Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "

Автор книги: J. Daniels

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

MASON

I did it.

Holy fuck, I actually did it.

Linking my hands behind my head, I gaze up at the sign I had installed yesterday. The morning sun strikes against the sharp edge of the letters, deepening the richness of the color.

My chest swells with pride. My stomach flips wildly, reminding me of my nerves and the giant risk I’m taking doing this.

Contradicting reactions battling for dominance. Equal in strength, I’m the perfect blend of fearless and frozen.

This is official, scary as hell, and quite possibly the biggest thing I’ll ever do. I’ve dreamed of owning my own studio for years, since I first started instructing. The passion I have for this, the drive, it’s there, but bloody hell, so is the worry I’m in way over my head. Never did I imagine I’d actually get this opportunity. And here I am, starting this new venture in a city completely foreign to me.

I pinch my eyes shut through a slow inhale.

This has the potential to be amazing, my greatest accomplishment, maybe the only fucking thing I’ll ever do that’ll mean something.

I have the potential to completely fuck it all up.

Right, mate. Way to stay positive.

“Admiring the view?”

My arms fall heavy to my sides. My eyes fly open.

“I gotta say,” the low, velvety voice behind me continues. “I really don’t blame you. I’ve been doing my own fair share of staring this morning.”

I turn my head, intrigued.

A woman, obviously, I knew before I turned around I’d be coming face-to-face with a woman. Only not this woman. Never in my wildest imagination could I conjure up this vision as she steps up to join me on the footpath, then stumbles forward the second our eyes lock.

“Oomph!”

I reach out, gripping her elbows and taking her weight. Her skin feels electric. “All right there, sweetheart?”

Steadying herself, she slowly lifts her head, her lips parting as she stares at my mouth with the strangest look. A mixture of intrigue and disbelief.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

I exhale a laugh. “I never quite understood that expression. What exactly does ‘shitting me’ mean? Seems like a bad thing, yeah?”

“Bad?” She smiles, just the slightest, dangerously slow pull of her lips, as if she’s already planned out this interaction and is ten steps ahead, waiting for me to catch up. “No, not bad, just didn’t think it was possible you could get any hotter. Then, boom, you have to go and open your hot Australian mouth and completely blow my mind. ‘Shitting me,’ in this case, is a very, very good thing.”

“But, it could also be used negatively.”

“Of course. If you dropped your shorts and I discovered you were in the process of going through gender reassignment surgery. In that unfortunate scenario, my ‘you’ve got to be shitting me’ would carry a whole new connotation.”

“Ah, well, I assure you,” I begin, leaning closer. “That wouldn’t be the case.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Prove it.”

“You’re serious.”

She tips her chin up, waiting.

Jesus Christ. This little thing could destroy me.

Drop my shorts, right here? No, obviously I wouldn’t, but fuck if I don’t want to maybe pull her inside and shock her a little. Show off my cock to a woman who looks like she’s ready to eat me alive.

A soft laugh erupts from her. She’s amused. I feel like I’m watching a wolf circle an innocent flock of sheep.

Eyeing up one very tempted sheep in particular.

Dimples, possibly the only cute thing about her, draw my attention from one side of her face to the other, and then my eyes can’t seem to stop roaming over her features, drinking her in. Dark, soft curls. Large hazel eyes. Her skin, olive and pink in the cheeks.

Now I’m the one doing my own fair share of staring. I clear my head and look down, realizing then I still have my hold on her.

“Sorry.” I let my hands fall away. “I’m Mason, by the way.”

“Brooke. And no need to apologize. I’d never complain if your hands were on me.”

I almost step back, if only to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and testing that theory. Groping a woman I just met in broad daylight isn’t normally a desire I find myself battling against.

But it’s never been this woman challenging me.

“Is that so?” I ask, smiling. “You’d never complain? No matter what I was doing?”

“Mm. Only one way to find out.”

I grip the base of my neck. “Christ. I fear I’ve just met the devil. Figures she’s a woman.”

