The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 31

She says dreamily, "There will be classes. Zumba. Les Mills Body Combat, Sh'bam, Body Pump. Belly dancing."

"I thought you said it was a gym."

"Gyms can have so much more. There will be a swimming pool. Yoga. Pilates. Cafes. Foot massages. Sauna."

"It's beginning to sound like a spa." He's interested despite himself.

She jabs a finger at him. He's glad it isn't her spoon. "Would you sign up for such a gym?" she demands.

"If the female trainers are hot." He has his own personal gym in his penthouse ... and even a female trainer to help him out. But that's an idea. He should be joining a public gym to pick girls up. Not that he needs help in that department.

"There you go." Her smile is spread across her sweet rosebud lips - those very lips he likes to suck upon.

"So why don't you?" he says.

"Why don't I what?"

"Follow your dream. Open up on your own gym. You could get a loan." Or I could loan you the money, he thinks but doesn't say for fear of incurring assault.

She sighs. "There's too much risk involved in striking out on your own. It's always better to have a stable job with a fixed salary."

He snorts. "Whoever told you that?"

"It's easy for you to say. You're Brian Morton. You've never had to worry about money for a day in your life."

"There are a lot of other things a rich kid has to worry about, thank you." Like getting mugged. Like the unpredictable mood swings of your parents and uncle. "But seriously, if you want to set up your own gym, I can - "

"I don't want your money, thank you."

"I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted, that I can be your partner. A silent one."

It's her turn to snort. "I seriously doubt you can ever be silent."

He's enjoying this. But then, he has always enjoyed their banter. "You're discriminating against me? If you're going to open a gym, you're going to need investors. Partners. Co-conspirators. And who better than friends to lend a helping dumbbell?"

A shadow falls across their table. It's their waitress - a spiky-haired teenager with more studs in her ears than earlobe space.

"Since it's raining and all," she drawls, "I'm going to close this place up early. So if you're finished and all - "

She picks their empty ice-cream trays up with a look that says, Get lost so I can clear up and go home.

Brian flashes his most charming smile. "Tell you what and all. How much would it cost you and all - " He lingers on the 'all' " - to let me rent this joint for two hours? I'll even buy up every single tub of ice-cream you've got on your display."

The waitress looks dubious. "Whatcha planning to do with this place?"

Brian's smile widens. "Would three thousand dollars just about cover it?"

As Brian locks the main door of the creamery behind the departing waitress, who is beaming from studded ear to studded ear, Sam wonders what he has in mind. Is he smoking weed or something? He has offered her joints he has rolled before, and she has taken a puff to relive her college days. It had been heaven. They had mad sex afterwards, and she wonders if this is what he is leading to.

He flips the sign at the door to read 'CLOSED' from the outside. He turns. His grin is broad and infectious.

"Alone at last," he says, striding to her.