Page 24 of Made for Wilde

Fuck, I’m such a hypocrite. I should be following my own advice. I should stay far away from Charlotte Palmer. I should focus on my work, my fighters. I should remember all the reasons this can never happen.

But even as I think it, I know I’m lying to myself. Every hour that passes only strengthens my resolve to see her again. To hear her laugh.

To find out if her lips taste as sweet as they look.

“Alright, everyone!” I call out, checking my watch. “That’s time for today. Practice your stance and jab at home. Next week we’ll add the cross.”

As the class files out, thanking me and chattering among themselves, Adrian lingers behind.

“Thanks for the advice, Mr. Wilde,” he says, adjusting his gym bag on his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

I nod, suddenly exhausted. “Good work today, Adrian. See you next week.”

He leaves, and I’m alone with the echo of gloves hitting pads and the ghost of Charlotte’s smile haunting the corners of my mind. Staying away from her is the right thing to do. The honorable thing.

But as I gather my things, I start to think that it’s going to be impossible.

After the beginnerboxing class wrapped up this morning, I find reasons to stick around Worthington Sports instead of heading back to the cabin. Filling out paperwork. Equipment maintenance that could have waited until next week. Reorganizing the supply closet that was already organized. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off Charlotte.

It doesn't work.

She's there in every quiet moment, every pause between breaths. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she looked at me across the diner counter this morning.

Thunder cracks overhead, rattling the windows of the empty gym.

What started as a steady downpour this morning has turned vicious, the kind of storm that promises to freeze everything solid once the temperature drops. The weather service has been warning about it all day: rain turning to ice by midnight, power outages likely, roads becoming death traps.

Now it's after seven, and I'm one of the last ones here besides the night cleaning crew.

Time to admit defeat and head home. I gather my things and trudge toward the staff lounge to fill my water bottle before the drive. The mountain roads are already treacherous in this downpour, and they'll be impassable once the ice starts forming.

I push open the lounge door and stop short. Dana is there, still dressed in her tailored suit despite the late hour, making tea at the counter.

"You're still here?" I ask, surprised.

She glances over her shoulder. "I had a board meeting that ran late."

I grunt in response and move to the refrigerator, pulling out my water bottle.

"How was the class?" Dana asks, leaning against the counter while her tea steeps. "Any casualties?"

"No one cried, if that's what you're asking."

"High praise indeed." She studies me over the rim of her mug. "You look even more brooding than usual. Something on your mind?"

I shrug, focusing on filling my water bottle. "Just tired."

"Bullshit." Dana sets her mug down. "I know that look. What's eating you?"

I cap my water bottle and sigh. There's no point lying to Dana. She's always been able to read me like a book.

"I had drinks with Jason last night."

"That's nice. How is he?"

"He's good. Mentioned he's dating someone new."

Dana raises an eyebrow. "That's progress. He's been alone since Elaine died, hasn't he?"