Out of Her League - A Gemi Kittredge Mystery, Book 2 (EBOOK)

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CHAPTER ONE
Was that the first ring or the second? Four until it went to voicemail, right? I raced down the stairs from my bedroom to the kitchen where I’d left my phone. I misjudged the last step and landed hard on the tile floor. A jolt of pain shot through my right heel. Just a stinger. I’d be fine. Another ring. Where was my phone? It wasn’t on the kitchen counter where I thought I’d left it. The first time I hadn’t carried it with me in days, and she calls.
There. Sitting on the coffee table in the living room. But when I got to the table, the name on the display read G. Kittredge. This wasn’t the Kittredge I’d hoped and prayed it would be. Like it was a Moray eel ready to strike, and I was a scuba diver, I backed away from the thing. Whatever my mother had to say, I didn’t want to hear it.
Once it made the little sound that indicated a voicemail had been received, I snatched the phone from the table and dialed Ashlyn’s number. Four rings and voicemail. Just like every time I called her.
“Ashlyn, it’s me again. I don’t know where you are or what’s going on, but you need to call me. Seriously. Mom just left a message.” My voice caught, so I cleared my throat. “Where are you? I’m so worried. Please, call me. Or send a text. Something.”
“Ashlyn?” The scratchy, squawky voice came from Hulu, Ash’s African Gray parrot. The bird was Ashlyn’s pet, but I was enormously grateful for his goofy company when she was gone. Sadly, though, this was the first time he’d said her name in days.
I looked to my right to find he’d flown over and was sitting next to me on the sofa. “Sorry, buddy. I wasn’t talking to her. Just leaving another message.”
He put his taloned foot over his beak and made a sound like he was crying. Was he really sad? Or could he sense my emotions and was merely reacting to them?
“I’m going to the gym,” I told him. “This day is messing with me.”
My college was closed today, and trying to study during hours when I should be in a classroom didn’t mesh with my sense of order. Maybe hitting something would help. After putting Hulu back in his cage by the big picture window, I grabbed my gym bag and headed for my motorcycle.
Ninety minutes later, I was dripping with sweat and almost done with my warmup. I’d run five miles on the treadmill, did some light stretching, and was now finishing up an intense session of hanging crunches. My goal was one hundred, but I’d lost count right at the end. Six more to be safe. I contracted my abdominals and lifted my knees with the six-pound medicine ball clenched between them, first to my left then slowly to the right.
“Last one.” I let the ball drop to the gym floor, pulled out of the ab straps cradling my upper arms, and dropped to the ground next to it. Once my breathing evened out, I mopped off my face and neck, then sanitized the straps.
A pair of feet appeared next to me as I wiped up the floor mats. I looked up to see a blond guy with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. Ross Donnelly. About six weeks ago, he and I had come to an agreement on our “relationship.” He wanted to date. I wasn’t interested. And not only because he sometimes came across as a chauvinistic idiot. My non-interest in dating extended to all men, not just Ross. I did need practice being around men one on one, however, so agreed that if he could go a week without offending any of the women at No Mercy gym, we’d go out for a drink. That meant a smoothie for me. I didn’t drink anything with caffeine or alcohol. We’d gone out twice now, which meant he thought we were a couple.
“You warm now?”
I ignored the sarcasm in his voice. “I’m good.”
“I’ve been watching you. Not in a creepy way. Promise. Your workout today seems a little”—he searched for the right word—“extreme?”