Page 106 of The Fake Out

Piper gave me a hesitant smile. “He’s out in the barn.”

“I’m gonna go pay him a little visit.”

“Should I be worried? You look a little steamed up.”

“A little steamed up,” I muttered under my breath as I stomped out the front door, around the side of the house, and across the yard to the old red barn. “You have no idea.”

I whipped open the door to the barn and marched in, letting it slam behind me. The inside of the barn was nothing like I’d expected, and it momentarily threw me off my mission.

From the outside, the barn looked old and faded. But on the inside, it had been completely renovated into what was probably a first-class gym. There was an elliptical, a treadmill, a rowing machine, that sort of thing. But also weight machines, the large ones with lots of moving parts that looked like someone could get tangled up in them easily.

Okay, I would probably get tangled up in them easily.

A clink of metal on metal snapped me back to attention. “Chris Sterns, where are you?”

“Mae? What are you doing here?” His voice came from somewhere in the back behind some fancy arm thingy.

I tramped toward him. “What do you think I’m doing here? I was minding my own business at work today when Peter shows up, and do you know what he had to tell me? Do you?”

At this point, I’d arrived almost in the back corner of the room and that’s where I saw him sitting on a weight bench. Shirtless.

Get your act together, Mae. Who cares if he doesn’t have a shirt on? Not you. You are here because you want to yell at him. Remember that.

I snapped my spine into place and marched over to him. By the time I reached him, he’d stood and was using a towel to dry the sweat off his face. And neck. And chest.

I kept my eyes very purposely on his. “Do you know what Peter just told me?”

He winced. “I’m guessing it was something—”

“He told me,” I snapped, cutting him off, “you donated a whole lot of money to the library. After I very clearly told you not to.”

The towel paused. Right on top of his six-pack. I wasn’t going to look, I swear. But apparently my eyes had a different idea. It was all right there, out in the open. How was I not supposed to look at it? All golden skin and defined muscles. And a little scar below his left shoulder which I now itched to touch and ask about. When my eyes finally made it back up to his face, and I’m embarrassed to say how long that took, he was smirking.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

I felt my face heat with embarrassment. “Put your shirt on.”

His smirk transformed into a grin. “Why? Is it bothering you?”

“No, it is not.” I took a step closer, just to prove my point. “It’s that I need to have a serious conversation with you, and I don’t want to do it while you’re half-naked.”

“I think it bothers you.” He wrapped the towel over his shoulders.

“I need to talk to you, and I don’t want to have to stare at your sweaty chest the whole time. It’s gross,” I said, with all the outrage I could muster, which was a lot.

“You know what I think, Sprinkles? You’re hanker sore.”

I blinked. “Hanker sore? That’s not a thing.”

“Sure is. It’s what you are when you find someone so attractive, it makes you mad. You’re hanker sore over me.” He took a step closer now and my heart rate kicked up. With one finger, he poked my shoulder. “You are hanker sore.”

I sputtered, feeling panic rise in me. That was exactly what I was. I did find him attractive, and it did make me angry.

I took a deep breath. “I am not.”

“You are hanker sore. Mae is hanker sore,” Chris taunted, continuing to poke at me with both his words and his finger.

“Oh, grow up.” I batted his finger away. “Put your stupid shirt on. Now.”