“Ah, but does the devil come bearing gifts of delicious treats?” Brooke flips back the lid on the box in her hands. She holds them away from her. “I made them myself.”

The pride in her voice is unmistakable. A sweet warmth coating her words, giving me a glimpse of the woman behind the shameless exterior. Possibly the real, true version of herself.

I see you, Brooke.

I look down at the four cupcakes, sliding my hand over hers so we’re both now holding the box.

Maybe she needs help holding it.

Maybe I just want to feel her skin against mine again.

I stare into her eyes. “If they’re laced with poison, then sure. I imagine not many men being able to resist a beautiful woman with baked goods. The devil is notoriously both dangerous and alluring, is she not?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“From previous victims?”

“Victims?” She laughs, throwing her head back and revealing the graceful line of her neck. “You make me sound like a man-eater. I’m not that bad. Here.” Her finger dips into the frosting, then slides into her mouth.

Her eyes close through a moan.

Jesus fuck.

I press a hand to the front of my shorts.

When was the last time I got hard in a matter of seconds? When I was eleven and I saw my first pair of tits? I’m normally way more disciplined than this juvenile display I’m exhibiting, but shit if that isn’t the sexiest noise I’ve ever heard in my life.

She pulls her finger from her mouth. Our eyes lock. Saliva pools on my tongue, and I force a swallow before I actually start to drool.

“See? Can’t be poisoned now, can it?”

I smile, and her eyes quickly dart to my mouth. “I suppose not.”

She allows me to take the box. I close the lid and study the logo.

“Thank you. I’ll enjoy these later.”

“I’d like to enjoy you now.”

My eyes widen. I nod in the direction behind her. “Don’t you need to be getting back to work?”

She shrugs. “I can spare a few minutes.”

“A few minutes? You wound me, Brooke. Give a guy a little credit, yeah?”

A grin twists across her mouth. Christ, that mouth is wicked.

“Okay. How long do you need?”

“With you?” I slowly move my eyes over her body.

This is the first time I’m really appreciating every gorgeous inch of her. The swell of her breasts, the black material of her top stretching, barely confining, and in the end, making me ache with a need I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. The gentle curve of her hips I want to splay my hands across, then move over, grip, and dig my fingers into. She’s shapely and soft. Delicate and dangerous.

How long do I need? I could look at her for a lifetime.

“Mason.”

My eyes re-focus on her face, the amusement in her eyes. “Mm?”

Shit, how long was I staring? Who’s the wolf now?

“Hey, Brooke!”

A voice cutting across the street jolts my attention off her. Brooke turns her head. I lift mine to see a man holding the bakery door open, leaning his head out. He doesn’t look too pleased.

“Hurry up already. You’ve got that birthday cake to work on today, remember? It’s getting picked up at ten and Dylan is swamped.”

“Shit,” Brooke mutters. She spins back around. “Sorry. My few minutes are up.”

Damn. She needs to get back. I have a ton of shit to do myself, but I’m not done with this one. Not by a long shot.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” I ask.

“Why?”

“I have my first class at seven. I’d love to see you.”

Her arms cross over her chest. She tilts her head with a smirk. “Private class?”

I frown, then glance back at the sign. “Honestly, I hope not. If this is going to work out for me, I’m going to need a good amount of interest. I handed out a bunch of fliers this weekend.” I turn back to her. “Do you think it’s too much to expect at least a handful of bodies on my first go?”

Not that I wouldn’t mind having a one-on-one session with Brooke, but I do have a lot riding on this. There is no back-up plan.

“You personally handed out these fliers to women in Chicago?”

I nod. “And men.”

I spent my entire Saturday going in and out of shops at the mall, standing outside of the local market like a bum seeking a hand-out. The women I talked to seemed at least partially intrigued. The men, not so much.

I had several papers crumpled up and tossed into the rubbish bin directly beside me, while I watched.

