Sweet as Candy - Karla Doyle Page 0,3
the pressure on. She didn’t buckle, even when her boss told her to do me or lose her job. Your girl quit on the spot. Walked out and didn’t look back. Sucks that she kept her job a secret from you, but the part about strictly manning the front desk—not the men—seems to be one hundred percent true. Better yet, now she doesn’t work there at all.”
Silence. No hint of emotion whatsoever on Curtis’s face as they loaded plates onto either ends of a barbell.
“That was the good news, by the way,” Jake said.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I should really be the one to thank you.”
Curtis trained his narrowed gaze on Jake’s face. “For?”
“Sending me to Lucky’s. Decided to sample the services while I was there. One-on-one in a private room was a hell of a lot more satisfying than watching strippers from pervert’s row.”
“Jesus, Campbell. You need an intervention. An STD screening probably wouldn’t hurt either.”
“I’m just fucking with you, man. I never made it past the front desk,” he said, grinning at Curtis via the mirror while getting in position for his first set. “Good to know you can still string more than two words together though.” He chuckled at his buddy’s irritated grunt. “So, what’s with the complete lack of enthusiasm to the Sara news?”
“It’s not news. She told me last night.”
Jake ripped off his twelve reps, then moved aside for his partner’s turn at the power rack. “Did you tell her that the asshole harassing her was actually your buddy, or are you going to let that information unfold on its own, when I meet her at your engagement party?”
The good-natured irritation he expected in response didn’t materialize. Curtis ignored the question altogether. He just did his set and stepped out from beneath the bar for Jake to take a turn. Whatever the issue was, Curtis clearly wasn’t interested in sharing.
So be it. Jake picked up a forty-five-pound plate and motioned for Curtis to do the same. “Load it up. Nothing better for a shitty mood than setting fire to your muscles.”
“Let’s do it.”
They spent the rest of the workout pushing their personal limits, beating the hell out of their bodies with only nods and grunts as encouragement and acknowledgement. Getting the job done, beast mode.
“Good workout,” Curtis said later, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt in the locker room. “I needed that.”
“Same. Especially after yesterday.” Jake waited for Curtis to issue the patented Lawler raised eyebrow before continuing. And there it was, right on schedule. “I told you I never made it past the front desk at Lucky’s. That was only because the fire alarm went off. If it hadn’t, one of the ladies there had me seriously considering a massage.”
“You want a massage, book an appointment with one of the gym’s therapists.”
“Yeah, I don’t think they’re going to work out all my kinks.”
“Jesus.” Curtis shrugged his gym bag onto his shoulder. “You really do need an intervention.” He shook his head at Jake’s wink and grin, then headed out of the locker room. “Forget the intervention, what you need is a girlfriend. Somebody who’ll take care of all your damn kinks without cash changing hands.”
“Got someone in mind? Friend of Sara’s, maybe?” Nothing like poking the bear to add some excitement to the day.
“Find a woman on your own, Campbell,” the bear growled, as they exited the gym. “And stay out of the fucking massage parlor. I don’t want to have to arrest your naked ass.”
Jake
Christ on a cracker, look at those curves. Jake slowed his pace after turning down the junk-food aisle. He was in no rush, especially not with the view ahead.
Denim molded to the woman’s wicked ass as she bent to survey a near-empty lower shelf. Her t-shirt rode up enough to show a band of skin above the waist of what had to be some of the lowest-cut jeans in the world. Also visible above the edge of her jeans—the thin, blue string of a thong. Sexy as hell.
The blonde straightened, emptyhanded. Her blue t-shirt fell into place, its loose fit covering her hips and hiding any hint of upper-body shape. A total contradiction to the body-hugging denim. She stretched, reaching for the potato chips on the top shelf. Even on her tiptoes, the shiny red bag eluded her grasp.
He increased his stride, grabbing the opportunity and the chips. “Here, I got it,” he said, placing a bag of Lay’s in her hands. “How many do you want?”
“One’s good, thanks.” She turned, tucking