“Elsa who used to work for the Winterhawks,” I explain and try not to frown.
My mother’s eyes get dark and her lips drop from the artificial half smile she usually has plastered on her face like a mask. “I know who she is.”
The way she says it, the tone that drips with disappointment, tells me she knows exactly who she is and that this isn’t the first time my father has had his hand on Elsa’s ass. Fuck. I swallow hard. “Mom, I…”
“I hear she writes for the lifestyle magazine. I hope she writes a nice piece on this place,” my mother says, the fake half smile firmly back in place. “Trey deserves some success.”
And before I can say another word, she turns to chat with someone else.
I need some air. My parents and their screwed-up marriage is, as usual, suffocating me. I make my way for the back door, just off the cardio room.
On my way I notice Trey talking to Avery Westwood. He’s the face of the NHL, so I recognize him even though I haven’t watched a hockey game in years. I wonder if he cheats on his girlfriend too. Lifestyle over love, I once heard a goalie’s wife say with a simple shrug. It was probably one of the sickest things I’ve heard, but it’s how my mother lived her life. And I promised myself that would never be my motto or my life. I push open the exit door and step out into the parking lot. I take a deep breath and try to regain the sense of euphoria I had in the laundry room with Sebastian.
Wait a minute…I just had sex with a guy I barely know and that’s bringing me peace? Who am I? I wonder if the sex with random women brings my father peace. The idea that it might, and we would have something like that in common, horrifies me. So does the idea of going back into that room and being around my parents, and now I’m embarrassed to see Sebastian again too. So when the caterer comes out, slightly panicked that we might run out of booze, I happily volunteer to pick up more. I need to get out of here.
Chapter 5
Shayne
By nine a.m. I already knew it was the worst morning ever. The gym opened the day after the party, which was almost two weeks ago. You’d think I’d be used to my schedule by now. But my alarm didn’t go off and I woke up twenty-five minutes late, instantly startled, then immediately panicked. As I ran through the apartment in a rush to get ready, I stepped in cat vomit that Roy had left as a present some time during the night. Once I finally sprinted out of my house and got into my car, it wouldn’t start. I hissed every swear word I could think of in English, and for good measure I added the few I knew in Spanish. Then I called Audrey and listened to her swear before agreeing to come and get me and take me to work.
Audrey works as a bartender at Liberty, a super-trendy bar in Capital Hill. She probably hadn’t even gotten home until a few hours ago, so I did not stop thanking her profusely the whole drive to the gym. I could have called my brother, which Audrey pointed out more than once, but Trey lives on the other side of the city, close to the gym but far from my apartment. Plus he was probably already at the gym by the time I woke up. I thought about calling his wife, Sasha, but she is seven months pregnant so I didn’t want to be bothering her if I could help it.
“Seriously, Audrey, thank you so much,” I coo as she turns onto South Weller Street, where Elevate is located.
“Yeah, yeah. But I am not picking you up for the barbeque tonight,” she mutters. Her chocolate eyes narrow, as if to prove she’s serious.
“Really? Not even if I pay you gas money?” I ask desperately. I really don’t want to take public transit there; it’ll take forever. And a cab or Uber will cost too much.
Audrey smirks at me as she pulls to a stop in the gym parking lot. “I have a feeling you’ll find someone to drive you. Out!”
She orders me out of the car. I’m too late to spend any more time pleading with her. I open the door and close it behind me as Audrey yells out, “Feel free to call me later and tell me how your day is going.”
She winks at me, which is totally weird, and waves as she pulls away. I realize I’m about to miss the beginning of class—the classI’mteaching—so I don’t have time to figure out why she was smiling deviously with that last comment. I push it from my mind and run into the building. I barely look up as I storm into the gym. I toss my bag at Sara behind the front counter, no time to put it in my locker, and rush into the yoga room. Trey is in there checking the temperature. He sees me and crosses his arms over his broad chest, but I ignore my brother and just start talking to the crowded room as I make my way to the front.
“Okay, everyone, welcome to hot yoga!” I clap my hands and reach the front where someone, probably Trey, has already laid out a mat for me, thankfully.
The room is full, which is exciting. We’ve been open a little less than two weeks and business has been slowly but steadily picking up. This is my first full class. Although I know he’s irked I barely made it on time, Trey gives me a quick smile, happy about the attendance.
I see several faces who have started to become familiar. There’s Mrs. Waters, who signed up the first week for our Senior Strength program; three sorority girls from the nearby university, who are also taking beginner CrossFit classes; Tom Orsen, an accountant from the building across the street, who took my Paleo seminar last Monday, and…
Frenchie.
Just like that. Out of nowhere. Completely unexpected. He’s here in my yoga class twisting on his mat, his eyes focused on me. I must have gasped because two people in the front row freeze midway through the first pose and stare at me.
I smile and force myself to calmly coo out the next move. The class is very basic introductory hot yoga class and an hour long. It feels like twenty hours and two minutes at the exact same time. The entire time my mind is racing and my heart flipping inside my chest like a dolphin putting on a show at SeaWorld. My eyes keep landing on him like he’s the center of gravity in the room. I can’t stop myself.
He’s in the center of the back row. I must have pushed right by him and not even noticed when I scurried into the room. He’s trying valiantly to do all the poses, but struggles more than I would have expected with most of it. Such a long, thick, chiseled body…but he’s as graceful as an inebriated stallion. When he attempts the Noose Pose, even though I purposely gave an easier option, he tumbles back onto his ass with a thud. The sorority girls are all staring at him, have been the entire class, and he gives them all a giant grin. They giggle, and he chuckles back. It’s been twelve days since I last saw him—technically since the only time I’ve ever seen him—and damn if he isn’t even better looking than I remembered.
That admission, and the fact that he’s in front of me at all, has me in a tailspin. I never had a one-night stand before, and I always assumed that when you did have one, it meant you only had to see the guy once. But clearly Frenchie didn’t read the fine print. For some absurd reason, I’m really glad he didn’t. Some part of me, under the layers of panic and fear and awkward confusion, is really excited to see him again.
By the time class ends, his heather-gray Winterhawks T-shirt is dark with sweat and sticking to his broad chest and sculpted shoulders. I glance at the logo on his chest, the giant, dumb bird, and realize I’ve found his first flaw: he’s a hockey fan. He takes off his baseball cap, also with the Winterhawks logo, and his golden brown hair flies everywhere. He wipes sweat from his face with his towel before dropping the hat back on his head backward. I might have sighed, unintentionally, but if I did, it blended in with the three sorority girls who were doing the same thing.
Mrs. Waters comes over and asks me a question about one of the poses, and I happily give her a long explanation, grateful for the distraction. When she leaves, though, there’s only one person left in the yoga room. And his bright blue eyes are on me.
He doesn’t move closer. He just stands there, water bottle in one hand, towel over his shoulder, smiling at me. It’s just a small smile. His full lips turned up in the corners and his eyes twinkling. I can’t help but smile back. His grins are more contagious than the plague.
“Hi, Shay,” he says softly.