She runs her gaze down my body, then slowly back up. Her eyes, dark and mischievous. “I don’t think you’re going to have much of a problem packing the house.”

“Brooke!” the urgent voice calls out again.

She whips her head around. “Jesus! All right! Go eat another danish!”

The man glares at her, then mumbles something I can’t make out over a car-horn in the distance before fleeing into the shop.

Brooke turns back around, her curls bouncing against her top as she shakes her head.

I shift the box to my left hand, holding out my right. She takes it immediately. “Tomorrow night then?”

Her hand gently squeezes mine. “Maybe.”

She stares up at me. I stare right back, running my thumb along her skin.

“Are you going to let me go?” she asks.

A strange pressure tightens around my chest.

I keep my hold on her, maybe even securing my grip a little firmer.

Try and run, little sheep.

My lip twitches. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“No?” I release her hand, but only to pinch her chin between my thumb and finger. I lean down, slowly inching closer. “But what if I don’t want to let you go?” I ask quietly. “What if I can’t?”

Her eyes focus on my mouth, an inch away from hers. “Too bad. I’m not giving you an option.”

“Do you always decide how this works?”

“Yes,” she says, her voice now a whisper.

I know she’s expecting me to kiss her. The way she’s wetting her lips, tilting her head up to meet mine. The urgency of her breath.

I could kiss her, God knows I want to, only . . .

I’ll want more. More than just a kiss. More than she’s been offering me since she made her existence known.

I force her face to turn left and slide my mouth to her cheek. “Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. Don’t make me come looking for you.” I press a chaste kiss to her skin.

She looks up at me as I lean back and drop my hand. Her eyes narrow. “You better deliver.”

“I always do.”

I watch in a daze as she crosses the street. Her ass, this perfect heart-shaped entity, makes me rethink my decision to go a day without tasting her. I imagine peeling her out of those jeans and pressing my lips against her skin. The quiet slap of her body against mine as I bounce her on my . . .

Jesus. Again with the hard-on?

I carry the bakery box inside and upstairs to my loft, adjusting my cock in the process.

Juvenile. If she bent over, you probably would’ve busted a nut right there on the street.

Standing in front of the rubbish bin, I hesitate, look down at the box in my hands, then glance over at the fridge.

Brooke made these. And fuck, how sexy was she when she made that declaration? Her voice vibrating with pride, then melting to something softer.

I don’t eat stuff like this anymore. I don’t even keep it in the house. My lifestyle transformation seven years ago included a major re-haul of my eating habits. Out of sight, out of mind has always worked best for me. I haven’t eaten a cupcake in . . . actually, I can’t even remember the last time I ate a cupcake.

But she made these. She was so proud showing them off.

Decision made, I stick the box on the shelf in the fridge, concealed by condiments.

I palm my phone and send Tessa, my closest friend from where I just moved from, a quick text.

Me: Just met a woman who might have bigger balls than you.

She responds within seconds.

Tessa: Doubt it.

I chuckle in the silence of my loft. Seeing the three missed calls from my mum, I dial her number as I slump down on the corner of my bed.

“Hello, sweetheart. How are things?”

“Great. You know, settling in. The studio is beautiful, Mum. You’d love it.”

“I’m sure. No issues with anything? It’s okay if there is. You know, a lot of major corporations fail in the beginning, or at least have little mishaps. Doesn’t mean they aren’t meant for greatness.”

My mum worries. Especially when her youngest child lives nearly sixteen thousand miles away.

“No catastrophes yet. Give me a day or two.”

“Oh, Mason.” She sighs heavily.

I smile, resting my elbows on my knees. “How’s Dad and Ellie?”

“Good. Ellie just got a new job at one of the markets near her home. She seems to like it.”

“Yeah? That’s great. Tell her to call her little brother when she gets a minute. I miss her.”

Two quick beeps of a car horn sound somewhere outside the building. I pad to the only window in my loft and spot a delivery truck parked below.

The equipment I ordered.

