Page 35 of Fractured Mind
“Do you want to turn back now?” he asks through heavy breaths.
I force my eyes to remain on his, but I find it hard not to gawk at his body. “Are you getting tired?” I tease.
He chuckles. “Not at all... but I’m thirsty.”
We turn around, picking up our pace before going back the way we came. Two women jogging with strollers fill up the path, so I fall in behind him. My eyes devouring him from behind, watching as beads of sweat roll down his muscled back. His shorts hug his form well enough that I can see just how firm his ass is.
He peers over his shoulder, and I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar—much to his amusement. He gives me a self-satisfied grin.
“You’re impossible,” I murmur under my breath as we fall in line again.
A group of young teenage girls jogs toward us, and one by one their eyes widen as they gape at Ashton. When they pass us, all Ican hear is their high-pitched giggles. I swat him with my hand. “Put your shirt back on.”
He raises a brow but grabs his shirt from the waistband of his shorts and slips it back on. It’s as if it sweeps across his torso in slow motion, caressing his skin and covering each muscle as it goes. I didn’t know putting on a shirt could be so hot.Oh my God, what is wrong with me?
We cross the road to the shops. My eyes latch straight on to the picture on the side of the restaurant that I saw when Nick and I went out to lunch. “I love the mural. It looks so realistic.”
“It does. Jackson did it.”
“Really?” I take a moment longer to appreciate every detail of the lifelike image.
He grabs my hand. My heart, which had slowed after the jog, spikes again from his touch. As he leads me inside the restaurant, I look around. It has an industrial theme, with exposed brown bricks and a concrete floor, and the décor contains a mix of wood, concrete, and metal.
Maree is sitting with her friends at a table. I think I see a flicker of anger in her eyes when she sees us, but it disappears when she blinks, replaced with disinterest as she talks to her friends. “I think she might be over it,” I whisper, and tilt my head in Maree’s direction.
“She apologized to me at the lake yesterday for how she treated you.”
A sarcastic laugh escapes my throat. “She apologized toyoufor being rude tome?” Or maybe she was desperate to talk to him, which is most likely the case.
He shrugs. “So do you still like strawberry smoothies?”
I love how he remembers things about me. “I don’t drink them. I live off coffee, but I wouldn’t mind one.”
All conversations stop, and when I look around, two men walk in, tall and intimidating. They’re wearing the same vest themen at the warehouse wore. There’s an air of danger around them. I wouldn’t want to be on their bad side. They glance our way and make their way to our table.
“How’s the training going?” the towering man, who’s at least six feet four, asks Ashton. His voice is deep and hoarse.
A grimace pulls at my lips at his question. Ashton side-eyes me before redirecting his attention to the masculine man at our table. “Good.”
As injusttraining or training for the fights? I want to find out the answer, but my lips press together because we’ve had a great day together and I don’t want to spoil it.
The one with the cheeky grin says, “There’s a clubhouse party next weekend, if you’re interested.”
Ashton goes rigid, and his eyes are on me when he replies, “I won’t be going to them anymore.”
The man gives him a slow nod and then turns his gaze to me and smirks. Ashton moves ahead of me and squares his shoulders, blocking the man’s view. Instead of moving away, I gently tug on his hand, and his shoulders drop just a fraction.
Looking back to the man from the MC, I expect him to be angry, but his grin only curves higher. “I’ve heard Mercedez and Candy are keen to see you again,” he taunts, and it makes my stomach drop. “But it seems you’ve settled down now. The girls will beverydisappointed.”
Ashton shakes his head as the man releases a throaty chuckle. My body relaxes, releasing tension. The men stroll away from us and toward the front to order, but the tall one pauses and glances over his shoulder. “You need to bring some of that anger to your next fight.”
After the man turns around, I ask, “Who were they?”
“That was Reaper the War Brothers MC’s president, and the one who was taunting me was Axle. He’s their road captain.”
“Why did you do that?” I croak.
His head inches back. “Do what?”