The Last Read online

  I collapse against his chest, panting like—like—like we just fucked in the backseat of a car like a couple of horny teenagers.

  A giggle slips out. “I can’t believe we just had car sex.”

  I draw back to see him smiling at me. “Is this one of those college rites of passage we missed?” he asks.

  “Seems more like high school,” I point out. “We would have just fucked in a dorm room in college.”

  “Would we?” He seems to think it over. “You’re probably right, though we’d have been working around our roommates’ schedules.”

  I’m not thinking about schedules. I’m thinking about how things would have been then. What if we had fallen in love at eighteen or nineteen? Is the Ian I’m getting now so different from the one I knew then? Is this relationship we’re creating such a huge jump from what it would have been back then?

  Different, but the same. I don’t know how to explain it.

  “Ian, I—”

  Thunk!

  Something hits the car, and I scream. Ian tries to grab my hips, but I scramble off him and snatch a handful of tissues from the console.

  Mopping up should probably be my last concern when we’re about to be murdered, but Lisa did say this was a $2,500 dress. I scramble to tug it down around my thighs as I look around frantically for the source of the attack.

  “What was that?” My voice comes out breathless, and I don’t know if it’s from the sex or from terror at the serial killer trying to get into the car. “Oh God, this is like that campfire story where the crazed murderer has a hook for a hand and the couple finds it stuck in the car door.”

  Ian grimaces as he zips himself back into his pants. “It wasn’t the door,” he says, ever the practical one. “It sounded like the top of the car.”

  “So what, alien abduction?”

  He stretches up and pulls back the cover on the car’s sunroof. It takes me a few seconds to figure out what I’m staring at.

  “Is that a butthole?”

  Ian nods solemnly. “Yep. The feline variety.”

  Hearing our voices, the cat that has seated himself on the sunroof peers down with a disdainful gaze. If cats could talk, this one would say, “what the hell are you looking at?”

  I can’t seem to stop staring. “Where on earth did a cat come from?”

  “Lots of businesses keep them around to control mice,” he says. “Or it could be from one of the feral colonies around here.”

  The cat stays seated with its stink-star pressed against the glass. He lifts one paw and begins to lick it, in no big hurry to end this unexpected post-coital show.

  “Should we check him for a collar?” I suggest. “Maybe he’s someone’s lost pet.”

  “I’d just appreciate him removing his cheerio from our line of sight.”

  The instant I reach for the door handle, the cat bolts off the top of the car. I take my hand back from the door and fold it in my lap. When Ian starts to laugh, I join in. He slings an arm around me.

  “Well, fiancée,” he says. “I can’t promise you romance, but I can promise you laughs.”

  “And cat buttholes,” I add.

  “And cat buttholes.”

  And who knows, maybe that’s enough.

  Chapter Ten

  Ian

  Two days after our dinner with the Wyeth Airways team, Sarah calls in a panic.

  “The guy who’s supposed to teach my fitness class tonight has food poisoning.” She sounds out of breath, and there’s a familiar clang of dumbbells echoing in the background. “I’ve got six residents showing up in half an hour expecting someone to teach them to lift weights, and I don’t know who else to call.”

  “Hello to you, too.” I smile as I shift the phone to my other ear and lean back against the headboard of my hotel bed. I glance at the clock, surprised to see it’s nearly eight p.m. “Long day, huh?”

  I’ve learned pretty quickly that’s not uncommon in Sarah’s routine. She’s constantly creating new enrichment programs and job-training opportunities for the developmentally disabled adults she works with. Her passion for what she does is one of the things I admire most about her. She’s a fighter for the people she loves, and she loves every single resident she works with.

  Sarah groans. “They’ve been excited about this for weeks, and I know as much about lifting weights as you do about applying mascara.”

  “You doubt my cosmetology skills?”

  “I don’t doubt you have many skills I’ve never seen.” There’s a smile in her voice that wasn’t there a few seconds ago, and I pat myself on the back for helping to put it there. “And plenty of skills I have seen. But right now I need a fitness instructor.”