“Hey, Mum, I need to get off here. I’ll talk to you soon though, yeah?”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you.”

I disconnect the call and slide my phone back into my pocket.

The mats, towels, and wedges I ordered all arrive within a few hours of each other. I sign the slips the drivers provide and set about organizing everything, then re-organizing.

Having seven sisters has made me meticulous with arrangement.

The studio itself is gorgeous, with bamboo flooring I had installed before the move. The hardwood that was originally in here never would’ve worked for the humid conditions I’m anticipating. The wood would’ve swelled and cracked. I probably would be out a couple thousand replacing it.

Not an option for me at the moment. Between my lease and the rent I’m paying for the loft above the studio, the flooring, the equipment for class, the sign . . .

It’s fucking ridiculous how expensive an aluminum sign costs. Highway robbery at its best.

I take to the footpath after grabbing a quick bite to eat.

Apple slices and some almond butter. The last of my stash of what I brought from Alabama. I jot down a note to pick up another jar, along with a few other items.

The sky is warm and clear. The street noisy, a steady line of traffic obstructing my view of the bakery. Of the window I want to peer inside, once, just one glance to see Brooke in her element.

Joggers move past me on the path, ignoring the hand I hold up to stop them, my other clutching the stack of fliers. Everyone seems tuned into their own world, the music pumping through their headphones, and ignoring everyone around them. I’m not sure how many fliers I ended up handing out over the weekend, but I drew up two hundred.

My stack feels light.

Good sign. Possible bad sign if they all ended up in the rubbish.

I step inside a small bookstore a few businesses down from mine. Old editions are propped up on display in the window. Wuthering Heights. To Kill A Mockingbird. Moby Dick. The woman behind the counter lifts her head at the sound of the bell.

“Good afternoon.”

“G’day, Miss. How are you?”

She slides her glasses back on her nose, grinning. Her silver hair is cut shorter than mine and spiked on the top. “I’m terrific. What can I help you with today?”

I pass a flier across the counter. “I just opened up a studio just down the way there. First class is free, if you’re interested. It’s tomorrow night. Have you ever tried yoga?”

She shakes her head, laughing as she sets the flier down in front of her. “Oh, Lord no. I don’t think I can make my body move like that anymore. I’m nearing sixty.”

“It’s really easy. God’s honest truth. It’s more about the breathing than anything.”

I hear her pick up the flier again as my eyes fall to a photo aside the computer.

“Is this your daughter?” I ask, picking up the frame.

“Yes, that’s my Amber. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

My mouth twitches as I study the picture. I look up at the woman. “She is. Would she be interested in attending a class?”

“Oh, um, maybe. I could ask her. She’s busy tomorrow night though.”

“That’s all right.” I set the frame down and grab a pen, turning the flier over. The ink saturates the paper. “Here’s my number, and email. I check that daily. Stop in and see me or give me a call. We’ll work something out, yeah? I’d love to have her.”

The woman takes the flier and the pen, then shakes my hand. “Okay. That sounds great. I’m Trish. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Mason, and thanks. Everyone seems . . .” I pause, my mind racing to Brooke.

Those eyes, hungry and calculating as she circled me, sizing me up.

After a hard swallow, I continue. “Friendly. Very friendly.”

Trish chuckles softly, dropping her hand. “That we are.”

I wave on my way out, tucking the remaining fliers against my body.

BROOKE

“I’m going to run out for lunch today,” I announce as I secure the lid on a container of icing and slide it on the shelf in the fridge. I close the door. “Is it okay if I take forty-five minutes instead of thirty?”

Dylan glances up from the worktop. “You’re buying lunch? What happened to packing every day to save money?”

“I did pack.” I grab my bag off one of the stools and pull out a can of soup. Progresso, Italian Style Wedding. “See? I’ll heat this up when I get back. I need to get something to wear to yoga tonight.” I set the soup on the wood.

Me, buying work-out clothes. Seems ridiculous. My idea of cardio has never involved clothes.

