Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Elliot

A year earlier…

Clara: wyd

Me: On the treadmill, call in a bit.

Clara: Boo, so I guess going to the new ice cream place probably won't happen?

Me: Um, yes. That's why I work out.

Clara: I love you. LOL Any hot eye candy today?

Me: Oh yes, in the form of a hot Mexican goalie in only skintight shorts as he bounces two balls off a wall.

Alejandro Cruz is lethally ripped. Thick, corded muscles down his thighs, his waist so trim and strong. Abs on top of abs, and then some more. Along with that deep V that God created on guys to trick girls into thinking a guy is decent. Each toss of the ball has his back flexing as he catches and does it again, over and over. He's been at it for over thirty minutes, and in that time, I've tripped twice on the treadmill because I'm so engrossed in everything he does.

He's covered in sweat, and I want to lick him clean.

Ew. What's wrong with me?

Clara: Mmm, mucho caliente?

Me: Sí, muy caliente!

Clara: I may need to come work out with you.

Me: Nope, he's all for my viewing pleasure.

Clara: Selfish slutbag.

Me: Takes one to know one!

Clara: LOL

Clara: I love you.

Me: Love you more.

Clara sends me the kissy-face emoji, and I place my phone on the treadmill ledge before I kick up the speed. Even at my fast pace, I have no issues controlling my breathing. My wandering eyes? That's a whole other story. They run along the length of Alejandro Cruz's side profile, to his sweaty neck and shoulders. To his waist, that plump ass of his, and then those thick thighs that are all flexing and lickable.

What is my deal with licking him?

I need to run faster.

I punch up the speed again, but it doesn't distract me. I keep ogling him, and I feel like a bit of a perv. He's just working out—in only tight black shorts that leave nothing to the imagination—but this is the players' gym. Being an employee and the owner's granddaughter, I am allowed to come in here and work out, but it isn't like he threw on pants when I entered. He saw me too, gave me that sexy little tip of his chin in hello as I waved while I got on the treadmill. He knows who I am, and I don't get the vibe he's interested in me.

Though, goalies aren't like other guys, giving off the liking vibe, if that makes sense. They're weird. Always taking in the room, tracking everything and everyone around them. They are always stone-faced, and you never really know what they're thinking. When Alejandro is in the zone, or doing anything for this sport, he is focused, and nothing can get in the way of that. But off the ice, he is full of life, always laughing and grinning. But he's never given me a second glance. I don't know if it's because he feels I'm off-limits or if he sees me as part of the job, but I don't think he's interested. There are enough guys out there who are, so really, I have absolutely no reason to be ogling him.

Except that I can't force myself to stop.

He is delicioso .

I watch as he throws the balls against the wall in different ways—hard, fast, slow, and soft—and he doesn't miss them coming back. He's agile, fast, and super talented. After he throws the balls into his bag, I force myself to look at the TV when he sits on the bench positioned beside him to take a long pull of his water bottle. Sweat drips down my temples as I urge myself not to chance a glance. It's bad enough I'm watching him and drooling when he doesn't see it; I don't need to add embarrassment to my pervy ways.

It isn't until I start to reduce the speed of the treadmill for my cooldown that I look up to find him leaning on the top of my treadmill. I almost trip, but I steady myself by gripping the bar, my gaze slamming into his. His curls are dripping sweat, and his eyes are trained on me. I've always enjoyed how stunning his eyes are. Such a perfect caramel that complements his golden skin. His dark lashes fan out and make him even more stunning.

I pull out my headphones and wait, but he says nothing. His eyes only travel along my face and down to my chest. Not that he can see anything; I'm wearing a huge sweatshirt. When his eyes meet mine, he still doesn't speak, so I blink once, then twice, and by the third time, I'm annoyed. "Can I help you?"

The only sign he hears me is the slow tip of his lips. "Since you were watching me while I was working out, I figured I'd do the same from a closer vantage point."

I choke on my spit. Sputtering, I wheeze, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't deny it," he chuckles, and I want to kick him. "You licked your lips twelve times, tripped four times, and fucked me with your eyes about seven hundred times."

My jaw drops. "Excuse me!"

He just beams, obviously pleased with himself. "It's cool. I enjoyed every single second." I'm speechless as he goes on. "But if you don't stop watching me like that, those balls won't be the only thing bouncing off the walls."

Undeniable heat swirls in his eyes, and I feel his words all over my body. "No?" I somehow get out.

"Nope. It'll be your ass as I'm pounding into you."

I blink, but I don't hold back the wide grin that spreads over my lips. "Is that right?"

"Yup," he says. "Though, I have to admit that I hope you continue to watch me because I'd love to see what's under that shirt."

I scoff, holding his gaze. "It'll take more than just the promise of bouncing my ass off that wall to see what I have under here."

His grin widens, his eyes bright and playful. Wow. He really is gorgeous. "Take more? Like what?"

"Sorry, that's for you to find out. But maybe start with dinner. I love food."

He nods. "Okay. Then, come on."

I bring in my brows. "Huh?"

"You're done?"

"I am," I say with a nod, holding his gaze.

"Then, come on. Let's go get dinner."

I laugh. "So I'll sleep with you?"

He gives me a look. "Who said anything about sleeping together? You said I gotta work for it, so I'm working for it." He looks over his shoulder at me as he heads to his bag. "You're a dirty girl, aren't you?"

"That's another thing for you to find out," I call back to him. "After you wine and dine me."

His eyes are full of all kinds of dirty things. "If I were a man of pickup lines, I'd add to your little quip, and sixty-nine you ."

My breath catches at the thought of him between my legs and his cock down my throat. In a raspy voice, I ask, "But you're not?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. I'm a man of action."

I end up canceling on Clara that night and being every bit of the slutbag she called me.