Page 13 of Throttle Therapy

“While it seems that way, that’s not really the way it works, not exactly.First, you’ll need to work up to more.Build muscle and that takes a little time.The more muscle you build, the more you can lift, the longer you can work out, and yes, the faster you’ll get into shape.Besides, you’re going to be sore tomorrow.You’ll want to stretch, like we did before the weights, but don’t push yourself too hard.Pushing too hard and too fast leads to injuries.There’s something else you need to do too.”He watched her curious how she’d react to this part.

“What?”She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Drink lots of water, I mean lots.And eat.Anything high in protein would be best.”He reached under the check in desk and opened the small fridge he kept there.Pulling out a protein shake, he shook it hard and handed it across to her.“Here start with this.You need protein to build muscle, trust me on this.”

She looked at the bottle as if it was radioactive and he was telling her she had to drink it.

“Jenna?”He waited until her gaze moved to his face.“Do you trust me?I won’t do anything to hurt you, you know that right?”

She blinked then took the bottle.

“Thank you.”She looked toward the front glass, the back to him.“I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days then.”She turned for the door, twisting the top and breaking the seal on the shake he’d given her.

“Jenna?”He’d spoken before he realized he would.

She paused.

Roadkill snatched a card off the desk and flipped it over.“Here’s my number.You need anything.Anything.You call me.I’ll make sure it happens.”He scribbled his number on the back and held it in her direction.

She gave him a half smile he wasn’t sure how to read.“Even if what I need is someone to listen to me whine?”She took the card and looked at it.

“Even if what you need is someone to listen while you cry.”He didn’t know what had come over him or where these words were coming from, but they felt right, so he went with it.

She looked back up at him, watching him silently for the span of several seconds, then she nodded once.“Thank you.”Jenna turned and pushed her way out the door.

Roadkill couldn’t help but watch as she got into her car and drove away.

He didn’t like that her boss was harassing her, but he’d have the information to make sure it stopped soon.In the meantime, he wondered what the Warriors could do.Did they have a job they could put her in?

He texted Papa Smurf.

**Roadkill: You still thinking about hiring someone to work the front counter and handle paperwork?

He pocketed his phone without waiting for a reply.Papa Smurf wouldn’t find the message until he took a break and sat down for a few minutes.Roadkill watched the direction Jenna had gone and wondered if she would let him get her a new job.Wouldn’t know until he tried.

Chapter Eight

Jennapulledintheparking lot at the Driftwood and sat staring at the building for far longer than she should have.Dread felt like a stone in her stomach.Until Roadkill asked, she hadn’t even remembered Mason asking her out so long ago.Was that why he kept cutting her down?Because she hadn’t had the bandwidth at the time to add one more thing to her life?She hadn’t been on a single date since she’d been granted custody of Lacey.She didn’t have time.Still didn’t.

But since when did something like that matter to a male?All most of them saw was how something affected them.And unless it affected them, they rarely even noticed it.She might only be twenty-four, but she’d been around enough to have learned that.

But Roadkill seemed different.He hadn’t pushed for her to do anything for him.The most he’d pushed for was answers, and even that was so he could help her in one way or another.Then that business with his card?Why had he offered her his personal number?She got the feeling he didn’t do that for most people, hell, even most women.So, why her?

She dropped her gaze to her lap and spotted the card.On a whim, she added Roadkill and his number to her phone, then she stuffed her phone into her purse, grabbed the bag off the seat, and headed inside.The sooner she got to work, the sooner she would be done with the shift and could go pick up Lacey.

Letting herself in the back door of the Driftwood, Jenna shoved her purse into her locker, then put on her apron and moved into the small kitchen to start her prep.As she went through the motions of the stuff she did every shift, her mind turned to the evening.They’d done math homework last night so tonight would likely be history, maybe English.Those didn’t take as much hand-holding to get done, so she started thinking about dinner and what she could make for them.Spaghetti sounded good.

Between her prep and thinking about the evening, Jenna hadn’t been aware of Mason’s arrival until he brushed against her.Brushing up against each other wasn’t uncommon when working in the small confines of behind the bar, which was part of why she rarely came back here during a shift, but he hadn’t been here when she’d arrived, or she hadn’t seen him, so she hadn’t thought about it.

“Sorry,” Mason said as he pushed past her, hitting her harder than he had to, she could tell.“It would be a lot easier to move around back here if you hadn’t let yourself go.”He kept going as if he hadn’t just made yet another cutting remark.

Jenna said nothing, just picked up what she was doing and shifted so she was on the other side of the bar, and he had no excuse to do it again.She couldn’t stop him from making mean spirited comments, not if she wanted to keep her job, but she didn’t have to stand there and let him man handle her either.

Mason unlocked the front door at opening time, and she continued to work on whatever needed doing.She’d discovered long ago that if she could stay busy, then her shifts went much faster, so she found whatever needed to be done and kept going, even when there were no customers.Not that they were ever without patrons long.

Jimbob, an old curmudgeon who gossiped more than he drank, was there by twelve fifteen, just like he was every day.

“I’ll take my usual, Jen-girl,” Jimbob said as he slid on to the barstool that likely had a permanent impression of Jimbob’s backside, from the number of hours he spent there.“Why isn’t the TV on yet?”He waved at the tv over the bar.