“Okay. If that’s true, you can prove it by turning around and walking out that door.”
Displeasure replaced the intensity. “Hannah —”
“Prove it,” I insisted fiercely.
Marco stared at me for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw working just like it used to when he was unhappy about something. To my surprise, my relief, and my disappointment, he gave me a jerky nod and turned around. I watched him walk away, my throat dry with thirst and hunger and heartache.
CHAPTER 8
On Thursday evening after the adult literacy class, I did what I always did and went to my local gym. I didn’t have time to work out as much as I had done when I was at uni, but I always felt better if I got in at least two sessions a week. Sometimes, when things were particularly crazy I managed only one. That was always on a Thursday evening. Like my book group evenings, I looked forward to my Thursday nights at the gym because for a whole hour I switched off from work, friends, and family and just concentrated on sweating it out.
There were times, although not too often, when guys who thought they were so attractive they were rejection-proof would hit on me while I was just trying to enjoy my workout. I found that silence usually discomfited them and they’d quickly evaporate.
I was on the treadmill, working my way up from a walk to a run, when in my peripheral vision I saw the large figure of a guy step onto the treadmill next to me. My skin burned under his appraisal, but I ignored him.
However… my skin wouldn’t stop burning because he wouldn’t stop looking.
Annoyed, I chanced a scathing glance at him and nearly went flying backward off the treadmill when I realized it was Marco.
He reached out to steady me, but I flung my hands out and caught the rails. I almost sighed in relief that he hadn’t touched me. I quickly reduced the speed on the machine, drawing to a stop so I could turn a full-strength glare on him.
He stared back at me, not saying a word, while I tried to process what the hell was happening and the fact that he looked beyond amazing in his white T-shirt and track bottoms. He definitely visited the gym often.
But not my gym!
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, smoothing strands of hair back into my ponytail, painfully aware of how gross I must look.
Marco flashed me a boyish grin. “Working out.”
Ignoring the flutterings caused by that grin, I narrowed my eyes and said through clenched teeth, “I’ve never seen you here before.”
“That’s because I’ve never been here before. I joined today.”
I was pretty sure a nerve under my right eye had begun to tick. “Why? And answer in full this time.”
He grinned again, crossing his arms over his chest so his biceps flexed. Oh, mamma.
It was official. I hated him.
“Speak!” I snapped, trying to control my wandering eyes.
Chuckling, Marco replied, “Anisha told me this is your gym, so now it’s my gym.”
“You’re stalking me?”
“I prefer to call it ‘actively pursuing you.’ I told you, I just want a chance to explain.”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m not the guy I used to be.”
“Forget I asked, because I don’t care!” I yelled, instantly regretting it when one of the trainers shot me a warning look. I didn’t like the triumphant expression on Marco’s face. I was making it much too clear that he was affecting me. I sniffed haughtily and stepped off the treadmill. “I don’t want an explanation and I don’t care what gym you go to. I’m here to work out. You do as you please.”
With that stick up my butt, I wandered away from him, trying to remember if these were the shorts that made my arse look flat. I swear my butt cheeks flushed beneath the fabric at the thought of him checking me out.
I got on the cross trainer and attempted to put Marco out of my mind. That wasn’t so easy when he followed me and stepped up onto the cross trainer beside me. I did a valiant job of ignoring him… Ignoring him when he followed me like the stalker I’d accused him of being, around the gym so that we looked like we were working out together.
“If you want to do some weights I’ll spot you.” He grinned at me as I finished on the rowing machine.
I gave him a look of derision. “I’d rather have an elephant with a flatulence problem sit on my face.”
Marco choked on a burst of laughter, swallowing what I was sure had been a gust of amusement. Had he changed?
Hmm.
No! Not hmm. You do not give a rat’s arse if he’s changed!
“Descriptive,” he answered, mirth in his light eyes. “You still writing?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, cocking my hip in attitude. “Actually, I am still writing. What do you think of my latest story? It’s about this brooding, issue-riddled American boy who slept with this nice Scottish girl. She told him she loved him and it disgusted him so much he flew across an entire ocean to get away from her, leaving nothing behind but a broken heart and virgin blood on the sheets.”
All amusement fled from Marco’s face. He took an uncertain step toward me, lifting his hand as if he was going to touch me, comfort me.
I flinched, warding him off, all that pain and rage concealed beneath a false calm. I don’t know where I got the strength to find that calmness, but I thanked God for it. “Don’t. I don’t care if you’ve changed. I don’t care who you are now. I don’t need or want your explanations because what you did, you didn’t do it to me, you did it to that girl you left behind. And I’m not her anymore. You made certain of that. She might have needed answers and an apology, but me… I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just someone stalking me in my local gym.”