Mia
What the hell is he up to?
I glance over at Garrett on our walk, in his tight black T-shirt and gray athletic shorts that give me a view of his muscled thighs and his tight ass. And it’s almost enough to distract me from whatever the hell he’s doing here.
At first, I assumed he’s just at the lake to see my dad, but then he suddenly volunteered to take a walk with me…which was strange. So my guard is definitely up.
Not to mention how his arrival hinders my plans to work while I’m here. If he’s staying in the basement, there goes my time on the blue couch with my regulars.
“So…” he says, walking a little faster than me, so I keep having to pick up speed to catch up to him. I normally bring my phone on these walks, chatting with my viewers while I work up a sweat. But now my phone sits silently in my pocket.
“So…” I echo. “You were able to get away from your precious nightclub, I see.”
“Yeah…I mentioned it to Emerson. He seemed to think I needed it.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Need it?”
His eyes scan my face as he swallows. “Yeah. I think I needed a break. I need to be around my family.”
“All of a sudden?”
“What?” he asks, turning toward me with his eyebrows pinched together.
“You live twenty minutes away from us. It just seems a little random that you all of a sudden want to spend time with your family.”
“You know I’m busy running a company. I don’t have the luxury to see my parents all the time like you do. I don’t still live with them,” he snaps back, and my jaw hangs open from that insult.
I freeze and throw my hands up. A few steps past me, he stops and turns toward me.
“Is this why you came on the walk with me? To be an asshole and tease me about living in my dad’s basement?” I ask.
“You—” he starts, but stops himself. Taking a deep breath, he composes himself before continuing, “I didn’t mean to insult you, Mia. I just…I used to love coming to the lake, and the way Mom spoke on the phone yesterday, she seemed to think Paul would appreciate me coming this year too.”
My stomach drops. “Why would she say it like that? He’s fine.”
“I’m sure he is,” he replies with a sympathetic expression. “I just think she was saying anything she could to get me to come.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other, and I wish that Garrett could just be real with me. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about this who didn’t constantly dismiss me or mock me. But that’s not who we are to each other.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing for me to keep walking with him. When I finally fall into step next to him, we’re quiet again. I still can’t shake the feeling that Garrett knows something he’s not telling me. But I don’t push it.
After a while, he asks, “So, what the hell do you do up here all week?”
“Relax,” I reply, “you should try it sometime.”
“I know how to relax.”
“Oh yeah? So tell me…how do you relax?”
He contemplates for a moment, that strong brow of his arched in thought. “I run.”
“Running is not relaxing.”
“It is to me.”
“And that’s what makes you a sadist,” I tease him. “That’s like saying sex is relaxing.”
He reacts with surprise. “Sex is relaxing.”
“If you think sex is relaxing, then you’re doing it wrong.” I laugh.
“Oh yeah. You’re a sex expert now?” he asks, and I notice the way his brow creases as he glances at me, something unsettled and almost angry on his face.
“I’m not a sex expert at all, but I just think sex is supposed to be fun, not relaxing.”
Suddenly he stops and turns toward me, taking a step in my direction, closing the distance between us. I almost forget to breathe as he starts to speak.
“You know why I consider running relaxing? It’s because of how I feel when I’m done. The same goes for sex. You can’t call it relaxing because you’ve never been fully satisfied in bed. Letting go of every thought in your head and only focusing on the sensations in your body and not what you’re thinking. Working up a sweat and being so in tune with someone that you can experience their pleasure as if it’s your own. And then coming hard enough to see stars, now that’s what I call relaxing. If you find someone who can do that, then you’ll know what I mean.”
“Oh, someone like you?” The words slip out of my mouth and hover in the few inches of space between us as I stare up at him. It’s certainly the closest we’ve ever stood to each other, and suddenly we’re talking about sex. What is happening?
My heart is pounding, my temperature spiking as I stare into his eyes, feeling the weight of this conversation. And now…imagining that kind of sex with him.
“Very funny,” he mumbles as he turns away.
“All the girls at the dance club you own must be very lucky,” I tease him. Garrett’s been working in nightclubs for as long as I can remember, and I can only imagine how much pussy he must be raking in daily.
“I don’t sleep with the girls at my clubs,” he replies as we continue our walk.
I laugh, glancing over at him. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. It might shock you, but I’m a professional. And I enjoy my job. I don’t do it to pick up chicks.”
I don’t reply, but I stare at him skeptically for a moment. I have to admit that Garrett does strike me as different compared to most men, but if I know anything about men, and I’ve met enough through the app to have a pretty good idea, it’s that they only want one thing. And they are willing to do just about anything to get it.
That’s why I’m happy with my job. I only give what I’m willing to give. No one can touch me or use me. And at the end of the day, I get a paycheck. I don’t have to worry about slime balls who want too much.
It’s the one place where I hold the power.
Our walk grows quiet for a while as we try to beat the sunset back to the house. Finally, he breaks the silence as he mutters quietly, “Masochist.”
“What?” I ask.
“Earlier you called me a sadist for loving to run, but the correct word is masochist—someone who enjoys inflicting pain on themselves.”
“Oh.”
There’s a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as we continue walking, like I’ve brought up a topic he’s interested in talking about. “So, what’s a sadist?”
“A sadist is someone who likes to inflict pain on someone else.”
“Hmm,” I reply, before quickly adding, “like inviting yourself on my walk just to watch me suffer.”
This time his smile is full, and I don’t miss the way it creates wrinkles around his eyes. Then, he turns that warm, sexy grin on me as he replies, “Exactly.”
