Page 17 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

MILLIE

As I’m saying goodbye to the girls by the front door, I avoid Hannah like my life depends on it, standing as far away from her as I can without it being weird because she better not try to hug me.

When they’ve all finished putting their shoes and coats on, I hug Emily and Fran, making sure to keep at least one of them between Hannah and me as a buffer so that when the time comes to say goodbye to her, all I have to do is wave awkwardly.

Sure, maybe I’m being immature, but she knows what she did.

I stand in the open doorway, waiting until they’re in the elevator, and I don’t budge until I see the doors glide closed, finally releasing the breath I feel like I’ve been holding all night.

As I walk back into the apartment, I make sure the door is locked, the deadbolt secured, and for a moment I just stand in the entryway, looking around for what, I don’t even know.

The place feels a whole lot bigger now that I’m here on my own.

Lots of rooms and doors and windows. I wander back down to the great room and start tidying up the mess we made.

It’s not a lot, just the pizza box, two empty wine bottles and a few glasses that I stuff into the dishwasher.

Slapping a random beat against my thighs, I linger in the kitchen, looking around again, aimlessly.

It’s after ten. I should probably just go to bed, but the thought of sleeping in a strange place, all by myself, makes my skin crawl.

I know this building is secure; there’s a night doorman, and we’re on the thirty-eighth floor with card-only access, but what if someone scales the balconies and picks a lock, getting in through the glass doors. What then?

I cross the room quickly, checking the glass door to the balcony, relieved to find it’s locked.

Then, peering out at the darkness, realizing I can’t really see anything past my own reflection staring back at me, I move to the remote panel on the wall next to the television, and I press the button for the blinds.

Seconds later, a light whir sounds through the silence as the blinds retract, gliding down over the glass.

I’m far too anxious right now. If I go to bed, I’ll just lie there tossing and turning, and then I’ll start hearing things, imagining things, which means I’ll probably end up back at Dallas and Emily’s apartment with my pillow.

Get it together, Millie; you’re a twenty-two-year-old grown woman, for goodness sake.

Heading back to my room, I unzip one of my cases and rifle through the contents before pulling out a pair of leggings and a matching sports bra.

Logan said this place has a state-of-the-art fitness center—it’s what made him choose this building over the others he’d looked at when he was buying.

Maybe if I wear myself out on a treadmill, I might actually be able to get some sleep tonight.

I swipe my keycard over the panel next to the glass door, the latch releasing with a beep.

Stepping inside, I scan the space, a little intimidated, if I’m honest. It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped foot in a gym.

I prefer to exercise outside in the fresh air.

But not at night in Manhattan in February.

Thankfully, the gym is empty, which isn’t surprising considering it’s a Friday night.

Most people are probably in bed, or out living their actual lives.

I’m hiding out in a gym, because I’m too scared to be in my apartment on my own. Embarrassing.

Two rows of fancy cardio equipment face a wall of mirrors: treadmills, bikes, cross trainers, ellipticals.

Off to the side is an area specifically designated for the free weights, which I avoid because I have no idea how any of those things work, and the last thing I want to do tonight is hurt myself.

Moving to one of the treadmills, I place my water bottle and phone on the console and step onto the belt, doing another quick scan of the space, and when I’m certain it’s just me, I pop my buds into my ears and press play, mother Taylor Swift keeping me company while I set the pace for a steady jog, but just as I start to break a sweat, barely five minutes later, my phone shudders with a new message.

L: Where are you??

My jaw drops, and I glower at the words on the screen. But before I can even consider a suitable response such as why the fuck is it any of your business, he’s calling me.

Huffing a frustrated breath, I hit the answer button with an abrupt, “What?”

“Where are you?” Logan’s deep voice comes through all demanding and… sexy. “I got an alert from the camera that you left?”

“I am not going to continue living with you if you track my movements!”

“Are you running? ”

“Yes,” I manage between pants. Wow, I’m really unfit.

“Millie, where are you?” He’s all pitchy and panicked, and honestly, I’d laugh if I could breathe. “I’m about five seconds away from calling 911.”

“Oh, my God, calm down,” I say through a laugh combined with a cough. “I’m literally downstairs in the gym.”

