Acting on Impulse by Mia Sosa

Author:Mia Sosa
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Tori

THIS ISN’T GOING to work.

I pull several bottles of water from a small fridge in the corner of the break room and a stack of bright white towels from one of the lockers. With my gaze on the floor, I thrust two bottles into his hands. “Here. Drink them both.”

As he guzzles the water, I do my best to ignore the long column of his neck and the tendons stretching there as he swallows. I drape a towel over his shoulder and hold the rest of the stack in my hands.

When Carter’s done with both bottles, he tosses them in the recycling bin and uses the towel to wipe the sweat that’s still pouring down his face.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

My words are clipped, and judging by the way he narrows his eyes, Carter notices my frustrated tone. He’s serious about preparing for this role, and I’m messing around with him like a vindictive child—and trivializing my own job in the process. And for what? Because I’m attracted to him, and I refuse to do anything about it? That isn’t his fault. Oh, Tori, how low can you go?

“I’m feeling fine,” he says. “You didn’t have to pull me out of the class.”

My head pounds, warning me of a migraine. I haven’t had one of those in a long time. “Yes, I did.”

“I would have handled it just fine. In fact, one of those poses was—”

“Carter, stop. You shouldn’t have been in that class. It has nothing to do with your fitness goals. I let my lack of objectivity in this situation inform my training program. It’s inexcusable, and I would understand if you didn’t want to work with me anymore.”

He draws back and gives me a dazed look. “Why?”

I look up at him then. “Why, what?”

“Why’d you have me take hot yoga when it has nothing to do with my training?”

I blow out a long breath and tilt my head to the ceiling. “I guess I was annoyed by everything. The fact that you insinuated yourself into my life. The fact that your presence here threatens the quiet existence I’d like to pursue. The fact that I’m . . .”

“What? The fact that you’re what?” he asks with urgency in his voice.

“Nothing. Just . . . I’m sorry I let my personal issues affect my professional judgment.”

He raises his hand slowly and caresses my cheek with two fingers. I lean into his touch, wanting forgiveness, wanting whatever he wants, but just as quickly I draw back and circle the bench so that it creates a barrier between us. After a pause, I open a locker and deposit the remaining towels inside.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

With my back to him, I take a deep breath and lay a hand on top of the open locker door. After a pause, I turn around and tilt my head to the side. “Sorry? What for?”

His gaze is kind. “For not being honest with you when we met. I’m used to shielding myself

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