Damn, it was going to be a good week. He stretched out in the shower, thinking of what he’d do to her…was hard all over again. Yeah. Time to call a halt to that. He had work to do. He quickly toweled off and got into his workout gear.
He ran down the stairs just in time, ready to greet his Monday morning regulars. “You ready to sweat, you suckers?” he called, grinning widely. “I’m not feeling lenient today.”
He felt like making everyone work. He needed the exercise to eat up his abundance of energy. And he sure as shit had a ton of energy. So he took the second class as well.
“Back-to-back cross-training?” his receptionist asked. “Are you crazy?”
No, he just had a lot to think about. He’d told Abbi not to overthink things, but now he was the one who couldn’t stop. Thoughts of her dominated his mind. He wondered how long she’d been working at the magazine, where she’d been before. Wondered more about the jerk boyfriend. Wondered whether she’d ride him hard if she was on top—wondered how he could get her to stop thinking long enough to let herself do that.
His body was surprisingly stiff in some areas. It had been a while since he’d had marathon sex. The residual aches only made him want more. Like now.
In the end he spent the whole day in a futile attempt to concentrate on things other than the memory of Abbi in his bed. The only way he’d succeeded as much as he had was by single-minded determination. No distractions. Until now there’d been nothing and no one that had distracted him. But today?
Good thing there were only five more lessons. He couldn’t let this bleed into the rest of his life, and he certainly did not chase.
But twenty minutes after he finished taking the 6:00 p.m. cross-training class, Joe knocked on the door he’d seen Abbi go into last night. There’d been more than one reason he’d insisted on driving her home. Seeing her safe was a priority, sure, but he’d wanted to know where she lived. They hadn’t had the time for much swapping of personal details—other than some sexual preferences—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested.
He shouldn’t be here at all. He should be back at the gym, sorting through the job application forms, because he needed at least three new instructors for the new venue. He should be checking the monthly accounts. There were so many damn things he should be doing.
Instead he was waiting at her door.
She opened it remarkably quickly, her lower lip caught in her teeth, her cheeks reddening. “Joe.”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes, amused at her casual T-shirt and loose jeans. “Did you check the peephole before answering?”
Her blush deepened. “No, I was in a hurry, I—” She broke off. “How can I help you?”
Joe hesitated, unused to this kind of hesitation from a woman—usually he’d be inside the door and half naked already. Yet he knew Abbi was pleased to see him; it was obvious in her color. In her quickened breathing. In the desire clouding her eyes. But she wasn’t making it easy for him, and he was used to easy.
The need to challenge her bit deep. Irresistible. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
“No.”
“You ready for your second lesson?”
Her eyes widened. “Now?”
“Today’s subject is spontaneity.” He improvised. Spontaneously. “There’s nothing like spontaneous sex.”
“Uh.” She just stared at him.
Speechless? Good.
He thudded his shoulder against the doorjamb, blocking it. “You wanted a detailed schedule and lesson plan?” He shook his head. “You would. You’re the kind to do all the term’s required reading before lectures start. But you’ve done the theory here. The point of the practical is the unexpected.”
She opened the door all the way. “Then you’d better come in.”
He winked to keep it light, but an outsize level of hot satisfaction pooled in his belly, sending a surge of adrenaline to his muscles. “That’s more like it.”
She laughed. “I can only get better, right?”
“I’m not the one thinking you need to get better.” He walked inside and looked around the studio. It was neat as a pin, but man, it was packed with stuff. He did a slow circle in the center of the room—there were pictures, plants, books, computers, and neat rows and rows of woven storage baskets holding who knew what.
“It’s not always like this,” she supplied. “I tidied up.”
She had? Hell, there were books and pictures and things everywhere. “How long have you been living here?”
“A couple of months.”