Stone gritted his teeth and began on squats. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit Ellen’s background was also a turn-on. She was so different from him, all classic elegance begging to be messed up, and boasted an easy childhood with no ghosts. Since she worked as an executive assistant to a banker, she wore conservative suits and high heels and perfect makeup. She was gorgeous and confident. Attracted to her flirtatious manner and fun sense of humor, he’d dived headlong into an affair, and on impulse, he asked her to marry him. Surprisingly, she said yes. Had they even exchanged deep “I love yous”? Talked about the future and children? No. They’d both figured everything would work out, because neither of them was a planner or too interested in analyzing tomorrow. In a way, they were too alike ever to make it.
Maybe that’s why they ended up married and engaged so fast. The first hit of something new and fresh probably turned them both on. Of course, after the fun ended and his work ate him up and spit him back out, she wasn’t as turned on by that side of him.
His work schedule blasted them back to reality. Hard reality. Endless shifts, sleepless nights, and little entertainment caused a tear. Soon they were fighting, insulting, taking potshots that left shallow cuts and little time to heal. She wanted to travel and be fabulous. He wanted to slay the demons and catch the bad guys. Suddenly, it wasn’t so much fun anymore, and Stone finally figured out he wasn’t a man worth fighting for.
The incident confirmed the end. After he shot his gun and got dragged into an investigation that put the spotlight on him, she distanced herself. All the intense energy he exuded that used to intrigue her became distasteful. Like turning over a big, smooth rock and spotting a bunch of slugs beneath. They’d been on the literal rocks before the incident, but afterward? There was nothing left to save. Her affair only confirmed how far they’d sunk.
It hardly stung anymore. Stone wondered how long their marriage would have lasted if he hadn’t walked in on her. Had he ever loved her on a bone-deep, emotional level? Or had he just been lonely and lost after the shooting, looking for a connection to save him?
When his request for a transfer to Verily went through, he couldn’t wait to get out of the Bronx and away from all the damn memories. Even his partner hadn’t cared, but their relationship hadn’t been tight like his with Devine. He bet Devine would’ve backed him up and fought for him to stay.
Bet he wouldn’t have slept with his wife either.
Sweat ran down his body. He clenched his teeth and pushed past the strain, his muscles working overtime, the exertion clearing his mind. He spotted the pretty blonde staring at him, her blue eyes wide with appreciation of his form. He was a realist when it came to his body. He put a lot of crap into it, but he balanced that with steady workouts and training to help sculpt the physical traits needed to succeed as a cop. His Black Irish blood had also been a gift. Women seemed to like that type of heritage, something about the dark hair and eyes with fairer skin. The tall, skinny youth had finally grown up until he towered over all the other punks in the neighborhood and gained respect. Growing the goatee just added to the rough appeal.
Whatever. He wasn’t the type to stare in a mirror. As long as he was clean and had some type of clothes on, he was good to go. Getting women had never been a problem for him. Stone finished his squats, wiped his face with a towel, and grabbed the hand weights for biceps curls. The blonde inched closer, an open smile curving her lips. Definitely an invite. He hadn’t seen her before, but she was cute. Seemed as if she’d be open to grabbing a shake at the juice bar and accompanying him home.
The image of Arilyn’s face drifted past him.
Ah, crap. He grunted and rolled out a few sets. Fingers gripping the hand weights, his veins bulged, the warmth of adrenaline flooded his blood, and he became half-aroused. He hoped it was the pretty blonde making him semi-erect, but the damn image of his long-limbed teacher who owned her body with a pride he rarely spotted in females was starting to kill him. Worse? He was imagining her doing the Salutation thing naked. With him.
He clanged the weights back on the shelf and cursed. Grabbed his water bottle and drained it dry in one long gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossed the towel over his shoulder, and headed out.
The blonde stared. Her eyes begged him to stop and converse. Flirt. Do the dance that would eventually lead him to a satisfying bout of sweaty, fulfilling sex. He paused, getting closer, ready to open his mouth. Waited for the subtle spark of attraction that told him they’d have a good time tonight.
Instead, he walked past.