“I don’t know if I can let you go to this class,” he purred, reaching out and lightly grasping my hips. “You look good enough to eat.”
“Don’t start, Romeo.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I should have never told you that.”
“Too late. Besides, the kids are awake and downstairs, they could come up here any minute. And if I don’t leave in five minutes,I’llbe late. I should be back in a few hours at most.”
I turned back to the mirror, slipping my ear buds in my pocket.
“So what were you listening to?” Jace moved to sit on my bed behind me. I glanced at him in the mirror, then went back to gathering my hair into a ponytail. I still hadn’t told Jace that I read romance, even though I’d seen him eyeing my e-reader on my nightstand a few times. I didn’t know what was holding me back. I felt comfortable with Jace. I knew logically, from past experience, that Jace wouldn’t judge me—or at least I didn’t think he would. But there was still this part of me, maybe it was my pesky, bruised heart, that made it hard to trust anyone. So, I’d kept this last little secret hidden away, safeguarding it deep within myself.
“More medical journals?” he drawled as I looped the hair tie around my hair.
“Just a memoir that Leah recommended,” I lied.
“Oh yeah? What’s it about?”
Shit. I didn’t think this through. I was currently readingLady and the Vampwhich was a vampire marriage of convenience rom com. “Umm, it’s about a scientist . . . who’s working on a cure for, um, an incurable disease.”
Technicallynot a lie. Vampirismwastraditionally thought to be incurable.
Jace smiled sweetly. “I like a good book. Maybe we could read one together sometime?”
“Umm, yeah. Maybe,” I said noncommittally and looked at my watch. “Geez, is that the time? I still need to get my water so I can meet the girls on time.” I grabbed my workout bag and turned toward the door.
Jace walked after me. “I made your water for you, it’s on the island.”
I hoisted my bag over my shoulder. “What?”
“You don’t drink coffee,” Jace said simply, shrugging his shoulders. “At least not in the morning, only in the afternoon and even then, it’s on ice.”
I shifted my weight. “Hot coffee makes me feel nauseated.”
“Best to avoid it then. I noticed you hadn’t made one yet today, so I filled your thermos and put in one of those collagen packets you like.”
The simplicity of this gesture threatened this fragile new life I was building. I was feelingfeelingsfor Jace that were way too fast and way too soon. And if Jace kept doing and saying these things, I was liable to do something truly ridiculous, like tackle him to the bed and make him promise to never leave me, ever. I took a slightly different approach.
“Thank you,” I whispered, stepping up and cupping his cheeks. I searched his face, wishing I could read his mind, wondering if he was feeling the same unfathomable feelings as me. That in this short period of time, I was falling for this man, but I didn’t know if he was falling with me.
“You’re welcome.” Jace’s smile reached his eyes, but then I jumped back as I saw them darken and turn hungry. I giggled as I dodged his playful lunge, fast walking my way to the door with my bag slung over my shoulder.
Later, after saying goodbye to the kids and getting on the road, I took a sip of my water and smiled. I recalled a time early in my marriage to David, when we were at a restaurant for breakfast and the server asked if I wanted coffee.
“Yes,” David had said, turning both of our mugs over, implying we’d both wanted coffee. And what’s worse, I didn’t dispute it. I didn’t drink it, but still—I didn’t sayanything. We’d been married for a few years at that point and David didn’t even know that hot coffee made me feel sick. What did that say about David? More importantly, what did that say about me? Cleary, I didn’t feel comfortable telling him anything about me.
Wasn’t I falling into old patterns, then, keeping things from Jace?
* * *
Stripped was not what I’d had in mind for a fitness studio that taught chair and pole dancing classes; though, to be fair, I hadn’t really known what to expect. I’m sure, as the name implied, that people thought this was a strip club. Yes, there were poles. Yes, women were dancing on them. But that is where the comparison to a strip club started and ended. The studio was bright with hardwood flooring, a ballet barre, and splashes of color throughout. Hands down, it beat any of the industrial style gyms I’d belonged to in the past that housed rows of treadmills and ellipticals, everyone staring ahead monotonously like sweaty, workout robots.
“Alright ladies! Now for the cross-knee hold!” yelled the instructor, a beautiful woman with shiny black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. A dozen women of all shapes and sizes did an impressive move where they crossed their legs around their pole and dipped backward, arms stretched back and down over their heads, reaching for the floor.
“And slide!”
Fascinated and ten shades of impressed, I watched as the women slid down the pole. Some did a sit-up-like maneuver, grabbing the bar with their hands before sliding down. The instructor and a few others, however, slid down the pole upside down, landed with their hands on the floor, then did a back walkover off the pole.
I almost clapped.