  “I’m an aviation management consultant,” I remind her. “I don’t have any formal training or fitness instructor certification.”

  “You’re the most buff guy I know,” she says. “You can obviously find your way around a gym, plus you do triathlons. You could talk about that.”

  “I can definitely share some basics on weightlifting,” I suggest. “Or overall fitness tips.”

  “Sure, that’s perfect.” Her voice softens a little. “What matters is that you’ve been around people with Down Syndrome. That’s the tough part. It takes a special person not to talk down to people or treat them like they’re any different, you know?”

  “I do know.”

  My heart twists hard. I always hated it when people would talk over Shane like he wasn’t there at all. When they’d treat him like a three-year-old instead of a normal teenager.

  “Please, Ian,” she says. “I need you.”

  There was never any question I’d help, but the urgency in her voice tweaks something inside me. Sarah’s fears, her worries, her tears—they’ve always slayed me, always left me desperate to take away whatever’s making her unhappy. I’d dive headfirst off the tenth floor of this hotel building if I thought it would fix that wobble in her voice.

  That’s just friendship, though. Just basic human empathy, nothing more.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait, where are you?”

  She gives me the address to a gym that’s blessedly close to my hotel and tells me we’ve got the place to ourselves for the night. Apparently her employer, Simon, owns the gym, which is pretty damn cool.

  I change into workout gear as fast as I can and jog the six blocks over there. By the time I arrive, Sarah is standing at the head of a group of adults wearing colorful workout clothes and smiles that remind me of Shane’s exuberant energy.

  I ignore the hitch in my throat as I step up beside Sarah. “Hey, guys.” I give a friendly wave to the whole group. “Good to meet you, I’m Ian.”

  “Hi, Ian,” they chorus back as Sarah turns to address me.

  “We’re allowed to use any equipment we like, so you can do whatever sort of program you feel like leading,” she says. “The floor is yours.”

  “I like that one over there.” Junie—the woman I recognize from Sarah’s birthday—points to a weight rack in the far corner.

  I check it out, grateful to see it’s a newer model with all the bells and whistles for safety. Good for beginners.

  “Good call, Junie,” I tell her. “And it’s great to see you again.”

  “You, too.” Junie beams at me. “I’m glad you’re here. You make Sarah smile.”

  Sarah flushes and glances away. She looks amazing in a pair of fitted gray leggings and a yellow-and-orange striped sports bra that reminds me how much I love watching her breasts move.

  Knock it off, dumbass.

  I clear my throat and concentrate on responding to Junie. “Congratulations, Junie. Sarah told me you passed your driver’s test?”

  Junie’s smile gets wider as she nods. “Sarah’s taking me driving on Friday.”

  “We’re going to lunch with Cassie and Simon.” The pride in Sarah’s voice is almost palpable. “Junie’s going to drive us there in my car.”

  “That’s awesome.” The other
residents are shifting expectantly, so I clap my hands together to get the show started. “So like I said, I’m Ian. I’ve been friends with Sarah for a really long time, and I’m excited to meet you all.”

  There’s a chorus of “nice to meet you,” along with one “thank you, Ian” from Junie’s corner.

  I survey the group, doing a quick inventory of shapes and sizes and any apparent risks for injury. Sarah gave me a brief rundown on the phone while I was changing, explaining some of the issues with Down Syndrome and exercise. I already know from Shane that there’s a higher rate of obesity and issues with hypermobility. Balance can be a concern, not to mention cardiac problems and—

  “How about we start by going around the group and introducing ourselves and sharing why you’re interested in learning more about exercise?” I infuse my voice with enough enthusiasm to push it past the lump in my throat.

  I look to Junie, who quickly takes my cue. “I’m Junie Traxel and I want to know about getting a booty like Beyoncé.”

  There’s a titter of laughter around the room, but Junie just smiles.

  “Can’t fault you for that.” I just barely manage to keep a straight face.

  Sarah is covering her laughter with a fake cough, and the smile she gives me dissolves something warm in the center of my chest.

