Page 17

HALLIE

Song- Soaked, Shy Smith.

I stretch out my hips in the frog position on the mat. Back row. As always, my usual spot.

The door creaks open behind me. Every head turns to see who dared interrupt mid-warm-up. And then—Holy. Hell.

The air shifts. Audible gasps emerge. One girl straight-up squeals. But me? I can't move. Can't blink. Conan Quinn. Conan fucking Quinn just walked into my Pilates class.

Black joggers slung low, a tight white tee stretched over every flexed inch of his tattooed torso, and, God help me, a bright pink mat under one arm. His green eyes find mine across the room. He grins like the devil. And walks toward me like he owns the floor.

“Do you know him?” Emma, the girl next to me, whispers. I nod, not tearing my eyes from his. He stops in front of me and looks down. That smile still lingering.

“Hi, trouble.”

My breath catches. Words die in my throat. I push my curls forward to hide the cut on my temple, even though I layered on the concealer. I’m not ready to talk about that.

“H-hi.” I give him a small wave, and he drops his mat next to mine like it was always meant to be there.

“Well, ladies, we have a new member today,” our instructor announces.

Conan turns to her. The whole class openly ogles him like a Greek god just wandered into Pilates. He clears his throat. “Um. Hi. I’m Conan. I’m training for my next fight, and I’ve been told this class will help.”

My brow arches. Coincidence? He sits down and tries, bless him, to copy my pose.

The way he's already grunting doesn’t bode well. Flexibility and Conan Quinn were never destined to be best friends.

“Right. Let’s start with our double leg stretch. We’ll work on the floor first today,” the instructor says, clapping as calm music fills the room.

I lie back, legs pulled to my chest. Conan copies, sort of. “Now, deep breath in, release the legs on the breath out. We’ll do ten.”

By number three, my core burns. I sneak a glance. Conan’s face is already flushed. His legs aren’t even close to straight.

By number six, he’s flat on the floor, arms stretched above his head.

“Fuck me,” he whispers.

I shoot him a look, biting back laughter. This is going to be so entertaining.

Fifteen minutes in, Conan’s dripping sweat, bright red, and trembling on all fours.

“Hallie. What the hell is this?” he huffs. “Why are my muscles burning? My legs are fucking wobbly, and I don’t know if I can stand up.”

His face is a picture. Absolutely horrified.

I burst into laughter. “You’ll be fine, beastie. Only another half an hour to go.”

His jaw drops. “I’m not even halfway?”

I shake my head, still trying not to laugh. He’s trying so hard. It’s almost endearing.

“We’ve not really started yet. You can squat, right?”

He drags himself upright, wiping sweat from his forehead, arms and legs shaking.

The instructor struts over. He groans under his breath.

“Help. Me,” he mouths.

“You’re on your own,” I whisper back.

“What kind of fighting do you do?” she purrs, placing a hand on her hip and pushing her chest forward.

Conan clears his throat. “MMA.”

“Wow. That explains why you’re so…” She drags her eyes down his body. “Fit.”

My hands clench into fists at my sides. Heat flushes up my neck. I have no claim on him, but this? This burns.

Conan chuckles. “I thought I was, until I came here.”

She steps closer, laying her hand on his bicep. “We can work on your flexibility. You’ll be a pro in no time.”

I want to claw her eyes out.

Next thing I know, I step beside him and my hand is on his ass.

He licks his lips, smirking at me.

I freeze. Did I just claim him in front of a room full of women by full-on ass-grabbing my not-even-boyfriend?

Yes. Yes, I fucking did. Maybe I should try therapy instead of group fitness next time.

“He’s good. I’ve got him covered. Thanks.” I flash her a smile, fake as hell, and give his ass a little squeeze for good measure.

Pity. I quite liked her. Now I want to claw her eyes out.

“Oh.” Her face drops. She recovers quickly, plastering on her professional smile. “Okay. Warrior pose next,” she chirps and backs away.

Conan turns to me, amusement practically radiating off him. “I thought bossy Hallie was my favorite. But jealous Hallie, claiming me in front of a group of women? That takes the prize.”

I jump back like he’s just scalded me. He laughs softly.

“I was helping you,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Helping me not get laid? Gee. What a good friend you are.”

I pout. “Who said we were friends?”

“Oh, is that how you’re playing this?”

“Maybe.”

His jaw does that adorable twitch of his. “I suddenly don’t like that word anymore,” he mutters.