“You can borrow something of mine if you want.”

“No, thanks,” I reply, sliding off my apron and hanging it on the hook by the fridge. I grab my bag and slide the strap up my arm.

Dylan sticks her hand on her hip, the fingers of her other hand drumming the wood. “What exactly are you planning on buying? I have a ton of running shorts and T-shirts. And we’re the same size, practically. Save your money and just borrow something.”

“I’ve seen the clothes you wear when you go running. Your tops barely give the illusion of breasts, and I plan on highlighting mine tonight.”

I also plan on leaving the tags on whatever I end up buying. Wearing an outfit for an hour, or less, depending on how long it takes Mason to kick everyone else out and strip me naked hardly classifies as a non-refundable purchase.

“Oh.” Dylan smiles. “I see. Really, Brooke. Why don’t you just save yourself the hassle and walk over there naked? I’m sure what’s his name won’t mind.”

“Walk over where naked?” Joey steps into the back, eyeing up the bag on my arm curiously.

Shit.

He raises an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

“No,” I lie to the man who for the past two months has taken it upon himself to monitor my spending. “Just . . . putting this up front.”

“She’s going to buy an outfit to wear to yoga. Something that gives the illusion of breasts.”

I whip my head around and glare at Dylan. “You have a big mouth, you know that? And I hardly need an illusion.”

Please. My biggest asset has never failed to get me the attention I want, when it’s showcased properly. Dylan’s baggy T-shirts are a tragedy to the female race. She has always had a killer body, but she looks like a potato with legs in those things.

Joey takes a step back and blocks my exit. Dylan chuckles off to my left.

“Really? What happened to saving up so you can move out?”

“I’m planning on returning it tomorrow,” I explain, stepping closer to him. “This is a necessary purchase in the name of sex. Sacrifices have to be made. Besides, I read somewhere that if you don’t use your credit card at least once every few weeks, the banks assume you’ve died and will close down all your accounts. I’ll lose my savings if I don’t go through with this.”

My eyes evade his, roaming casually around the shop.

I don’t understand why I have to explain one freaking purchase to either one of them. I’m an adult, for Christ’s sake. I’ve been extremely disciplined the past two months. The only thing I still buy is our morning coffees, and I never hear either one of them riding my ass about that. One calculated credit card charge isn’t going to kill me. And hello! Are they both not hearing the plan I have to return this shit tomorrow?

A throat clearing grabs my attention. Joey stares at me for a long second, his thick shoulder wedged against the door frame. “You don’t read.”

I throw my head back. “Ugh. Whatever, I’m going. I’ll be back in forty-five.”

“Thirty.”

I look over at Dylan. She smiles around the spoon in her mouth.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Thirty.”

Damn it. It’s going to take me at least ten minutes to get to the mall. A girl who has never once shopped for a sports bra needs ample time to peruse. Do they even come in cup sizes? Is it a one size fits all deal?

Joey moves toward the worktop, freeing up my exit. “I’m going with you tonight.”

My feet skid to a halt in the doorway. I crane my neck to look at him. “Excuse me? What’s that now?”

“Going with you,” he repeats dryly, grabbing a spoon and dipping it into the vat of frosting Dylan just whipped up. He tastes it, makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat, then looks over at me. “Billy will be at the office until God knows when. I’ll be bored sitting at home. Plus, I’m intrigued. Hot yoga. Even hotter instructor. You, trying to get his attention while working out for the first time in your life. Sounds like a good time for Joey.”

My teeth clench.

Oh, great. Like I need more people to shove out the door tonight for some much needed privacy.

I stare at the side of his big, nosy head. “You know, when you talk in third person, you sound like an idiot. Especially during sex. Joey’s so close. Joey’s going to come.”

Dylan gasps, her mouth stretching into a ball-busting grin. She shoves against Joey’s chest. “Oh my God. Please tell me you don’t do that. That’s fucking awful, Joey. Jesus!”

“I do not do that!”

