Scar after scar lines his back. The skin is puckered, shiny. Some are a dark shade of pink. Others much too white against his golden skin. My eyes trail his form, from the base of his neck, all the way down to where his basketball shorts hang around his hips.
There are so many scars.
He told me there were eighteen. It seemed like a lot at the time, but I didn’t understand. Not until now. Seeing it with my own eyes.
I don’t wear my scars on the outside. Garrett didn’t leave any reminding marks on my skin. But I imagine that’s what I look like on the inside.
Link continues to batter the bag. I’ve never seen such ferocity before. He’s attacking it almost savagely. The floor around him is damp with his sweat. It’s obvious he’s been at this for a while. I remember from my days tagging along with Dad and Joe to the gym, bag work is draining and only meant for short periods of time.
I can tell from the humid air Link hasn’t slowed since he started.
I clear my throat, letting my presence be known. His hand reaches out to still the swaying bag. He peers at me over his shoulder, his eyes dark, cheeks red. He turns toward me, brushing the moisture from his brows with the back of his wrist. My gaze lowers, following a bead of sweat that falls from the tip of his nose and lands on his chest. I watch as it slides down between his pec muscles, mixing with the dampness there, and continues trailing down his abs.
I follow the path back up, coming to rest on the tattoo over his left pectoral muscle. In a swirl of black script is Olivia’s name.
“What are you doing here?” Link asks, his voice hoarse from his excruciating workout, I’m assuming.
“I work here,” I reply lightly, finally tearing my gaze off of his body and focusing my attention on his face.
His eyes narrow as he comes closer. His stride is swift and fluid. Graceful. The angry observation, the shimmering dampness of his skin, the huskiness to his voice—it’s all so damn appealing. I know this man is twisted and damaged, and probably the worst thing in the world for me. But aren’t we all twisted in some way?
I imagine myself running my fingers over his chest, sweeping my tongue across his sculpted stomach, and falling to my knees, freeing him of his shorts.
Goose bumps prickle my arms as I envision what a gorgeous sight that would be.
“You were attacked last night,” Link says, pulling me away from all my wicked thoughts. “You shouldn’t be here.” And then, as if just realizing it, he looks over at the door, and then back to me. “Did you walk here? By yourself?”
His words are the equivalent to being doused in ice water. “I don’t need the reminder,” I murmur, “or the lecture.”
He cocks a brow as he stares at me. The muscles in his jaw start their usual dance and I stifle an eye roll, anticipating a scolding. At least he’s shirtless. It will give me something to look at while I tune him out.
“I’m not going to lecture you,” he says quietly. “I was just going to tell you to call me. I’ll give you a ride anytime you need one. You don’t have to walk by yourself.”
I’m caught off guard and not sure what I should say to that. So I don’t say anything.
“And if you want to take the day off—which I think you should—then you can.”
“I don’t want the day off,” I reply. “I don’t want to sit in my apartment, by myself, thinking about shit.”
He nods tightly as if he understands. And he probably does. Isn’t that the same reason he was just destroying a punching bag? We all cope in our own ways.
“I’m going to take a quick shower before we open. Just yell if you need me.”
I press my lips together, watching him bend over to grab a towel. The agility his body moves with is captivating. He’s just a foot away from the locker room when I call his name. “Link?”
He pivots on his heels, turning to face me. “Yeah?”
“Define need.”
His lips quirk at the corners. His eyes brush over me slowly. “Requiring something important,” he drawls, his voice low and sexy. His tongue sweeps his lower lip languidly. “Do you require something?”
I require that tongue.
The main doors open bringing a rush of cool air into the building. I glance up at the clock on the wall. We’re just minutes from being officially open. When I look back to Link, his searing gaze is locked on my face. His hungry stare makes my belly muscles clench and an ache form between my legs. I think his need might be as great as mine.
“Soon,” he mouths before gliding through the door.
Three
Link
The shower spray cools my heated skin, calming my racing thoughts for the first time since I poured Aaron a shot. I rake my hands over my head, letting the water rinse it all away.