Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My only reprieve from all things Peter were the hours I worked, and when I went home to sleep. Unless my traitorous sleep ignored my request, and made me think about Peter.
I didn’t like any of this.
I totally got that Peter was an attractive man, but I’d never been put in a position like this. I’d never been close to any man. Not even the men my father brought around. Sometimes he got my mother to entertain them. There were times I truly felt my father loved the power he held over my mother. The fact he could get her to do anything he wanted with a simple click of his fingers. It was a power play to him, one he thoroughly enjoyed, and annoyed me.
Ignoring the thoughts of my parents, I stretched my arms out in front of me, drawing my ass back and then flopped down on the mat, all too aware of Peter’s hands at the base of my back.
“That’s it,” he said. “Slowly, remove the tension.”
There was no way I was removing any kind of tension. My whole entire body was tense, my core was tense.
His fingers massaged areas I wasn’t used to being touched, and as he pushed up the shirt I wore, I remembered the scars on my back. Quickly, I moved, pulled away from him, and spun around on the carpet.
“I’ve got to get to work,” I said.
We’d already done a lot of stretches, and time in the pool. This was our cooldown session where I only had a shirt and the bathing suit to provide protection for myself. Not that I thought I was in any kind of danger from Peter.
All my life I’d been told I wasn’t the kind of woman men wanted. There was no desire, no passion, no yearning, nothing. I was perfectly okay with that. I didn’t know how long I would be in Pickle Quest. It wasn’t that I had a solid plan. Far from it. The only plan I had was to keep moving. Not to get too comfortable in one place and not to build bridges, or even chance a relationship.
My father could use it against whoever decided to be in a relationship with me, and I would not let that happen. This was my problem, and I was going to deal with it in my way.
“I told you, you’ve got to cooldown. It’s good for the muscles.”
He went to reach for me, but I held my hand up. “Which I totally get, but I feel fine. No stiff muscles, no other worries or concerns.” I started to chuckle, trying to distract him. This helped me scramble to my feet. “Thank you,” I said.
I hesitated before heading toward the changing rooms, but I didn’t even get a step before Peter grabbed my hand and pulled me close.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Nothing. There is no problem.” We were very close, and for some odd reason, I didn’t know if I liked it. I was trying not to freak out.
“Haven’t I shown that you can trust me?” he asked.
I’d not really been assessing him on trust. Did I believe he was who he said he was? Part of me did. The one side of my brain that had to wonder why a hot guy would work at a gym in a small town. I’d made up all kinds of stories during my lunch break and slow periods at the diner, to help stave off boredom. None of them made any sense. I’d thought he could be an assassin, part of the Italian Mafia, part of the British Mafia—I didn’t even know if there was a British Mafia—or a gang, maybe. Again, I wasn’t exactly up to date on the kind of rival gangs my father had enemies in. He might not even be the enemy to my father. For all I know, this was his right-hand man.
Then, I’d decided he was a runaway like me. Or, he was just plain and simply a guy trying to find his place in the world. I was both—a runaway who was trying to find her place in the world without causing anyone to get hurt.
“Ugh, I really … I don’t even know why I have to trust you, but work is calling.” Also, I had a strange sensation as he held onto my hand. I … kind of liked it. I think. Again, I’m not sure. I’m not used to men touching me, unless it’s my dad giving me a beating or a punishment for whatever bad stuff I’d been accused of, mainly by my mother. There went the sucky memories again.
It wasn’t so bad, not all the time.
Not that I can remember a good time with my dad. He’d never been the kind of father I could get a hug from. He never kissed my boo-boo or told me everything was going to be okay. Never. Neither had my mother. Whenever I did get a cut or graze, I had to take care of it myself.