who picks up our garbage, as long as he’s nice to you.” Nathan stopped in front of her and looked her straight in the eye. “Is he nice to you?”
His question shocked her. “Yes. He is.”
“Then go for it. But it’s pretty darn cool that you’re dating Mick Riley. Don’t expect me to keep a lid on that one.” Nathan kissed her cheek and walked out of the room, milk and a handful of cookies in hand.
She was too choked up and teary eyed to jump on him about eating junk food before dinner.
MICK WAS PHYSICALLY DRAINED, DRIPPING SWEAT, AND cussing his trainer, which made Ben laugh at him and call it a good workout.
Mick wiped the sweat from his eyes and drained his bottle of water. “You’re a son of a bitch,” he said, panting.
Ben sat next to him on the weight bench. “You pay me to be a son of a bitch. If you hate me at the end of a workout, then I’ve done my job.”
“Uh-huh. I’m dying here.”
Ben slapped him on the back, his bald head gleaming in the overhead lights. “Quit whining like a pussy and get on the treadmill for twenty to cool down. Then you can hit the shower.”
“You enjoy this.” Mick dragged his sore body to a standing position.
“It caters to my sadistic tendencies. And I get paid for it. What’s not to love about it?”
Mick shook his head and dragged himself over to the treadmill, hit twenty minutes and a reasonable yet not pathetically slow walk, and started up. By then Ben was off to torture some other poor bastard. Mick focused on the television and hoped this twenty minutes would go by fast.
“Man, you must be getting old. Ben’s workouts are damn near killing you.”
Mick grinned as Randy Lasalle, his best wide receiver, hopped onto the treadmill and started up a brisk pace. Randy was twenty-two and in the second year of his contract. Mick was glad to have him. The kid had come from a state school in Louisiana, drafted high because he had the best damn hands and the quickest stride Mick had ever seen.
“You here to work out with Ben?”
“Yeah. Gotta stay in shape for the ladies, don’tcha know.”
Mick snorted. “What you mean is you’ve gotta keep those fine legs in shape for me.”
Randy laughed. “Just don’t tell the ladies, okay?”
Ben came by, leaned over Randy’s treadmill, and punched in some numbers. “Not quite fast enough, pretty boy. You want to keep making the big money on fast legs, then less talking, more running.”
After Ben walked away, Randy said, “It’s like being back in school again. I’m too old for this shit.”
“I don’t hear you sweating enough, Randy,” Ben said from across the room.
Randy rolled his eyes, and Mick laughed.
Mick showered, dressed, and headed toward the front of the gym, when he saw a gorgeous redhead wearing a power suit that was almost but not quite too short to be considered appropriate. Her hair was stylishly swept up, her eyes a witchy green, her heels sinfully high. She looked like sex incarnate—and smiled like she knew exactly how she looked as she leaned against the front counter while she talked on the phone, one hip cocked to the side, seemingly oblivious to the drooling masses of sweaty gym guys who were oh so obviously repeatedly walking by to catch a glimpse of her.
But Mick knew she was anything but oblivious.
Mick’s agent, Elizabeth Darnell, was nothing if not a traffic stopper. She let her shocking good looks get her in the door and reel you in. And then she went in for the kill while your tongue was dragging the floor.
She finished her phone conversation when she saw him heading in her direction, and turned her dazzling smile on him.
“Mick, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Liz, I doubt there’s very little you don’t know.”
She slid her arm in his. “True. Take me to lunch, and let’s chat.”
“Sure.”
They hit a restaurant a few blocks away. Mick was starving after his flogging from Ben, so he loaded up on protein and carbs, while Liz
His question shocked her. “Yes. He is.”
“Then go for it. But it’s pretty darn cool that you’re dating Mick Riley. Don’t expect me to keep a lid on that one.” Nathan kissed her cheek and walked out of the room, milk and a handful of cookies in hand.
She was too choked up and teary eyed to jump on him about eating junk food before dinner.
MICK WAS PHYSICALLY DRAINED, DRIPPING SWEAT, AND cussing his trainer, which made Ben laugh at him and call it a good workout.
Mick wiped the sweat from his eyes and drained his bottle of water. “You’re a son of a bitch,” he said, panting.
Ben sat next to him on the weight bench. “You pay me to be a son of a bitch. If you hate me at the end of a workout, then I’ve done my job.”
“Uh-huh. I’m dying here.”
Ben slapped him on the back, his bald head gleaming in the overhead lights. “Quit whining like a pussy and get on the treadmill for twenty to cool down. Then you can hit the shower.”
“You enjoy this.” Mick dragged his sore body to a standing position.
“It caters to my sadistic tendencies. And I get paid for it. What’s not to love about it?”
Mick shook his head and dragged himself over to the treadmill, hit twenty minutes and a reasonable yet not pathetically slow walk, and started up. By then Ben was off to torture some other poor bastard. Mick focused on the television and hoped this twenty minutes would go by fast.
“Man, you must be getting old. Ben’s workouts are damn near killing you.”
Mick grinned as Randy Lasalle, his best wide receiver, hopped onto the treadmill and started up a brisk pace. Randy was twenty-two and in the second year of his contract. Mick was glad to have him. The kid had come from a state school in Louisiana, drafted high because he had the best damn hands and the quickest stride Mick had ever seen.
“You here to work out with Ben?”
“Yeah. Gotta stay in shape for the ladies, don’tcha know.”
Mick snorted. “What you mean is you’ve gotta keep those fine legs in shape for me.”
Randy laughed. “Just don’t tell the ladies, okay?”
Ben came by, leaned over Randy’s treadmill, and punched in some numbers. “Not quite fast enough, pretty boy. You want to keep making the big money on fast legs, then less talking, more running.”
After Ben walked away, Randy said, “It’s like being back in school again. I’m too old for this shit.”
“I don’t hear you sweating enough, Randy,” Ben said from across the room.
Randy rolled his eyes, and Mick laughed.
Mick showered, dressed, and headed toward the front of the gym, when he saw a gorgeous redhead wearing a power suit that was almost but not quite too short to be considered appropriate. Her hair was stylishly swept up, her eyes a witchy green, her heels sinfully high. She looked like sex incarnate—and smiled like she knew exactly how she looked as she leaned against the front counter while she talked on the phone, one hip cocked to the side, seemingly oblivious to the drooling masses of sweaty gym guys who were oh so obviously repeatedly walking by to catch a glimpse of her.
But Mick knew she was anything but oblivious.
Mick’s agent, Elizabeth Darnell, was nothing if not a traffic stopper. She let her shocking good looks get her in the door and reel you in. And then she went in for the kill while your tongue was dragging the floor.
She finished her phone conversation when she saw him heading in her direction, and turned her dazzling smile on him.
“Mick, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Liz, I doubt there’s very little you don’t know.”
She slid her arm in his. “True. Take me to lunch, and let’s chat.”
“Sure.”
They hit a restaurant a few blocks away. Mick was starving after his flogging from Ben, so he loaded up on protein and carbs, while Liz
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