We weren’t even doing anything wrong, but it suddenly feels like it. The photo, taken out of context, could easily be misconstrued.
“Great, from zero to scandalous in one yoga pose,” I grumble, my knack for landing in awkward situations reaching new heights.
I start walking home, each step heavy with apprehension and the knowledge that the conversation with Adam will be inevitable—and crucial.
The last thing I wanted was to create drama at the gym, and yet here I am, potentially stirring up a storm totally unintentionally.
CHAPTER11
Adam
The morning air is crisp, almost biting—having dropped back into the forties last night, despite it being June.
Stupid bipolar Minnesota weather.
I pace back and forth in front of St. Mary’s Hospital. I couldn’t even bring myself to wait in the gym where the temps are climate-controlled. I need to be the first thing Carlie sees when she gets here.
It’s barely dawn, the sky finally exploding into a sea of colors, but sleep is the last thing on my mind. My phone is burning a hole in my pocket—the screen lighting up with notifications I’m too anxious to read.
I thought the first tagged image was bad. There have been more cropping up now, like we were stalked by the goddamn Paparazzi. And one in particular has hit its mark.
It’s clear in the image I have a thing for Carlie—it’s practically written across my face in flashing neon lights.
The whole thing is a nightmare.
Now, there are comments accusing me of abusing my position, of being an ‘eligible bachelor’ who takes advantage of his clients.
What really twists the knife is the way people are talking about Carlie—judging her, making assumptions about her.About us.
So much of it is vile.
If I knew who snapped the pictures and posted them the way they did …
Anger courses through me as I clench my fists at my sides.
To add insult to injury, Carlie is ghosting me.
I don’t know if that means she’s seen the post or if she’s pissed.
I’ve tried calling and texting her, but she hasn’t responded since the last one saying ‘she’ll be here todayfor sure.’
If she’s seen the posts, I can’t blame her for ignoring me. She must be feeling blindsided by all this. And the stupid part is, it’s my face, my name tied to everything, even though I had nothing to do with it.
It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I glance at my watch.
Carlie’s session is in thirty minutes. I need to talk to her before she walks into a gym buzzing with rumors and stares. Hell, I need to apologize, explain—do something.
Anything.
As I turn to head back inside, a flicker of movement—a flash of red hair—catches my eye. My heart seizes as Carlie approaches me, her pace hesitant.
“Carlie,” I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
She looks up, almost as if she’s trying extra hard not to trip over her feet. Surprise is etched on her face and I can almost see the walls going up—the defenses she’s putting in place.
Shit. She knows.