Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie

Eleven

Chase

“Sleep tight, beautiful.” That’s the smooth move I pulled last night outside Sydney’s door. Maybe I could have pushed to be invited in, but I think she was reeling from the whole sex club thing and BB&E executives being there. And, to be fair, she shocked the hell out of me by following me. That’s a blaring red flag if I ever saw one. I made sure she got home safely, but I think we both needed some cooling off time.

That kiss, though. I can’t shake it. The way she moved that tight little body right up against me. How she zeroed in for the kiss. I forgot where we were. Hell, I forgot everything. Lost in her.

Our chemistry is smoking. But she’s still an enigma. Definitely one to take with caution. On the outside, Sydney’s sexy as fuck, but she’s also rocks a steep wall. The all-work-no-play vibe has never been my thing, but maybe she’s one of those who you have to put in the time, dig a little to figure out what’s underneath. After all, someone centered solely on work wouldn’t follow me to Jersey to see what I’m doing. She can’t be all work.

The sun is shining, and Post Malone blares through my earbuds. A few sailboats are off in the distance, circling the Statue of Liberty, and the subtle blow of a ferry horn skims the beat of my music. The wind blows in gusts, creating minuscule whitecaps on the river. Overhead, the sky is blue, marred only by a few clouds and the random passenger jet flying in the distance.

It’s a gorgeous day, and my fellow Manhattanites are out in droves. Running along the Hudson River Greenway might be my favorite New York activity. The running paths go right along the river, so you can choose to watch the boats, check out apartments in the skyrises that line the edge of the city, or people watch. On a normal day, I like to watch joggers in tight Lycra with bouncing breasts. Today, though, my brain’s on a nonstop sexy Sydney loop.

A motorboat follows a big tanker and jumps the wake. I watch the small boat chasing the big one. The tanker can’t stop on a dime and bears a strong undertow. The move strikes me as unwise. Much like dating a woman who followed me before we’d ever gone out on a date could also be unwise. Maybe I’ll give Anna a call later and get her take.

I run harder, pounding the pavement, pushing until my lungs burn. Before I know it, I’m dripping sweat and I’ve arrived at my gym.

“Hola.” Frankie’s sitting behind the counter, but in an instant, he’s grabbing a towel and tossing it to me.

“Maitlin. How you doin’?”

“Good. Gorgeous fucking day.”

“I know it, man. I’m taking my lunch break outside. They’re saying next week temps are gonna drop. Fall, man, it’s coming.” His eyebrows rise as he talks. He’s got the shaved bald look going on, so his bushy eyebrows stand out.

“Seasons gonna keep changing. See ya, man.” I shoot him with my finger and head down to the weight room. The crisp sound of iron on iron clangs down the hall. It’s one of the best sounds.

I grab a mat to stretch before hitting my circuit and almost fall on my ass.

“Sydney?”

She’s stretching her quads and twisting her torso, but I’d recognize that blunt, dark ponytail anywhere. She’s got a light layer of perspiration along her chest, but she’s not drenched like I am with telltale black sweat marks under her pits or stomach. Shit, I probably reek.

“Chase. I should’ve known I’d run into you here. Do you ever take a day off?”

“The gym? No. Use it or lose it.”

She alternates legs. “But you’re not supposed to lift every single day. That can’t be good for you.”

“Different muscle groups.”

“Ah, you’re one of those.” The corners of those pale pink lips turn up. She’s teasing me. Two can play.

“One of those? What? Men with a six-pack?”

She looks up to the ceiling while pulling her foot up to her firm buttocks for a deeper quad stretch. Sydney might like to tease about my gym time, but she’s lean and strong. She works it, too.

At least she’s acting normal. After last night, seeing my other club, it wouldn’t’ve shocked me if she’d been in avoidance mode.

“Maitlin. What’s up, man?” Tim Rothman calls across the gym, fist in the air. I wave back and scan the weight area to see who else I know. I’ve got a wide range of friends and business associates, and some walk on the skankier side of life. Hence the reason I joined that voyeur club in the first place. It’s like a strip club on steroids. One of the best networking investments I’ve made, actually. But I’d like to try to get Sydney to go out with me, and if she thinks all I hang with are guys like Rothman, who go to clubs like that, well, any chance I have might combust.

And yep, now I’m waving to Johnny P, Matty, and a business partner from my uptown venture. It’s Sunday. The gym’s packed.

“You finished working out?” I ask, positioning myself so anyone here can see I’m busy.

“Yeah. I did the nine a.m. boot camp. Came in to round it out and stretch. What class did you do?”

“I went for a run. Came in to stretch. Can I talk you into an early lunch? Brunch? A walk?”

“You’d skip weights?”

“Nah. I’ll come back this afternoon. It’s Sunday. I got all day.”

She stands and leans down and touches her toes. Her legs remain straight, zero bend in the knee. Baby’s got flex. Then she rises, stretching her palms to the ceiling, exposing a slim middle and smooth, soft skin above the line of black Lycra leggings. I take it all in.

She shifts her head and catches me gawking. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m not up for a greasy meal. I ate out too much last week.”

“I hear ya. Last night’s food alone was probably at least four or five thousand calories.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why we work out, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why,” she says with a daydreamy expression.

On our way out of the gym, Frankie calls, “Maitlin? You leaving already?” He’s all drama, looking at his wrist like he’s telling time.

“I’ll be back. Breaking for lunch.”

He nods, a shit-eating grin as he eyes the hot chick walking out the door with me. I slow my pace so I can step behind her and block his view of Sydney’s ass. Yeah, I know what he’s looking at.

We’re barely past the Chelsea Piers building when Sydney’s phone rings. She answers and listens while we make our way along a pedestrian packed sidewalk to the jogging path.

She doesn’t say much on her end. Listens a lot and makes affirmative noises. Not many of the women I know act like that on a phone, so I can’t help but wonder who she’s talking to.

“Two p.m.?” She flicks her wrist, checks the time. “See you then.”

I match her pace on the sidewalk and wait for an explanation.

“I need to run. I have to meet a friend later.”

A friend, huh? “Gotcha.”

We stop next to a bench on the sidewalk. She’s not acting clingy. And I dig her. Take the shot.

“You know, I meant what I said about wanting to take you out on a date. This coming weekend, though, is the wedding. I know the girls and Maggie would love for you to come. Any interest in joining? You could get to know the crew better. You know, my normal friends.” I lift my shoulders, unsure. She might shoot me down. I hate this part of asking chicks out.

“Normal? You mean not like the gym rats? Or not like the guys from the voyeur club?”

They’re actually largely one and the same, but no reason to get into the nitty-gritty. “Yeah.”

“I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow at work.”

“One night this week?” I doubt she’ll actually go on a weekend away with me. I should probably drop pursuing her. We work together. She followed me. There are solid reasons to drop it. But here I am, chasing her anyway.

Her pink lips, glossy in the sun, lift into a small smile. She pushes a flyaway strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’ll think about it.”

Her teasing smile has me mentally fist bumping the air, and she didn’t even say yes.