  “Sign me up for the Beyoncé booty workout,” she says, giving Junie a friendly nudge. “Excellent idea.”

  We continue around the group and I meet Saul, Aidan, Shelly, Laurel, Jessie, and Stanley. I’m watching carefully, getting a bare-bones read on fitness experience and interest in different types of exercise. Several of the guys mention wanting to get buff so girls will like them, and I catch Aidan shooting shy smiles at Junie. It reminds me of how my mother used to worry about whether Shane would find love or get married or—

  “Okay,” I say, cutting off that train of thought as my chest starts to tighten. “Let’s start with a little warm-up.”

  I lead them through some basic cardio, beginning with marching in place and moving to high-knee running. I keep an eye on who’s getting winded, who seems ready for more advanced work, and who’s having difficulty with basic motor skills.

  “Great work, guys,” I tell them once we’re all warmed up. “Who wants to see Sarah help with a quick demonstration?”

  There’s a cheerful round of applause, and Sarah saunters forward with an eyeroll. “I told you I’m not a gym person.”

  “We’re all here to learn.” I gesture to the bench Junie pointed at earlier. “Can I get you to lie face-up, please, with your head facing that way?”

  She gives me a side-eye but refrains from making any cracks about me ordering her onto her back. As she stretches out on the bench, I do my best not to stare at her breasts. Or the space where her workout pants hug her thighs. Or—okay, I should probably stay focused on the workout.

  “Anyone know what this equipment is called?” I ask.

  Sarah smirks, and I realize she’s eye-level with my junk and fighting the urge to make a crack about equipment.

  “A bench press,” someone calls out.

  “You definitely use this to bench press,” I tell him. “And the machine is called a power rack.”

  I refrain from checking out Sarah’s rack, no matter how badly I might want to, forcing myself to stay focused on the lesson instead.

  “A power rack is great for bench pressing because of these safety pins here,” I explain. “If you lose your grip on the bar or it feels too heavy, these pins will catch the weight so it doesn’t fall on you.”

  There are a few murmured comments from the group, but everyone’s nodding and following along. “Aidan, could I ask you to grab a second one of these plates?”

  I demonstrate with the first one, showing him which size to grab and how to lift it off and slide it onto the bar. Everyone watches closely, and from the way Aidan swaggers, I can tell he’s pumped to be the chosen one. Shane was like that, too, always eager to be helpful. Thrilled with any activity that made him feel like one of the guys.

  God, I miss my brother.

  I push away the emotion, determined to stay focused. To help Sarah and everyone else in this room. We finish getting things locked into place, and I test the weight to make sure it’s a safe amount for Sarah. She grins up at me, and my nonexistent heart stutters.

  She’s so damn beautiful.

  As the group gathers around, I give a quick explanation of which muscle groups get worked in a proper bench press. One of the guys—Stan, I think—starts taking notes on a little blue pad of paper, and I wonder if Shane would have done that. He was always so inquisitive, always eager to learn something new.

  “Who wants to see Sarah lift this bar?” I ask.

  Seven hands shoot up in unison, and a chorus of “yeah” goes up around us. Sarah grimaces, but puts her hands on the bar.

  “Wait just a sec,” I tell her. “Let’s make sure you get the form right so you don’t get hurt. How about everyone come over here and take a look at Sarah’s hands.”

  They file over one by one and join me in peering at the bar. “See this stripe right here? The place without bumps on it? Go ahead and feel it.”

  Everyone takes a turn stroking the groove, noticing how it’s smooth and shinier than the area around it.

  “That’s where she wants to put these fingers right here.”

  I know I’m going to need to be more detailed with my instructions when they each take a turn, but we’ll get to that in due time. For now it’s good for them to get a look at proper form.

  “Okay, now we’re in business,” I say. “Sarah, go ahead and lift the bar straight up.”

  She makes a big show of rubbing her hands together and pretending to psych herself up for power lifting. There’s another ripple of laughter through the group as Sarah puts her hands back where I showed her earlier. “Like this?”

