The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 56

And there have been plenty of women who have made known to him that they are willing to spread their legs for him anytime. Waitresses. Real estate agents, especially during the time he was hunting for a new, downgraded apartment. But he can never be sure if they are checking him out for his looks and suave sophistication, or because they recognized his face in a newspaper. Hell, if they recognized his face, they should be running away from him, screaming - not toward him.

Anyhow, he's hesitant to pursue those longing, come-hither glances - just in case one of those women might sue him for eye contact.

This is the main reason why he has managed to remain monogamous to Sam, he tells himself. He has not been mono-amorous since he started having sex in the tenth grade. Not that he had told Sam he was sleeping only with her. It would ruin his reputation, and he has to preserve it where Sam is concerned lest she gets ideas.

Something in his chest squirms when he thinks of her. Something he doesn't want to (is afraid to) acknowledge. He's happy when he's with her, even with the weight of the world straddled upon his shoulders.

It's almost as though she's enough for him. And all the trappings the world has once offered - money, unlimited sex with anonymous strangers - seem to fade into obscurity. He wonders why he needed them in the first place.

Like this new trainer at the gym, for example.

He had let Sam do all the hiring because the gym was more her thing than his. More importantly, he wants to lay low for a while. He's afraid that his (public) involvement may send out the wrong perceptions and cause disrepute to the gym.

Besides, he doesn't want to be partial to hiring only curvy blondes.

The trainer's name is Lydia. She is a brunette who has streaked her hair purple. It's a deep purple that is almost black, so you can't tell the purple tints apart unless she stands under some fluorescent light.

After Sam has given them all her pep talk, Lydia sidles up to him.

"So," she says casually, "I hear you're Brian Morton. You own this place."

"Along with Ms. Fox, your employer. I'm the silent partner."

She's smiling at him in a coy, seductive way, and he smiles back - carefully. Wouldn't want the staff to think one of the partners is standoffish.

"You're famous," she says. "Everyone here is talking about you."

"All the more reason for you to stay away, else I might do something you'll regret," he deadpans.

She laughs. "I'm not afraid of you. No one here is. We all know you didn't do it."

"We're not in the office."

He uncurls himself from the handlebars of the elliptical trainer. "I'll think about your offer."

"Please do." She smiles at him winningly again. "You know where to find me ... anytime."

Not too long ago, he would have considered her offer tempting. But not right now. Sam averts her head to glance at him. She is laughing, and her cheeks are rosy. She is the very epitome of health, and a spool of obvious desire for her tightens his balls.

Damn.

Why is she laughing so hard with that hunky trainer? Doesn't the kid know that she's the boss and he should be hands off? Damn his perfect pecs and white teeth. Damn that mass of blond hair. Why does he have to wear it shoulder-length and romance novel cover-style?

Maybe I should have been involved in the hiring process after all.

Still, Brian has to smile back at her. Make her think nothing affects him. And it shouldn't, of course. He must be getting maudlin in his fall from grace. He must erase all petty thoughts and ridiculous jealousies. Him - jealous of a twenty-one year old hunk who's trying to paw at the luscious female boss. What are his sensibilities coming to?