“Pilates is actually kind of fun. You should join me for a class. Just think of how stretchy you’ll get. I can wrap my hands around my ankles now!”
Arlo snorted, leaning down and kissing the top of Meadow’s head. “Oh, our girl can do that already. We keep her plenty limber.”
“Gross!” I cried, picking up a throw pillow and tossing it at Arlo. “I’m going to class now and leaving you degenerates to it.”
“Are you guys fighting again?” Beckett sighed, coming to check on us from their in-house studio, Phin and Hendrix in tow.
“Not fighting,” Arlo insisted. “It’s a spirited conversation. Clover can’t hate me when I got her a baby of her own!”
He was talking about my shiny pink McLaren monstrosity. It was amazing—my pride and joy—and I loved it, but I wasn’t in a rush to tell Arlo that.
“Later, gators. I’ve got to go get sweaty.” I blew them all kisses and headed out to my fabulous car parked in their driveway. It went so fucking fast, I had to keep a careful eye on the speedometer since it was so smooth I never noticed when I started zooming.
The route to Pilates was familiar by now, and I’d quickly ingratiated myself with the staff at the little boutique studio. I’d tried out almost a dozen studios, but I didnotvibe with some of the patrons and tried to avoid the ones overrun with snobby women who flocked like flamingos to judge everyone around them. The studio I’d settled on was tucked away, and so far, the richies hadn’t swarmed it yet.
I was speeding down a beautiful stretch of road, toward the edge of the gated community I lived in, so it was fairly quiet when my tire erupted into strips of rubber, forcing me to slam on the brakes.
“Motherfucker,” I hissed and pulled onto the side of the road. I could change a tire on a normal vehicle, but the tire of a McLaren was probably more complex than the old beat-up Honda Civic I’d been driving in Seattle.
I got out and circled the vehicle to survey the damage. The rear tire was completely blown. I returned to the car, fishing out my cell phone from my purse, and pulling up Meadow’s number. Her guys would know someone who could help me out, or one of them could probably change it. I’d most likely end up with roadside assistance, but I still loved the idea of rock stars changing a tire for me.
Only, I had been so distracted playing with their adorable baby, I hadn’t thought to charge my phone. The Pilates studio had charging ports, so I had intended to charge my phone while I was busy folding myself into a pretzel.
Leaning into the car, I grabbed the charging cable and I plugged my phone in, waiting for the flashing light to show up to indicate it was charging.
I straightened with a relieved sigh. It was going to be a few minutes before I could call anyone, so I would enjoy the scenery until then. LA was beautiful and I’d quickly felt at home there. After the rain of Seattle, LA’s warmth and social atmosphere was a pleasant surprise.
Don’t get me wrong—there were a few things about LA I didn’t like. Such as when I ordered a burger and was served aveggieburger as if they were the same thing. They weren’t.
I was a carnivore, and nothing got between me and a cheeseburger.
Their fish tacos, though? God-tier.
Also, the sunshine? Nothing beat that and I’d been treating sunbathing as a part-time job.
A sleek black car slowed to a stop behind me, the head of an unfairly gorgeous man with chocolate brown curls and dark eyes popping out the window.
“You need help?” he asked, a waft of salty scent—fresh and clean like the ocean but also masculine and undoubtedly alpha—hitting me square in the face.
Hot damn.
“I wouldn’t say no. My tire decided exploding was the way to go today.” I turned toward him so I wasn’t ass-out leaning on my car.
“Your pack isn’t around to help you out?”
I laughed. “Maybe if I had one. I’m single as a Pringle.”
He raised a manicured eyebrow. His curls were fucking cute, all neatly styled instead of a fuzzy mess. “That so? Well, I’d hate to leave a beautiful woman in distress.”
“Beautiful, yes. In distress, not so much. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Also, if any snack understands the pack life, it’s a Pringle. Have you seen how many they shove in a tube?” He turned off his car and slipped out, showing off his neat slacks and blue polo that matched the shade of my eyes. Preppy, but cute, and I couldn’t help noticing the way his pants hugged his ass as he squatted down to inspect the wheel well. “Are these all-weather or all-season tires?”
“Am I supposed to know the difference?”
He lifted big brown puppy eyes at me. Rude of him to be that precious. “I’m going to assume all-weather since you had a blow out and it’s hot as hell. Are you not from around here? Or from Northern Cali? Youlooklike an LA girl, but your car is telling a different story.”
“What the fuck story is it telling?”
