Part 11 (2/2)
”There's not a lot to get into.” He'd lost the defined edges of his eight-pack, but his belly was still tight as a drum. Defined ab muscles bracketed his stomach. A thin slice of white elastic was visible just above the waistband of the shorts hanging low on his narrow hips.
”Let's get into it anyway.”
The kind of elastic that meant he wore briefs. More likely a pair of boxer briefs because she just couldn't picture him in tightie whities. Not that she should be picturing him in his underwear. That wasn't right. She worked for him. Well, maybe not technically, but...
”You think that I should do something with my life. What are you doing with yours?”
”At the moment, I'm your a.s.sistant.”
”Isn't there 'so much more that you could be doing' other than driving me around and b.u.t.ting into my life?”
She raised her gaze before her interest wandered lower and she started to speculate about his magnum package-again. ”I have plans.”
”Like?”
She looked up into his brown eyes. ”I'm working and saving money.”
With his good hand he motioned for her to continue. ”Saving for?”
”I'd rather not say.”
A slow smile curved his lips. ”Something personal?”
”Yes.”
”There are only a handful of things that a woman won't talk about.” He lifted a finger off the bar. ”The actual number of past lovers for instance. You all want to know the exact number of women that a man has had s.e.x with, how often, and every juicy detail. But you don't want to share the same information.”
”That's because there is still a double standard when it comes to casual s.e.x.”
He shrugged one shoulder and leaned forward, still holding on to the bar above him. ”I get that, but women shouldn't ask me about my s.e.x life if you all don't want to talk about yours.” He straightened and dropped his hands to his sides. ”Some things are private.” He moved to the weights and lowered the pin. ”Maybe I don't want everyone to know my personal business.”
Too late. That letter from Lydia Ferrari had been posted in the guest book for several months before Chelsea had deleted it. She figured she should probably tell him about it because someone else might. ”Do you know a Lydia Ferrari?”
His brows lowered, and he moved to the seat he'd been in when she'd come into the room. ”Like a car?” He grabbed the bar above his head and lowered himself.
”No. At least I don't think so. She wrote a letter on your guest book page.”
He spread his hands wide and pulled the bar to his chest. ”I don't know her.”
”She claims that you met her at Lava Lounge, had s.e.x with her at her apartment in Redmond, then didn't call.”
The weight stopped mid-air, and he looked at her through the mirror. ”What else did she write?”
”That it was the best s.e.x of her life and her feelings were hurt when you didn't call her back.”
He raised the bar and lowered it, the muscles in his arms and back hardened and flexed. ”She was a freak.”
”You do know her.”
”I remember her. h.e.l.l, it's hard to forget a woman with that many sharp body piercings.” His jaw tightened as he pulled the weight.
”Where was she pierced?”
”All over. I was half terrified I'd end up with some missing skin and lasting scars.”
”Obviously the terrified half wasn't below your waist.”
A deep chuckle escaped the smile cracking his lips. ”Is the letter still posted?”
”I deleted it.”
”Thank you.”
”You're welcome.” She watched him for several moments, then said, ”You don't seem all that upset that 'everyone' knows your 'personal business' with Lydia Ferrari.”
”First of all, I doubt that's even her real name.” He sucked in a breath and let it out. ”Second, women say stuff like that all the time. Even if I've never met them.”
Chelsea was just about to point out that he had met Lydia when he added, ”I'm used to it.”
”And it doesn't bother you?”
He shrugged. ”People are going to say and write whatever they want and they don't care if it's the truth. Everyone has an agenda. When I said I didn't want to talk about my personal business...I meant I don't want to get into it while I'm naked and about to get busy. It can ruin the mood.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. Chelsea thought the subject of Lydia Ferrari was over but then he added, ”Considering what that woman was into, I just thank Jesus for what she didn't write.”
She chewed her bottom lip, fighting the battle not to pry. She lost. ”What?”
”None of your business, Ms. Nosy Toes.” He moved his hands closer in on the bar. ”We're talking about my business again and you still haven't told me yours.”
”Why, when I ask questions, am I prying and a 'Ms. Nosy Toes'?”
He sucked in a breath and let it out as he worked the weights. ”The second thing women don't generally want to talk about,” he said instead of answering her question, ”is plastic surgery. A lot of women have it, but none of them admit it.” He looked at her over his shoulder. ”Are you saving to get your nose done?”
”What?” Chelsea gasped. ”There's nothing wrong with my nose.” She raised a hand to her face. ”What's wrong with my nose?”
”Nothing. My ex got her nose done but she wanted to keep it a big secret.” He returned his gaze to the mirror. ”Like everyone who knew her wouldn't take one look at her face and figure out the obvious.”
She dropped her hand to her side. ”No. Not my nose.”
”Your b.u.t.t? Karlsson's wife had fat sucked out of her thighs and shot into her b.u.t.t.”
”It's called a Brazilian b.u.t.t lift. And no, I don't want that.” She stood and moved to a rack of free weights. What the h.e.l.l? What did she care if he knew? It wasn't like she cared about his opinion or that he could take any sort of moral high road. Not after he'd admitted to having s.e.x with a woman even after he feared she'd turn him into a human pin cus.h.i.+on. She ran her hand across the top weight. ”I want to save enough to have breast surgery.”
The weights crashed down, and his gaze lowered to her chest. ”Don't you think you're big enough?”
She frowned and shook her head. ”I want breast reduction surgery.”
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