I hear him release a heavy breath, silence ensuing from the other side while I not so quietly die.

“Is that all?”

“No,” he huffs. “You need to breathe through your nose.”

“Who died and made you the boss of breathing.” I roll my eyes at myself. What am I? Twelve?

“Right now it sounds like you’re about to die,” he retorts with a low chuckle. “Or… orgasm.”

“Ew, you wish.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He laughs.

I hang up on him with a muttered, “Pervert.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I?—”

Startled by the unexpected voice coming from right behind me, I scream, turning so suddenly I lose my footing, and before I can find something to grab onto, I hit the deck with a thud, my flailing body rolling a few times with the momentum of the belt before, thankfully, the emergency stop kicks.

“Oh, hell… a-are you okay?”

For a long moment, possibly a few minutes, maybe even an hour or two, I just lie there, half on the treadmill, half on the floor, staring up at the lights in the ceiling, wondering if this is what it’s like to die.

A shadowy figure comes over me, and I blink a few times, narrowing my eyes to make out a man.

I groan, suddenly feeling pain in my hip and an unfamiliar burn in my arm.

“Don’t move,” the man says, his southern accent thick and adorable, comfortingly familiar. “You might’ve broken something.”

Ignoring him, I force myself to sit up, looking down at my legs. I don’t think anything’s broken. I mean, I’ve never broken a bone before, but I feel like I’d be able to tell.

The man starts fussing, collecting the runaway Beats buds that fell out of my ears.

He takes my water bottle and phone and offers me a hand, and I lift my chin, looking from his hand to his face.

He’s about my age. Maybe a little older.

Tan skin. Dirty blond hair. Big blue eyes.

He’s cute, in that boy next door kind of way.

“Where did you even come from?” I smooth my hair back from my face, shaking my head in confusion.

His brows bunch together. “Um… Macon. Georgia.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to make sense of his words. “What? I mean…” I shake my head again, finally taking his proffered hand and allowing him to help me up. “When I came in here, there was no one. Suddenly you’re on a bike right behind me?”

I smooth down the back of my leggings, looking at my arm that’s sporting a serious burn from where I skidded on the damn treadmill belt.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” The man snorts a rueful laugh. “I came in here and you were on the phone.” He points at the bike he was on. “And that bike’s the best. The other two have really hard seats, that hurt my—” He snaps his mouth shut, stopping himself. “Never mind.”

I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m Maverick. Apartment twenty-six A.” He holds his hand out again.

“Maverick?” I quirk a brow.

“Yeah. My parents hate me.” He nods as if to answer a question I didn’t ask. “Huge Tom Cruise fans though.”

I laugh again, shaking his hand. “Millie. Thirty-eight B.”

“I haven’t seen you around here, Millie.” Maverick smiles a genuine smile, perfect white teeth gleaming bright.

“No, I only just moved in. A few hours ago, actually.”

“Well, welcome to Lenox Hill.” Maverick does some weird half-bow thing, but by the look on his face, I can tell he’s mildly embarrassed, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders.

I point to the door. “I should probably go. I think I need ice.” I indicate the friction burn stinging my arm.

“Please let me help you back up to your apartment,” Maverick says, a hopeful quirk to his brow. “I would feel really bad if something happened. This is all my fault, after all.”

I shake my head. “No, it was an accident. In fact”—I pause, offering a sheepish smile—“if I can be honest… this isn’t the first time I’ve fallen on a treadmill.”

His eyes widen.

I grimace. “Only the first time was a lot more embarrassing because it was peak time at the gym right by my college. For days afterwards, people would stop me randomly on campus and ask if I was the chick who ate shit on the treadmill at Planet Fitness.” I roll my eyes at the memory, feeling my cheeks burn.

“Rude,” Maverick scoffs playfully.

“I know, right!” I laugh. “But, in my defense, it turned out that I had an inner ear infection I didn’t even know about, and so my balance was completely off.”

Maverick smiles, and wow. I’m not normally into blond guys, but he’s really cute. I feel my cheeks heat even more than they already were.

“I suppose you could walk me back up to my apartment.” I shrug, biting back a smile. “Better to be safe than sorry, right?”