“I can tell you hate me, Mr. Archer,” she says quietly, surprising me. “It’s not uncommon. People in my position usually become enemy number one. Your whole life’s changing at a hundred miles an hour, and I’m right in the middle of it. But I’m not trying to ruin anything. Believe it or not, I want a happy home for that little girl just as much as you do. Maybe more.”
I catch her gaze just as a sad smile slips from her face.
“I know the numbers,” she whispers, stepping back. “I know what happens to kids who fall through the cracks.”
A shadow flickers across her expression, gone in a blink, but it slices straight through me.
“I don’t want that for her,” she says. “Because most of them don’t come back from it.”
She turns before I can say a word, but the echo of her voice and the sadness in her eyes stick with me.
And for some damn reason, I hate that she looked so heartbroken.
Chapter Eleven
Accidental Almost Orgasms with Brannon
“That’s it, you’re doing perfect. Don’t stop. Good girl.”
Sweat trickles down my spine, and I bob my head rapidly in agreement as another heaving breath whooshes from my lungs.
“A little deeper. You can take it.”
My eyes snap open, wide and slightly clouded from the strain.Deeper?Are you fucking kidding me? I glare through wateryeyes at the person before me, internally cursing every decision that led me to this moment—primarily, taking my feral best friend's advice to find a way to blow off steam.
I shift my body, trying to find comfort in an impossible situation. But my knees are killing me, my finger bones ache, and my throat is nearly raw.
Can’t do it. God, I might actually need my inhaler.
A tongue clicks in disapproval. “I know what you’re thinking right now. It’s all over your face.”
Lies. You don’t know shit.
“But if you dig deeper within yourself, I promise you’ll find that extra bit of energy to keep going.”
“Don’t want to.” Still, I won't give up. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t see this through?
A happy one,my inner voice coos.Just give up, Georgia. Give up and let’s go find a cinnamon roll. Cinnamon rolls make us happy.
I nod again, gluten-free, sugary goodness filling my thoughts.
“Beautiful. Now, let’s take this a bit further,” the sultry voice purrs. “Find a little movement here. Pedal the feet for five, hands planted flat on your mat for balance. When you’re ready,divefor the earth on an exhale.”
“Dive?” I gasp. “Pedalhow?”
My neck snaps upward, and my eyes narrow on the athletic bombshell filling up my TV screen. She effortlessly bends and twists her body like the human gumby she is. Her breaths are even, inhaling on exertion, exhaling through holds, before repeating the process. All the while, she never gives up on her borderline sexual commentary.
“Perfect. Now that we’re all warmed up, let’s get a bit more comfortable as our partners join us.”
Partners? My brows furrow and I lean back on my thighs, my attention riveted to the screen. The studio lights blanketingthe instructor dim a fraction as a tall, shirtless man with lithe muscles appears, his sultry smirk fixated on the woman.
From one blink to the next, she’s ripped off her form-fitting tank and her perky breasts spill free, bouncing against her perfect abs.
My mouth drops open.
The music changes from a soft, relaxing melody to something far more...provocative. It’s a slow, sensual beat, one that makes my stomach flip for entirely different reasons.
What the hell kind of yoga is this?
