Throwing Heat

Leslie knew he didn’t mind either.

If ever there was a guy who could corner the market on commitment-phobia it was him. Not in all the years she’d known him had he ever had a girlfriend. Or at least not a steady one.

Certainly there were women. There had to be. It was Peter Kowalskin, for goodness’ sake. He didn’t just sit around all night playing canasta. Maybe he simply got laid on the road.

The light turned green and Leslie let out the clutch and cruised through the intersection. She was heading west and could see the Rockies in the distance already snowcapped and looking beautiful. It looked like they were going to be in for a brutal winter, if the early snows were any indication. Then again, the high country always got pummeled way more than the Front Range—at least that’s what Lorelei told her.

She was deep in thought about which ski pass to buy this winter when her phone went off. She grabbed it out of the front pocket of her purse and answered without checking the caller ID.

“Leslie Cutter.”

“You didn’t answer my text.”

She rolled her eyes. Men. “I’m driving, Kowalskin. You wouldn’t want me to wreck my pretty little car by texting and driving now would you?”

“Fine, you’re off the hook this time. Where are you going?”

“Somewhere you’re not. What’s it to you?” Listening to him on the phone started her blood humming in her veins. Aside from the accent that he played up sometimes only to annoy her, he had a sexy voice. It was a little youthful and a lot rough-and-tumble with a hard edge. Just like the rest of him.

“I’ve got plans for us, princess, and I don’t have much time. So you need to get your butt back here. I have a surprise.”

She didn’t trust his surprises. Not as far as she could throw them. “I’m not missing my pole class.”

“C’mon, Leslie. If you don’t come here then I’ll come to you.” He made it sound like a threat.

The studio came into view and she whipped into the parking lot. “You can try, but there are a lot of pole fitness studios in this city. Good luck trying to find mine.”

He snorted. “Girl, please. Do you honestly believe that I couldn’t just make a few calls and find out where you shake your ass?”

Since he put it like that . . . “Whatever. Hey, I have to go.” She was about to disconnect and then remembered. “Wait! Have you heard anything about my apartment? Has Jerry called you with an update? I was hoping to move back in this weekend.”

There was a shuffling and what sounded like a garage door opening. “Not that I know of. I’ll double-check my phone when I get a chance, but don’t hold your breath. I’ve been preoccupied.”

Leslie did have to give him that. Playing ball for a living kept the guy busy, especially in the postseason. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” She reached for her gym bag and retrieved it from the back seat. “I don’t want to impose for longer than absolutely necessary.” The line went quiet. “Are you still there?” she asked as she climbed out of her car.

Peter sighed softly and finally relented, saying quietly, “You’re not an imposition, Leslie.”

The breath froze in her chest. How was she supposed to respond to that? Wiping a hand on her cropped black yoga pants, Leslie chose to ignore his comment. “Um, okay, well I’m going now. I’ll talk to you later.”

Hanging up, Leslie shoved the phone back in her purse and opened the studio door. Once inside she glanced around and noted that she was just in time. About a dozen women milled about in various workout getups, and she particularly liked the mini-shorts and legwarmers look. How very Footloose. Somebody remind her again why the eighties were making a comeback?

The music changed and went lusty. Her class was about to start.

Slipping into the room and dropping her stuff, she waved to some of the other regular girls and kicked off her shoes. “Hey, y’all.” Unlike most of the other women in her class she wore neither mini-shorts nor stripper heels. She needed the cushion from the fabric on the back of her knees for pole work and the heels, well, just no way. She wanted to keep her ankles unbroken and in good health, thank you very much. It was hard enough just walking in them some nights.

Quickly grabbing an open pole, Leslie caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirrors on the front wall. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun to keep the strands out of her face when she twirled and she had on a dark pink workout tank top along with her yoga crops. Giving a little shimmy to loosen up, she studied herself and approved.

She looked good. All these pole dancing classes had paid off and her body was nice and firm. Curvy as a Roman statue, but toned and healthy and strong. Leslie knew she packed a punch and liked it that way.

Skinny was so overrated.

With a slight smile she gave a little booty shake. Some junk in the trunk was where all the fun was at. More cushion for the pushin’.

The Pussycat Dolls began to play on the radio, being uber-sexy and singing about loosening buttons with Snoop Dogg. Following the lead instructor, Leslie went through the warm-up routine and then settled into the fun and vigorous workout. Enjoying herself, she swung her legs up and spun on the pole, lowering backward with every whirl until she was upside-down. She was breathing heavy when her spin and the song came to an end, but she had a huge grin on her face. Leslie Cutter, stripper at large. Watch your men, ladies.

Totally amused with herself, she was giggling a little when she came to a complete stop, her upside-down head facing the door. Her eyes focused and the giggle lodged in her chest. A pair of scuffed up black skater shoes and frayed jeans blocked her vision. Shit. She knew those Vans.

Kowalskin.

Annoyance welled up inside her along with a healthy dose of the butterflies. He’d found her. She couldn’t believe he’d actually been serious about that.

Still panting, Leslie flipped upright and dislodged from the pole. Her heart was pounding and her blood was racing, but that was from the striptease routine, not the hard-bodied man standing by the door currently staring her down with ice-blue eyes full of bad intentions. The half smirk and cocked hip sent alarm bells ringing in her head.

The man was up to no good.

Suddenly on alert, like a predator had just walked into the room and she was its main course, Leslie crossed her arms over her chest and waited until the furious whispering in the room had dropped to a low enough level to allow her to speak. The whole class had stopped the minute he’d entered. He had that effect. And his face was so recognizable.

Yes, ladies. It’s him. And yes, he’s every bit as wild as he looks. “What do you want, Kowalskin?” She let him hear the irritation in her voice.

It occurred to her that she wasn’t entirely sure if it was him or her thoughts that she was annoyed with, but she shoved the idea aside fast. Of course it was him. It was always him.

He slid a look at her from the corner of his eyes, his spiky black lashes and the mischievous glint in the blue depths making her knees weak. Energy and raw sexuality. That was Peter. And he was turning it loose on her.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said to the room after shooting her a cocky wink. “Is there room for one more?”

Warning bells turned into flashing sirens. What? No, he wasn’t crashing her dance class, was he? Would he?

Of course he would.

The question was why? While she watched, he put his sunglasses in his hat and tossed it on the floor by the wall. He was about the only man she knew who could get away with wearing a black fedora and look good. On him the hat was way sexier than it had any right to be.

The room fell silent as all the women stared at Peter in awe. And she couldn’t blame them, really. The man looked hot in his clingy black button-up, leather bracelet, jeans, and finger-combed black hair. The lean, rugged face and piercing eyes only added to the total package.

One of the young women behind her muttered under her breath, “Oh my God.”

Jealously sunk its teeth into her again.