  “Perfect.”

  I’m conscious of her perfect breasts flexing and shifting and moving under that top, and I wonder if we should have started with an exercise that involves less opportunity for me to maim myself gawking at my fiancée.

  Fiancée.

  The word sends an unexpected rattle of excitement through me. We agreed not to address our engagement with the group just yet, since Sarah wants to wait until after Cassie’s wedding. We agreed to give this thing a trial period, and Sarah’s intent on sticking with it. I can respect that.

  But as I watch my funny, beautiful fiancée, I realize I love thinking about it. I love the idea of waking up next to her every morning for the rest of our lives.

  Sarah finishes her turn with the power rack, and we cycle through everyone else’s turn without incident. As soon as we’re done, Aidan raises his hand. “My brother says there’s something called a clean jerk,” he says. “Will we get to do that?”

  “No clean jerks today,” I tell him. “That’s a bit more of an advanced move.”

  Laurel raises her hand. “How about that thing where you have weights in your hands like this and you do like this?”

  She demonstrates a combo that’s sort of like a front squat followed by an overhead press with hands pantomiming dumbbells. Her form is surprisingly awesome, and I feel the same pinch of pride that used to hit me whenever Shane did something the so-called experts claimed he’d never do.

  “That’s a thruster,” I tell Laurel, wondering why I never noticed before how weirdly filthy these terms sound when you say them out loud. “Great full-body exercise that works your legs as well as your back and shoulders and abs. We can definitely build up to that one.”

  But probably not today. I glance around the weight room, surprised to see everyone still rapt with attention. “Junie mentioned wanting a Beyoncé bootie,” I say. “Let’s do some basic glute bridges.”

  “What’s a glute?” someone asks.

  “That would be the gluteus maximus,” I say, trying not to watch Sarah’s as she bends down to tie her shoe. “Also known as your bootie, backside,
bottom, butt, posterior—”

  “I think we get the idea.” Sarah grins. “Want to show us how to work it?”

  I certainly do, though not here in a roomful of people. I turn to the weight rack and start grabbing dumbbells, passing them out to everyone who lines up. “Everyone pick out a mat over there and lie down flat on your back.”

  Sarah leads the way, dropping her mat on the floor and arranging herself alluringly at my feet. Okay, I know she’s not trying to be alluring. She’s probably not even aware that every move she makes is turning me on, and I’m hoping everyone here is equally unaware. The last thing I need is for everyone to figure out I’m mentally undressing their caregiver.

  I adjust her position, and all the blood leaves my head the instant I put my hands on her. “Feet hip-distance apart with your heels close to your butt. Now Sarah’s going to rest the dumbbells on her hips like this and slowly lift her booty off the floor.”

  She does exactly what I say, demonstrating perfect form. All eyes are on us, and a few murmurs of understanding ripple through the group. We’re a good team, Sarah and me. I’d forgotten what it’s like to be part of a team, part of a mission so much bigger than it seems. Being here with her, helping people like my brother—this—it’s something I’ve been missing.

  Or hell, maybe I’m just distracted by the feel of Sarah’s hips flexing under my hands.

  “Wow, Ian,” Aidan says. “You’re sweating a lot.”

  “It’s because he loves Sarah,” Junie says wisely, nodding like a sage. “People sweat when they love each other.”

  Is that how that works?

  I look down at Sarah and feel a definite pinch where my heart ought to be.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah

  I wave goodbye in the parking lot as Junie steps into the van piloted by the night shift guy from the group home.

  “Have a good night,” I call after them.

  “You, too.” Junie grins and does her best attempt at a wink. It bears a closer resemblance to an owllike blink, and I laugh even though I’m blushing like crazy.

  Can everyone tell I’m crushing on Ian?

  Not hard, nothing I can’t control, but still, it’s there. I wonder what it’ll be like announcing our engagement to the group. Waiting until after Cassie’s wedding was my idea, my little escape hatch in case something goes wrong. I don’t expect it to, but it’s not like I have much experience planning a marriage of convenience.