“Demisexual,” June echoed.
They high-fived across my body and then turned their attention back to me, an unspoken question in both of their eyes.
“Oh, I’m not . . . That is, I’ve only ever been with the one guy.”
“For reference, it’s not who you’re with,” Nessa said, matter-of-fact.
“Or how many people you’ve been with,” June added.
“It’s who you’re attracted to. But that’s okay!” Nessa swung an arm around my shoulder. “You don’t have to be queer to hang out with us.”
“Yeah, you can be our token straight friend.”
That made me laugh. I’d been around Viv, Ellie, and their friends for years, but they’d never labeled me as the “token straight friend.” At least not to my face. Typically, labels made me uncomfortable—probably because they’d always come from a place of insecurity or ignorance—but this was a title I could get on board with. It also didn’t slip by me that these two incredible women had called me their friend, welcomed me in, no questions asked. For that reason alone, they could call me whatever they liked.
“And as our token straight friend . . .” June cleared her throat, slipping into a lower octave—one usually reserved for serious or explicit phone conversations. “It’s our duty toinitiateyou into the most sacred, secret society in all of Rose City.”
I didn’t miss the mischievous grin she flashed Nessa. The two of them were cooking something up, and dang it, I wanted to know more.
“Alrighty, let’s hear it.”
Soren
Right there. Oh god, that’s good.
Pleasure and pain rocketed down my spine. My biceps protested, working overtime to hold up the weight of my body. I welcomed the pain. Embraced it, really.
Hold on. Just a little bit longer.
Easier said than done. Even after a year of practicing yoga, I could honestly say it still kicked my ass every time. In the best possible way. Much like baseball, yoga required practice and discipline, two things I knew all too well. However, yoga alsostretchedme mentally—pun intended—in a way that baseball never had. That wasn’t to say that it didn’t take years and years of training to get to where I was with my game. It had. Hell, I still had to work at it every day. But physically, at this point in my career, I operated mainly on instinct rather than forethought. The same couldn’t be said for yoga.
I breathed through the final few seconds of the twisted lunge before releasing my hips and stepping forward until my feetwere together. From there, I dropped my upper body, sliding into the next position—forward fold ragdoll. My deep exhalation mingled with the calming sounds of nature.
Inhale fresh air and pine trees.
Exhale tabloid bullshit and sexual tension.
Part of me felt like a piece of shit for even entertaining my attraction to Clarke.
From the outside perspective, I was the callous bastard who had just dumped America’s sweetheart. Then again, nobody knew the true nature of my and Monica’s relationship. Nobody except a few record execs and the team of publicists who had woven a tale of two industry-crossed lovers. Her music label had eaten it up; the press had eaten me alive.
Breathe.
My breath echoed through the trees. It had taken a few days, but I’d finally found the perfect place for yoga in Rose City. A clearing tucked away in the surrounding wooded area, far enough from Bed of Roses to avoid wandering eyes but still close enough to walk to. No distractions, no lights, nothing but me and the moonlight.
You know who would look great spread out under the moon?
I choked on my next exhale. This was the problem. Here I was, more worked up over a woman I barely knew than the one I’d dated for the past year. She had reduced me to a sputtering, hormonal teenager.
Well, the buck stopped here.
Clarke wasn’t going to be the reason I lost focus. Nobody was. Not now. Not when I was so close to getting everything I’d spent years working for, sacrificing for. And I wasn’t the only one who had sacrificed. I could spend a lifetime counting the ways my family had made concession after concession to support my dream. They deserved some kind of payoff. I owed them that.
Because what else can I offer them?
My phone buzzed beside the yoga mat, interrupting my not-so-peace of mind. Normally, I’d ignore it, but when I saw my oldest sister’s name pop up on the screen, I got curious. It was a little late for her to be calling, especially on a Thursday. Aside from the monthly Zoom call (cue eye roll here) with the entire family, she and I usually reserved our communication for the weekend when she wasn’t teaching.
“How’s my older but not-so-wiser sister doing?”
