Page 10 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis (In The Heart of A Valentine #17)

Chapter

Six

NAOMI

The alarm buzzed at five-thirty, but I was already awake, staring at the ceiling in the darkness of my abode.

Sleep had been elusive, interrupted by fragments of dreams where Christian’s hands had gripped me tight as he pushed inside me.

I tried to shake off the dreams, rose, and splashed water on my face, only to return to slumber, resume our night, and be met with his question.

“Are we still following the rules?”

I was a woman shaken, my soul stirred because, yes, of course we were, weren’t we?

His departure left me feeling bereft, like he’d dug a hole into the hollowness I carved out in my heart where no man was supposed to be.

The sex only ignited what my heart was trying to tell me as I sat with a soaking wet, thumping pussy in the kitchen.

My entire body had been animated by his rigorous strokes.

I hadn’t had sex like that in—ever. It was gripping, stimulating, demanding, bullying even.

It was the gift that kept on giving. I could’ve screamed at his back to come back and give me more.

And still, as I gathered myself to leave, seeing the box, open, my birthstone, in a customized jewelry set, made my throat so tight I couldn’t breathe.

I rolled out of bed and strolled to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal a city still quiet and waiting for me.

September mornings in St. Louis came with chilly weather and you knew the seasons were blending together.

The trees lining my street had surrendered most of their leaves, and those that remained clung stubbornly to bare branches, burnished copper and deep red in the streetlight.

It was perfect cycling weather. And sense I had a competition in the upcoming months, now was as good a time as any to practice.

I moved through my morning routine, brushing my teeth, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail, slathering sunscreen on my face to prep for the sun I knew would be baring down on me once the city had awakened.

The mirror reflected a woman who looked put-together.

Nothing like the mess of contradictions I felt like inside.

In my walk-in closet, I pulled on my cycling gear piece by piece.

Black compression leggings that hugged every curve, a moisture-wicking long-sleeve base layer in deep purple, and my insulated cycling jacket.

The fabric was technical, designed to regulate body temperature during long rides, but it also made me feel armored and ready for battle.

The gloves came next. They were fingerless, with padding in all the right places to prevent numbness during long rides. I flexed my fingers, testing the fit, then grabbed my helmet from the shelf. It was matte black with purple accents, my favorite colors. It matched my bike perfectly.

My water bottles were already filled and chilled in the refrigerator. I grabbed both, along with the energy bars I’d packed the night before. The marathon would approach quickly, and every training ride mattered now.

In the garage, my bike waited like a faithful friend.

A Trek Domane SL 7, carbon fiber frame painted in glossy black with purple detailing.

I’d spent months researching before buying it two years ago, after my divorce was finalized, and I’d decided I wanted something that was entirely mine.

Something Gerald had never touched, never criticized, and never tried to claim as his own.

I ran my hands along the frame, checking for any issues, then lifted it from its stand. The bike was light in my hands, responsive, built for endurance and speed.

I sat my water bottles into their cages, secured my energy bars in the small frame bag, and wheeled the bike outside. I shivered as the air hit my exposed skin, and sucked in a breath, letting the chill wake me up completely.

The streets were nearly empty at this hour, just the occasional delivery truck or early commuter breaking the morning silence. I mounted the bike, slipped my feet into the pedals, and pushed off into the darkness.

The first few miles were always the hardest with my muscles protesting the early hour and the cold. But gradually, my body warmed up, finding its rhythm. I settled into my aerodynamic position, hands on the drop bars, shoulders low, legs churning in a steady rhythm that ate up the miles.

I’d mapped out a thirty-mile route that would take me through Forest Park, past the zoo and the art museum, then out into the suburbs where the roads opened up and I could really push my pace. The marathon course was forty miles, but I was building up gradually, adding distance each week.

The silence was a calming requisite of the early morning that I loved, but this morning, even cycling couldn’t completely silence the thoughts that had been circling since last night. The hurt in Christian’s eyes when I’d reminded him of the rules tore me up and I felt like shit after he left.

“Making love is for people in love. Not people with arrangements.”

