Surge: (#7 The Beat and The Pulse) by Amity Cross Page A

in a sea of shit I didn’t was I’d made a mistake the other morning. I was holding onto false hope with Monica, and I had to let go. I didn’t want her. I wanted the idea of her. It was hammered into my head over and over, but it wasn’t driven home until Josie sat in my lap and showed me her true feelings.
    I either had to make things right with her or take a leap into the unknown. It would be hard, and I’d fuck up all the time, but the more I thought about it, the more desperate I was to jump.
    When Josie finally turned up at the gym on Monday morning, I was alone.
    I was running full tilt on the treadmill, my gaze studying the approaching thunderstorm over the ocean as I tried to focus on something other than where she was and who she was doing all weekend. Every now and then, a bolt of lightning would race across the surface of the massive cloud, the after image burning into my vision. The storms around here were crackers—wild and unrelenting. Exactly like Josie Cunningham.
    She strode in, her head held high, and made her way across to the little room we’d set aside for her office. It was hers to do whatever she wanted with, and she’d instantly made it into a fighter-free zone. Every time I went in there, it was like I was stepping into another world.
    Today I didn’t even feel the difference as I jumped straight off the treadmill and followed her in. I was definitely not in the mood for playing around anymore.
    Closing the door, we were alone in the tiny space, my size filling it to the brim. Her back was to me, but she knew I was standing behind her because her shoulders tensed.
    My breathing was shallow from my run, and I could feel a bead of sweat trickling down my spine, dampening the AUFC tank I was wearing. The air was a little tense for my liking, but all I could feel in the room was her and how my presence had altered her stature. I couldn’t even see the view of the ocean and the brewing storm clouds behind her in the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The otherworldly hue of the thunderstorm haloed her, making her blonde hair shine like gold.
    I understood it now. Why she took that chance the other day.
    “I’ve been trying to call you,” I said, watching her movements.
    She shrugged, making a show of sliding off her jacket and laying it across the back of her chair.
    “ Josie .”
    She sighed, staring at the floor for a long moment before she turned and glanced up. Her blue eyes met mine, and I wasn’t sure what I saw in them, but I knew I didn’t like it.
    “Why did you go?” I asked.
    “I needed to get away,” she replied, edging around the desk, so it was between us. A shield.
    “You didn’t need to run, Jo,” I murmured.
    “Who said I was running?” she snapped, beginning to fire up exactly like the Josie I knew. “I needed a break. It was long overdue.”
    “You left without telling anyone,” I argued. “Right after…”
    Her eyes narrowed in warning, but I didn’t care. I knew her well enough to know she’d never talk to me about it unless I forced it out of her. I didn’t know whose stubborn pride was worse. Hers or mine.
    “Right after you tried to kiss me,” I declared, stepping closer.
    “So?” she asked. “You made yourself perfectly clear. I got over it.”
    I snorted. “You got over it? In three days?” The fire in her eyes told a different story.
    “It was probably for the best,” she said awkwardly, smoothing her palms over her hips. She was straightening her top, but the movement looked fascinatingly sexual to me. Her gaze met mine again. “Conflict of interest.”
    Was it a conflict of interest that I’d done nothing but worry about her for the last three days? Was it a conflict of interest that I’d kicked myself time and time again for not kissing her when I had the chance? Was it a conflict of interest that I’d jerked off thinking about her? Fuck the line of professionalism. She’d opened my eyes, and I’d stuffed up already.
    “Jo,” I