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Charlie is already on the treadmill in the gym. I cannot resist watching him from the doorway. I hold the frame, tipping my head. His body is exquisite, tanned and broad, dusted in hair in all the right places. I can see everything I want to see because he's only wearing gray shorts and trainers, his back muscles bunching with every step he takes. His black hair is damp and curling around his neck and face, making him look like a savage, handsome brute.
The orgasm I just had is all too real.
“What you doing, standing in the doorway?” he asks, grabbing a towel to dry his sweaty face.
“Watching you,” I say softly and without shame, then I wander over to him. “You're up early. It's not even four yet.”
He grins, his blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Got a lot of tension in me that needs releasing, hence no sleep and working my ass off in here.”
I smirk at him, crossing my arms. “A lot of tension, huh?”
“You bet.” He sounds like he wants to laugh but doesn't. He's as cool as ever.
While he finishes off his session on the treadmill, I lean back against the wall beside him so we can look at each other.
“Why you up so early?” he says, giving me a curious stare. “You don't usually roll out of bed until at least six unless I wake you up.”
My cheeks flush.
“Couldn't sleep,” I say awkwardly, uncrossing and crossing my arms.
“Hm...” he hums like he knows, his eyes thinning at me.
I glance away from him, down at his phone on the floor beside the treadmill. It's flashing with a text message and though I'm not one to pry, I can't help reading what the message says.
- Just fuck the redhead with or without permission. She'll thank you for it later. -
Crouching down, I pick up his phone and double check what it says. My eyes haven't deceived me. Someone called Rico sent him that.
“Blaire?” Pressing a button, Charlie rolls back off the treadmill. “What's wrong?”
I read the message once more, growing angry.
“You've been talking about me?” I look up at him, throwing wolfish glares.
“What?” He snaps his eyebrows together, drapes the towel over his shoulder, and tries to take his phone.
I don't give it to him.
“Just fuck the redhead with or without permission,” I say, showing him the message. “She'll thank you for it later.”
Charlie's face goes flat. “That's not what it looks like.”
“No?” I raise my eyebrows. “Well, it sort of looks like you've been telling your 'friend' that I won't fuck you, and it sort of seems like you're bothered.”
“No.” He grinds his jaw. “If you read the rest of the messages, you'll see how the conversation started. Rumors are flying around that I've got a redhead living with me, and before people started assuming the worst of you—which they will when Celine can talk again—I told Rico that it's not like that.”
“Like what?” my voice comes out cold and hard.
“That you're not some piece of ass I'm hooking up with to pass the time while I'm here.”
“I don't believe you,” I say, my anger bubbling on the surface.
He gestures at the phone. “Read the messages then.”
I can't. I'm nervous I'll see something I won't be able to erase from my memory.
“I don't need to read them.” I step up to Charlie. “Your friend's response is all I need. Why would he say that?”
