Read Online Santa's Pet by Rachelle Ayala - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rachelle Ayala
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involved in this. Right now, I have bigger problems with a feature that should have been online on Black Friday.”
“Sure, I trust you.” She pats my arm. “By the way, we’ll beat this lewd conduct thing. You’ll see. Someday, we’ll look back and laugh, but in the meantime, you’re going to look so hot, you’ll make me weep.”
“Why? Won’t you be jealous of Brandon checking me out?” I smirk to tease her.
“Don’t.” She growls and pushes me to the door. “Get to work, girl. Tomorrow I’ll take you shopping and do a makeover.”
I grab my car keys and hurry to my sensible Toyota parked next to Lacy’s bright red Mustang GT. A niggle starts from my heart and works its way to my stomach. Why should she have all the fun?
Turning on my heels, I stride back to the kitchen. Lacy, Brandon, my grandfather Pappy, grandmother Cece, and my parents are in the living room watching a bowl game along with Owen. Their rapt attention is on the boob tube.
No one disturbs me as I replace my keys and snag Lacy’s. She won’t miss her car. Not tonight, anyway.
The car starts with a full-bodied rumble. Oh yeah. I’m taking the top down. After weaving through the town, I zoom onto the freeway and head for the Golden Gate Bridge as the sun sets over the Pacific Ocean.
~ Ben ~
Ben checked into the private fitness club Dominique had set him up with. It was situated in a warehouse area in San Francisco next to a recycling center. The neighborhood looked dumpy, full of storage units, trailers, and the occasional office building, but once he got behind the automatic gates, a newly tarred driveway led into an old aircraft hangar which served as a shaded parking area for the athletes.
Pro players from the San Francisco Bridges, as well as their across the bay rivals, the Oakland Brigands, hung out at the swank club which was equipped with the heaviest weights and the most tortuous exercise machines known to mankind.
A personal trainer was always on duty, so Ben didn’t have to worry about a spotter for the weights he was going to hit.
Adrenaline flooded his veins as he pulled on his workout clothes. He routinely benched four hundred pounds and squatted seven hundred. As for reflexes and agility? He had a forty-inch vertical leap, could broad jump over one-hundred twenty-five inches, and ran the forty-yard dash in a little over four-and-a-half seconds.
Alonzo, one of the trainers, met him at the weight room. “You must be one dedicated hombre working out on a Saturday evening.”
“Yeah, well, if you had the day I had, you’d be pushing pounds too.”
“No date night, or you got some already?” Alonzo lifted his eyebrows. “What are you in for?”
“Hit me with some drop sets.”
“Sure you want to be useless tomorrow?” The trainer grabbed a towel and activated the electronic lock to the weight room.
“Tomorrow’s my endurance day. Going for a long run.” Ben grabbed a towel and a bottle of water.
An hour later, Ben could barely move. Every muscle in his body not only screamed, but was drained to the fullest. Drop sets continually taxed the same muscles by going from heavier weights to progressively lighter ones without resting, until the muscles literally failed.
Alonzo pulled him from the bench. “Okay, jock. To the shower and sauna. Couple of Brigands are there.”
“Sure, thanks.” Ben dragged himself to the shower. He didn’t want to meet up with or speak to anyone, especially if they’d seen the news.
The trainer, of course, was discreet, and never let on whether he’d seen or heard of Ben’s problems at the tree farm. However, he couldn’t count on pro players to consider his feelings, when he was nothing but a college senior whose agent paid for the private club—her investment for her future income stream.
He had finished his shower and was pulling on his clothes when two linebackers closed in on him. Great. One was the all pro linebacker for the Brigands and the other a guy who
“Sure, I trust you.” She pats my arm. “By the way, we’ll beat this lewd conduct thing. You’ll see. Someday, we’ll look back and laugh, but in the meantime, you’re going to look so hot, you’ll make me weep.”
“Why? Won’t you be jealous of Brandon checking me out?” I smirk to tease her.
“Don’t.” She growls and pushes me to the door. “Get to work, girl. Tomorrow I’ll take you shopping and do a makeover.”
I grab my car keys and hurry to my sensible Toyota parked next to Lacy’s bright red Mustang GT. A niggle starts from my heart and works its way to my stomach. Why should she have all the fun?
Turning on my heels, I stride back to the kitchen. Lacy, Brandon, my grandfather Pappy, grandmother Cece, and my parents are in the living room watching a bowl game along with Owen. Their rapt attention is on the boob tube.
No one disturbs me as I replace my keys and snag Lacy’s. She won’t miss her car. Not tonight, anyway.
The car starts with a full-bodied rumble. Oh yeah. I’m taking the top down. After weaving through the town, I zoom onto the freeway and head for the Golden Gate Bridge as the sun sets over the Pacific Ocean.
~ Ben ~
Ben checked into the private fitness club Dominique had set him up with. It was situated in a warehouse area in San Francisco next to a recycling center. The neighborhood looked dumpy, full of storage units, trailers, and the occasional office building, but once he got behind the automatic gates, a newly tarred driveway led into an old aircraft hangar which served as a shaded parking area for the athletes.
Pro players from the San Francisco Bridges, as well as their across the bay rivals, the Oakland Brigands, hung out at the swank club which was equipped with the heaviest weights and the most tortuous exercise machines known to mankind.
A personal trainer was always on duty, so Ben didn’t have to worry about a spotter for the weights he was going to hit.
Adrenaline flooded his veins as he pulled on his workout clothes. He routinely benched four hundred pounds and squatted seven hundred. As for reflexes and agility? He had a forty-inch vertical leap, could broad jump over one-hundred twenty-five inches, and ran the forty-yard dash in a little over four-and-a-half seconds.
Alonzo, one of the trainers, met him at the weight room. “You must be one dedicated hombre working out on a Saturday evening.”
“Yeah, well, if you had the day I had, you’d be pushing pounds too.”
“No date night, or you got some already?” Alonzo lifted his eyebrows. “What are you in for?”
“Hit me with some drop sets.”
“Sure you want to be useless tomorrow?” The trainer grabbed a towel and activated the electronic lock to the weight room.
“Tomorrow’s my endurance day. Going for a long run.” Ben grabbed a towel and a bottle of water.
An hour later, Ben could barely move. Every muscle in his body not only screamed, but was drained to the fullest. Drop sets continually taxed the same muscles by going from heavier weights to progressively lighter ones without resting, until the muscles literally failed.
Alonzo pulled him from the bench. “Okay, jock. To the shower and sauna. Couple of Brigands are there.”
“Sure, thanks.” Ben dragged himself to the shower. He didn’t want to meet up with or speak to anyone, especially if they’d seen the news.
The trainer, of course, was discreet, and never let on whether he’d seen or heard of Ben’s problems at the tree farm. However, he couldn’t count on pro players to consider his feelings, when he was nothing but a college senior whose agent paid for the private club—her investment for her future income stream.
He had finished his shower and was pulling on his clothes when two linebackers closed in on him. Great. One was the all pro linebacker for the Brigands and the other a guy who
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