Page 17 of Rush

The market is bustling. People browsing and making purchases.

There are couples, moms and dads with kids, and solo people like me all milling around.

In a way, being here, surrounded by these strangers all going about their day, makes me feel less lonely.

I inhale through my nose, my eyes briefly closing as I absorb the smells and sounds around me, and—ouch!

My shoulder just connected with a wall.

My eyes flash open, and it’s not a wall. It’s a body. A very hard male body.

I step back, a, Sorry, on the tip of my tongue, but the word dies in my mouth as my eyes connect with flaming blue eyes glowering down at me.

Ares.

Jesus Christ.

Seriously, you couldn’t write this shit.

The one person guaranteed to kill my mood, and I somehow manage to bump into him in this city of eight and a half million people.

Just my luck. Maybe this is Karma’s way of finally getting me back.

And I would be wearing my yoga pants and oversize off-the-shoulder Namast’ay In Bed & Watch Netflix sweatshirt over my sports bra. No makeup and my hair tied back into a ponytail.

Why is it that you’re always looking your worst when you bump into the one person you really don’t want to see?

He’s wearing a NY Giants ball cap, khaki cargo shorts, and a white linen shirt. The top few buttons are undone, the sleeves rolled up, dark hairs and veins covering his forearms.

God, he’s attractive. I hate that he’s so gorgeous to look at.

An asshole like him doesn’t deserve to be this handsome.

It makes me want to dislike him even more.

Mr. Perfect.

I haven’t spoken to him since our little chat in the viewing room.

And, apparently, we’re not speaking now.

He’s currently scowling at me like I’m the spawn of the devil. And I’m staring back with a mixture of hurt and anger in my chest.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in that hard tone he always uses when he’s forced to speak to me.

What?

“Um, the same thing you’re doing here…shopping.”

His eyes go down to my empty hands. “You haven’t bought anything.” His tone is accusing, and my back is instantly up.

“Because I literally just got here!” I’m exasperated. God, this guy is a dick.

He stares down at me, those intense eyes narrowing. “Are you following me, Jailbird?”

“What?” I sputter, my eyes going wide. “Why in the hell would I be following you?” Honestly, I’ve been doing my best to avoid him. “God, you’re a jerk,” I hiss. “For your information, I just finished my yoga class, which is the next block over, if you’d like to check, and I came here straight from there to pick up some cheese.” Why am I telling him this? I don’t have to explain myself to this goober.

He smirks. “Oh, yeah. I forgot that you liked to do yoga.” The tone in his voice hints at amusement and actually stuns me into silence.