The dinner had been both relaxing and fun. Justine didn’t seem to mind him being a therapist, which could sometimes be off-putting for people. They became self-conscious when talking to him, thinking he was analyzing every word they said. Not Justine. She’d been laughing and open, sincere about processing her evening.

He felt for her. Her family sounded worlds apart from his. Though he and Auggie teased about their mother’s lecturing, it all came from a place of love. And she’d never hold their choices against them. From a young age, he’d been taught to be accepting of everyone. Race, gender, sexual orientation—none of it meant anything compared to the soul inside the body.

Yet Justine didn’t seem to have that. From what he’d heard and what she hadn’t said, she wanted her parents to accept her because she loved them, even if she didn’t always like them. Why else go to a dinner party knowing she’d likely get run over by her overbearing family?

He ran faster on the treadmill as he thought about that Cal guy, the one she hadn’t exactly disliked. Why did her parents need her to date the perfect man? At least she’d been smart enough to ditch her ex. She hadn’t mentioned much of him, but the guy sounded like a jackass.

He couldn’t imagine Justine needing that much more from a man than empathy and affection. So where exactly had Mitch gone wrong?

His curiosity was itching at him, wanting to know more about the woman he had a tough time not thinking about. And God, hugging her had been excruciating.

She’d felt like warm sin, all curves and strength, yet fragile. It had been all he could do not to rub up against her like some big perv. So even though he’d been aroused, he’d been careful not to show it.

Five minutes after she’d left, he’d talked himself out of being aroused. Then ended his night by jacking off to thoughts of her, unable to get her unbound breasts and tight ass out of his mind—those pajamas he’d caught her in on Saturday.

He ran harder, feeling that arousal build once more. Not about to be caught chubbing up at the gym, he ran himself into exhaustion before turning to the free weights.

He finished his workout and nodded at a few gym-goers he hadn’t seen in a while.

“Well, well, Rapunzel finally left her tower.” A trainer with a steel-hard frame and square jaw smirked at him.

“I’m not sure if that’s a reference that I need a haircut or you’re calling me a girl.”

“Neither,” Gavin Donnigan said, crossing his arms over a broad chest. “First, I’m not into your hair, though I’ve heard more than a few of our members talking about the hot redhead with guns.”

“My hair’s brown, not red,” Xavier growled.

Gavin talked over him. “And since your sister isn’t here, and they were looking in your direction, I’m thinking the guns they were talking about belong to you.” He looked over Xavier’s arms and added, “Puny though they are.”