It was true. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I wanted to be cautious. It was easy to get things between us misconstrued. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, we’d built something together. It wasn’t the usual type of situationship, but it was what it was. Clean, simple, and uncomplicated.

I pushed harder on the pedals, picking up my pace as I entered Forest Park. I didn’t have the mental space to appreciate the browning of the trees here. Autumn was coming, and its birth was shown in the sporadic colors of the season around the city.

My phone buzzed in my jersey pocket, and I slowed to check it. It was a text from Journey: “Okay, if you don’t meet me for coffee, I’m coming to your house. I really do have news!”

I typed back quickly: “Let’s meet for lunch.”

“Two pm, sharp! Don’t be late, tootles!”

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and smiled. Whatever Journey’s news was would be a welcomed reprieve, and honestly, I should’ve agreed sooner.

By the time I completed my route and headed back toward the city, the sun was fully up, and the day officially bustled around me. My legs burned with the good kind of fatigue from pushing myself, and my mind felt clearer than it had in days.

That was, until I remembered that I had to meet Gerald in two hours.

I stopped at a traffic light and checked my watch. Eight-fifteen. I’d agreed to meet him at ten at a coffee shop on the Central West End—neutral territory where I could hear what he had to say and be on my way without inconvenience.

Two hours later, I sat in the corner booth at Kaldi’s Coffee, nursing a latte and watching the door.

I was still in my cycle gear, not caring to go home and change first before meeting Gerald.

Whatever he needed to say I wanted him to make it quick, and I was still internally kicking myself for agreeing to hear him out.

Gerald walked in five minutes late, just like always. Some things never changed.

He looked older than I remembered, his dark skin bearing new lines around his eyes and mouth.

His hair was graying at the temples, and he’d put on weight around his middle.

He wore jeans and a Cardinals sweatshirt that had seen better days, and when he smiled at me across the coffee shop, I saw the gap between his front teeth that had once charmed me and now just reminded me of all the bullshit he’d put me through.

“Naomi.” He slid into the booth across from me, reaching across the table like he was going to take my hand.

I pulled my hands into my lap. “Gerald.”

“You look good, baby. Really good.”

“Don’t call me that.”

His smile faltered, but he recovered quickly. Gerald had always been good at rolling with the punches, adapting his approach when one tactic didn’t work.

“Sorry. Old habits.” He flagged down the waitress and ordered black coffee, no sugar. Another thing that hadn’t changed. “Thank you for meeting me. I know things between us are... complicated.”

“Things between us are finished. The only reason I’m here is because you said this was about your health.”

Gerald’s expression shifted, and for a moment, I saw fear in his eyes. But with Gerald, it was always hard to tell what was real and what was performance.

“It is about my health. I wasn’t lying about that.” He wrapped his hands around his coffee cup when it arrived, staring down into the dark liquid. “I’ve been having some chest pains.”

I was immediately annoyed by the concern I felt. I didn’t want to care about anything regarding him. “And?”

“I went to the emergency room last month. They ran a bunch of tests. Heart scans, blood work, the whole nine yards.” He looked up at me, and I could see the exhaustion in his face.

“My cholesterol is through the roof, and my blood pressure is borderline dangerous. The doctor said if I don’t get it under control, I could be looking at a heart attack within the year. ”

“So get it under control. Take medication, change your diet, exercise.”

“That’s the thing.” Gerald leaned forward, his voice dropping. “The medication they want to put me on costs eight hundred dollars a month. My insurance won’t cover it because they say there are cheaper alternatives, but those alternatives don’t work for me. I’ve tried them.”

That tug of manipulation was back. Gerald had always been able to find a way to make me feel responsible for his problems.

“What about the job at Martinez Plumbing? Didn’t they have better insurance?”

Gerald’s jaw tightened. “That didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. It just... didn’t work out.”

I knew that tone. It was the same one he’d used when he’d gotten fired for showing up drunk, or when he’d been caught sleeping with the dispatcher, or any of the dozen other times his poor choices had cost him employment.

“Gerald, what did you do?”

“Why does it have to be something I did? Why can’t it just be that the job wasn’t a good fit?”

“Because I’ve been married to you. I know how this works.”