when he wasn’t standing shirtless in her kitchen scorching his millionth attempt at an egg white omelet.
What had honesty ever done for her? She’d been honest when it mattered most, when she’d been manipulated and abused by two of the people who should’ve been working hardest to protect her. And she’d been crucified for it in front of the world. Could she really continue to hold the fact that he’d held his most vulnerable secret close for the first week he’d known her against him?
