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Without hardly any age difference between us, Ivan, of all my brothers, is always reminding me of my placement between the four of us.

“Think you can swing it?” he asks.

“Asking me on a date? Fuck, I’m blushing. Who’s got you doing business all the way in Indianapolis?”

Traveling to neighboring cities isn’t a rarity for Ivan. He normally does business in Atlanta or pays for someone to come to him in Nashville—Indianapolis is new.

“If I told you, I’d ruin the surprise.”

I don’t know whether I should laugh or acknowledge the uncertainty floating behind his missing revelation, so I simply agree.

“Not sure where, but I’ll send you the details tomorrow.”

In a rush, the ding of what’s probably the office elevator echoes, and the call ends with a simple goodbye.

Ivan works his ass off. As Chief Financial Officer of Greenway Airlines; if it weren’t for him, we’d all be broke and probably irresponsible as hell with our money.

Okay, maybe just me, but what can I say? I don’t shy away from a good time.

Whether it’s payroll, investments, or being co-authorizer of our inheritance, Ivan practically runs the ship. Our dad trusts him, and in turn, so do we.

After a round of stretching to warm my body back up, I step on the treadmill, pacing myself at a light jog. I usually finish my workout with intense cardio, but today, I don’t have it in me.

Jogging eight miles is the best I’ve got.

Around mile three, I’ve gotten into the flow of my run and zoned out my surroundings when a bobbing blonde head steps onto the machine beside me.

Ignoring the familiar presence, I continue, pressing the speed button to increase my pace.

“Hey there.”

I hear the muted voice over my music, but pretend I can’t to save myself from pointless conversation.

The girl beside me, however, is persistent.

Only a mile later, a hand full of hot pink nails and fake-tanned fingers waves in front of my face. Taking out one of my headphones, I turn to see she hasn’t even started her workout.

Decked in an all-white, nearly nothing, pair of shorts and a sports bra, she puffs her large breasts toward my face.

A move that would’ve worked wonders on me two years ago.

“Hey there, stranger.”

I have to force myself from being noticeably disgusted.

“Shannon, remember?”

Don’t remember and don’t care.

She holds her hand out to shake mine, but I continue pumping my arms.

“Hey,” I clip, suddenly aware that her eyes are all over my bare chest.

I stripped free of my shirt after the bike ride. I was alone and didn’t think I’d have any visitors this early in the morning.

“I had no idea you had this many tattoos.” Her eyes trace every inked inch of me, and I’ve never felt more uncomfortable with a woman’s eyes on my body.

Usually, I’d feel like a god on the receiving end of praise from someone like her. I’d sprint at the thought of finishing up here and fooling around however she’d let me, but that would be too easy.