In the background, I could hear Jake say, “Cut it out, Chloe. This is a business, not a sorority house.” Then his rumbling voice was in my ear. “Hello?”

He’d just told poor Chloe off and grabbed her receiver. I pictured him standing at the front desk of Pittsburgh’s Most Popular Gym for the last three years running, waiting for me to respond, and all of a sudden the hilarity of what I was about to do hit me. A tiny giggle bubbled up my chest and I pushed it down, clearing my throat as I reached for some decorum.

“Hello?” he said again.

“Hi, Mr. Wrigley. It’s Aly Road.”

“Excuse me?” The phone receiver rustled as it was moved. “Can you all quiet down? I can’t hear the phone.”

“It’s Alyson Road . . . from jail.” I whispered the last word, instantly regretting that I chose that as how to describe myself.

“Hey, it’s Jake. What can I do for you? Did you decide to take me up on my offer for a free membership? It still stands.”

I gripped my forehead with my palm. Calling him was such a mistake. “I just wanted to say thanks for the plant. It really wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh, it was. But you don’t need to thank me for a thank-you gift, Aly. Is that okay? For me to call you Aly?”

“Um, sure. Okay, so thanks,” I said, injecting finality in my tone as I tried to end the stilted conversation.

“Hey, can you hold on one sec?”

“Okay . . .” I drawled out the word uncertainly, but what I really wanted was to hang up. What else was there to say?

I was back on hold, this time forced to listen to some crazy hip-hop that pummeled over the line. I was trying to tune out the constant blaring of what sounded like “pop that pussy” when Jake came back.

“Hey, I’m back. I’m in my office now. Sorry for all that mix-up. Listen, good thing you called, saves me a trip to the county building. I was going to ask you to dinner. So, what do you say?”

“Um, Mr. Wrigley—”

“Jake, remember? I’m not in jail anymore, and you’re no longer an attorney on my case.”

“Jake, I don’t know. I still don’t think it’s appropriate.” My palms were so sweaty, I ran them one by one along my skirt to dry them, having to shift the phone from hand to hand while I did, but it was futile.

“It’s just dinner. We started out on the wrong foot and we keep running into each other, so that’s got to mean something, right? Let’s get together on purpose, Legs.”

“You just like my legs.” Holy shit! Where did that come from? I was flirting with him, egging him on.

“Well, yes, definitely that too. Why do you think I offered you a membership the first night we met? We need more of those legs in my gym.”

I felt the blush creep up my pale skin all the way to my forehead. Forget my face, I was seriously burning all the way down to my core. What the hell was I doing? I was supposed to be preparing for the case of my career, and instead I was flirting with a guy I met in jail—who did happen to look amazing in ratty jeans and a tight Henley.

“I’m sorry for bringing that night up again,” I said hesitantly. “That was really inappropriate of me. You weren’t charged with anything, and I shouldn’t hold it against you. Professionally, I mean.”

“Aly, we’re on the phone. I’m a man and you’re a woman. We’re not discussing business or law, or any of that shit. I’m trying to ask you out on a date. Drop all the professional stuff. So, how’s Thursday?”

“Well . . . ”

“No well. Say yes.”

“Yes. Okay.”

I was going to hell. With one quick phone call, all my promises to put my career first and never to get involved with the cool kids went out the window because clearly Mr. Wrigley was already interrupting my work. And according to the Yelpers of Pittsburgh, he was most certainly a cool kid.

“Great! I’ll pick you up at seven. I already know where you live, so don’t come down. I’ll come up and get you. What unit?”

“Not going to be that easy, Jake. I’ll wait in the vestibule.” Vestibule? More like an ant-filled hole-in-the-wall.

“Just wait inside safely then. And here’s my direct number . . . ”

He rattled off his cell number, and like I did it all the time, I gave him my number. With that, we hung up with a plan all set for Thursday.

The cool kid and me!

Poor, dirty, geeky, stuck-in-the-corner Aly Road.

Jake

“Dude, get off my site. We’re done, you got me? Fucking done.”

My biceps flexed under my thermal shirt, ready for a rumble. This ass was testing my patience. He’d defaulted on every item in our deal, and Lane wasn’t here to negotiate or sweet-talk him off the property, so I was handling shit the way I normally did. With brawn and a few threatening dirty looks.

My soon-to-be ex-contractor glared at me. “That’s bullshit. Fuck you. I’m building your muscle house as fast as I can, dude.”

“Not fast enough.”

When I puffed out my chest and got up in his face, he shoved me backward. Good thing that my new foreman, Jax, was standing behind me. He caught my aggressive ass and held me in a lockdown.

“You’re through,” I told the piece-of-crap contractor, and kicked some dirt up with my foot to emphasize my point.

“I should call the cops,” he shouted as a little spittle ran down the side of his mouth.

“But you won’t,” I tossed back. “You got a record a mile long, so get the hell out.”

Lucky guess. Took one tough guy to know another. I watched the loser kick the door of his truck before climbing in, and then he tore out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel as he did.

Jax and I had visited the site the night before and he was up-to-date with what I needed, so I headed out and left him to it. I had another project to attend to; I was a regular businessman now.

The thought made me laugh to myself as I rumbled down the highway in my Hummer. The Bimmer was gone, and I was now the proud owner of a new venture. Another step toward ridding myself of the heavy burden on my back that I was chipping away at bit by bit. I didn’t deserve full forgiveness, but at least I could salvage a small piece of my heart.

My phone rang, interrupting my pride fest.

“Yo, Bess, what’s up? All good?”

Without even a hello, she went right for the jugular. “I told you not to get involved with her, didn’t I?”

I was an idiot. Rather than punching the dash and veering my car into oncoming traffic, I slapped my hand against the steering wheel. I should have known Camper would go to Bess and play the poor victim. I was so damn angry with myself for ever starting with the bitch, and of course my sister-in-law was right to say I told you so.

“Bess, babe, she’s cray—the crazy kind of cray—and she knew what she was getting into. I’m not a commitment man like my brother.”

She laughed. “He wasn’t a commitment man either, if I recall. All it takes is the right girl. But Camper wants it all on a silver platter, and I told both of you to let it be.”

“Well, it’s not within Camper to listen. That girl can be so freaking fake. You don’t even know the half of it. She’s pissed at you now too, by the way.”

“I know. She called me with her pity-party-for-one, wanting to know how I ended up happy and she didn’t.”

“Because she’s always trying to trade up, looking for an edge. You need to cool it with her. She’s not a good friend, Bess.” I flicked on my turn signal and took the next exit, veering right toward my destination.

“I hear you, Jake. But you didn’t listen either. I’ve got your best interests at heart, not because you’re my brother-in-law but because I love ya. Who rescued me when everything went south with AJ? And who got Lane and me to see clearly? You.”

“Bess, don’t get all mushy on me,” I said while sitting at a stoplight.

“Seriously, what about you? You doing okay? Lane said you’re still in therapy. Are you feeling any better?”