Page 61 of Work It Out
Her only reply was a middle finger emoji.
If he’d had more time (and any idea what he was looking at), he would’ve cleaned up for her. As it was, he was down to six minutes.
And still, the second the hot water poured over his aching body, the image of Rayah in that tiny pink thong and matching bra he’d found on his pillow that first day filled his mind. The way she’d looked at him that afternoon still heated his blood. No matter how she fought it, the eventual explosion became more inevitable by the day.
So he did what he’d done every day for weeks now. He slid his soapy hand over his ever-shrinking stomach and gripped his throbbing cock, allowing the image of her bending over in those tight leggings, ready to deadlift his bodyweight, to replace the lingerie. In shockingly few strokes, he bit his lip and groaned.
“Chris!” Pierce yelled from the living room.
Fucking Pierce. Now he was even cockblocking Jake’s fantasies.
He sighed and shouted, “Two minutes.”
He rushed through the rest of his shower, brushed his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, and was dressed in a T-shirt, flannel, and jeans by three minutes after six. When he hustled out of his room, Pierce looked him over and snickered. “You’ve gone native, Hollywood. When was the last time you wore flannel?”
Admittedly, it’d been a while. He wanted to blend in, and in this town, at this time of year, that meant jeans and flannel. Lots and lots of flannel. The shirt was at least two sizes too big, but he wasn’t ready to show off his budding muscles yet. Pierce had gone the other way with his sartorial philosophy. His Henley was two sizes too small.
Jake grabbed his phone, key, and apple off the kitchen island, then locked the door behind them. With the exception of his detour to Sedona, in the eight weeks he’d been in Arizona, he’d only left Explosion’s property a handful of times, and then only to keep Granny from storming the cabin. This time, cruising down the highway in Pierce’s Jeep, radio screaming and Pierce doing his best to murder one of Jake’s favorite songs, he had a better handle on who he was, and he liked this guy. Being back in Bigbone had done him good.
Meeting Rayah had done him good.
Jake watched the businesses of Main Street creep by the window. Things had changed a bit in the years he’d been gone but not much. A new florist shop and a bakery had taken the old dry cleaner’s building. A fresh coat of paint brightened the general store, but Frankie’s diner hadn’t changed at all. He could practically smell her lemon meringue pie through the glass.
At the far end of town, Pierce pulled into the lot of the New Life Baptist Church, the only building in Bigbone large enough to hold town meetings. Even then it was tight. The pastor rarely hid his dislike for having his sanctuary overrun for what he called “pointless politicizing.” Tonight was no different. Glen stood on the front steps, arms crossed over his massive chest as he scowled at everyone who entered.
Honestly, that’s how he greeted his congregation on Sunday mornings. And the patrons of his bar, The Thirsty Cactus. Or people on the street. He was equal opportunity like that.
“Full house?” Pierce asked as they climbed the steps.
Glen grunted.
“All righty. Good talk,” Pierce mumbled and proceeded through the open doors.
The air inside buzzed with a swirl of anticipation and dread. Given the structure of the Hunt and the legend, only the eighteen-and-over crowd participated in the lottery. Minors could certainly take part in the Hunt, but only with an adult willing to watch over them, and minors couldn’t claim the prize.
This distinction meant lotto night attendees were always a fun mix. The girls in their late teens to mid-twenties gathered on one side, giggling and scanning the room as they waited to see if they’d be paired with their crush du jour. The married folks sat in the pews, exchanging war stories of past Hunts. A few people like Woody from the hardware store sat by themselves, praying the whole show would be over quickly. They only attended in the first place to keep from hurting Zandar’s feelings.
Then there were the outliers. This small contingent consisted mostly of men in their early twenties to mid-thirties. These poor souls hid in the shadows, looking for all the world as if the lottery were modeled after the Reaping inThe Hunger Games, and not a damn one of them intended to volunteer as Tribute.
He’d never really understood the last group. Why did some people think of falling in love as a bad thing? Sure, sometimes you got hurt, but if his time at Explosion had taught him anything, it was that the best things in life require a bit of pain. As much as Yvonne had hurt him, he wouldn’t take back the time he’d spent loving her. He wished he hadn’t checked out on the other people he cared about, but that heartbreak had played a part in the man he was now. She was part of his journey. Would he have even had the guts to go for the Phantom Strike role if she hadn’t laughed in his face and told him he couldn’t do it? Would he have met Rayah if the journey hadn’t been so complicated? If he weren’t sick?
Most people avoided the subject of his chronic illness altogether, but Rayah never shied away from talking about the ways in which he needed to adapt his life because of it. Like it was just another piece of who he was, on the same level as having brown hair or being funny. He could waste time fighting it, or he could work with what he had.
Yeah, meeting Rayah had been really, really good for him. Even if that part of him kept her from wanting him.
He was on a roll with the introspective stuff tonight.
His nostrils flared and his stomach growled, pulling him away from deep thoughts and toward the source of the mouthwatering scent of charbroiled meat like a compass sought the North Pole. Inside the sanctuary people milled around the edges of the pews chatting. Along one wall tables covered in a cornucopia of potluck wonders awaited.
Pierce grabbed his arm. “No way. After that stunt with the scone, Rayah will catch you, and then we’re both in the doghouse.”
He glared at Pierce. “When’d you become such a chickenshit?”
“Dude, have you seen that girl squat? She could crack my head like a walnut with those quads.”
“But…cheeseburgers.” That was the closest thing to a plaintive wail he’d issued off-screen since he was six.
Pierce patted Jake’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s find Rayah and Vicky. They’re saving us seats.”