We return to the workout, but now his grunts and groans are even more distracting.

“Now it’s time for the cat stretch,” the instructor announces.

I sneak a glance as the girls in front of us get into position. All asses in the air. Is he watching them?

No. He’s watching me. Eyes locked.

“You waiting for me so you can get a look?” he whispers, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I ignore him and drop to all fours.

“No. But you are, aren’t you?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.

I sit back into the stretch with a moan. “That feels so good.”

I make sure he hears every syllable.

“Hallie,” he groans, adjusting himself.

“Come on, beastie. One last stretch. Be a good boy.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales hard. “You’re making this really fucking hard for me, trouble.”

“I’m making quite a few things hard.”

I wiggle my ass in the air.

“Stop. It. Or I can’t be held accountable for my actions in here. Is exhibitionism your thing?”

My body burns.

“What’s the blush for, darlin’? Worked out too hard, or you turned on?”

I sit back on my knees and huff. “You’re distracting, Conan.”

His teeth flash in a grin. “Ditto.”

When the class finally ends, I roll up my mat, heart still pounding. I glance over. Conan’s already watching me, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve got a one-on-one session now, haven’t you?” I nod toward the instructor still hovering nearby.

“Still jealous?”

The class empties, whispers following us like shadows. But I’m locked in his gaze, my pulse screaming.

“Class is over, Conan.”

We’re the last two in the room. He steps closer, brushing my hair gently away from my face. His eyes darken.

“Hallie. What happened to your head? That looks like it hurt.” His voice softens, that Irish lilt wrapping around me like smoke.

“I—I tripped. Caught it on the table.”

He exhales sharply. His jaw tightens. His eyes drop to my side. My hands shake.

“Try again. The truth this time. I want full name, address, occupation, and fuck, blood type even. They aren’t getting away with this.”

My stomach knots. His fury is palpable, barely contained at this point.

“It was Ben,” I whisper.

“That fucker.”

He steps in, cupping my face. “When? Where? What did he do?”

Tears burn behind my eyes. “Last night. He barged into my house, saying I had to get back with him. Said he couldn’t protect me unless I did. He was ranting, completely paranoid. I think he was high.” My breath catches. “He scared me. I hate admitting that, but… he came into my house. I was alone.”

Conan pulls me into his arms. I collapse against his chest, letting the tears fall.

“You should’ve called me, baby. I would’ve sorted him.”

I shake my head, voice muffled against him. “I didn’t want to bother you. I’m not your problem.”

He pulls back, cupping my cheeks. His face is softer now, but no less intense.

“You’re my friend. I don’t have many outside my family. Let me look after you? It’s what I’m good at.”

I nod slowly, eyes searching his. I trust him. I do. “Should I be worried he’s going to come back? I can’t keep staying at Lily’s.”

He brushes his thumb over my lip, gaze locked on mine. “I’ll fix this. I’ll make it safe for you to go home.”

“Thank you,” I breathe.

“You’re welcome. I want to take you somewhere. My safe haven. A place you can go if you ever need to.”

Something about the way he says that… “Follow me there?”

“Yeah.”

He releases me, and my chest tightens with the loss of his warmth. But then he laces our fingers together and leads me outside.

To his brand-new McLaren parked next to my Beast.

“Holy shit. That is what you got to replace the Bugatti?”

I run a hand over the fresh black paint. Ugh. It even has black alloys.

“Replace? Not so much. You’ll see soon enough.”

“She’s beautiful. Like… makes me horny, beautiful. Is that a thing?”

He folds his arms across his chest, grinning. “Yeah. It’s a thing. Wanna drive her?”

He tosses me the keys. I just about catch them.

“What? You’d let me?”

He nods. “You saw what happened to the Bugatti. You probably won’t smash this one worse than that.”

I rummage through my bag and hand him my keys. “You take mine?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Now that’ll get me hard—listening to her purr for me.”

I laugh, and he squeezes my shoulder.

“Friends?”

His tone is light, but his eyes are searching.

I nod. Heart pounding. “Yeah. I think we can say that now.”

“I’ll race you there?”

He tips my chin up, nudging his nose against mine. Not a single one of my past ‘friends’ ever did that. But I’m not pulling away.

“Maybe another day. To make it fair, I’ll get us two of the same cars and we’ll go to a track. Today, you gotta follow me so you know where I hide.”

“Hide what? Bodies?”

He shifts his weight, gaze flickering away.

“You don’t wanna know the skeletons I have hiding.”