“You make Joey feel so good. God, suck Joey’s . . .”

I purse my lips when his eyes flash with the threat of revenge.

Shit. Tonight. Yoga. He could seriously derail my plans to get some if he refuses to leave.

“Kidding. Totally made that up.” I curl my fingers around my shoulder strap. “I’m out. See you in forty.”

“Thirty!”

I smile at the two voices behind me.

“My time starts when I get to the mall. Later, bitches!”

The shop door chimes, drowning out their protests.

I grab my things out of the dressing room and move past the racks of clothes in the direction of the registers.

My left hand holds the items I’ll be purchasing.

Light gray fitted pants, white tank, and pink sports bra.

My right, the items this store needs to just go ahead and burn. There’s no way in hell any woman looks good in these obnoxious patterns. And the one pair of pants made me itch so bad, my thighs are flushed in streaks of pink from my nails.

Who works out in a wool blend? Why is that material even an option?

I keep the clothes separated as I drop them on the counter.

“I’m keeping these. Can you put the rest back for me? I’m on a time crunch.”

“Sure thing.”

The woman behind the counter begins scanning the tags. I glance at my phone, noting the time.

1:16 P.M. I might just make it in thirty.

A paper taped to the back of the computer monitor grabs my attention as I’m slipping my phone away.

Hot Yoga with Mason King.

I quickly read the information, my eyes focusing, locking in on certain key words.

Deep healing.

Deep stretching.

Deep breathing.

Deep. Deep. Deep.

A throat clears. The woman behind the counter points at the flier. “You should’ve seen the guy who dropped that off. He had this accent,” she pauses, mouthing the word “wow.” I quietly laugh as she grabs a bag and drops my purchases to the bottom.

Wow is right.

The memory of Mason’s accent sends a pulsing current through my body, warming my blood with a delicious heat that pools between my hips. His voice was deep and rich, a bit husky.

Especially when he lowered it and moved his lips against my cheek.

“Don’t make me come looking for you.”

My pulse thrums below my ear. Again, I focus on certain words, maybe the only words I want him to say.

Make me come.

“I’d shove my husband in front of a bus for a man with an accent.”

I startle at the woman, my mouth falling open. Blush creeps up her face.

“Easy, Barb.” I squint at her name-tag. She laughs with a hand to her mouth. “When I hear on the news about some poor man who met his untimely death getting run over by a Greyhound, I’m going to know exactly where to point the cops.”

I hold out my credit card and she takes it.

She shakes her head through a grin. “I’m just saying. You should’ve seen him. Heard him. If I didn’t think I’d break a hip, I’d take his class.”

She swipes my card and hands it back to me with a receipt to sign. I slide my card back into my wallet. After scribbling my name, I glance once more at the flier.

The handwriting is surprisingly neat. All capital letters, evenly spaced. Most men I’ve noticed have atrocious handwriting. Joey’s penmanship looks like a person in the midst of a seizure taking a pen to paper. But not Mason’s. Even his attempt to replicate his sign on the top of the page is more than an attempt. It’s spot on in design. The letters perfectly bolded, the lines sharp.

“Here you go.”

I look up and take the bag Barb is holding out for me. “Thank you. I’ll tell your future husband you said hello at his class tonight.”

Her face burns a deep red. Stuttering, she responds with, “O-Oh, I was just kidding. Really. I would never leave my husband, let alone kill the poor man. He’s lovely. We’ve been married for seventeen wonderful years. Sure, he doesn’t always remember to take out the trash, but Lord knows he makes up for that with his grilling skills. The man could give Bobby Flay a run for his money. Have you watched his TV show? It’s very entertaining.”

I smile at how flustered poor Barb has become. Her words flying past her lips a mile a minute.

Like you’re any better. You nearly face-planted at the sight of Mason.

“Relax,” I chuckle, stepping back and ignoring my ridiculous inner thoughts.

Clearly, it was the heels, not his stellar physique that made me stumble. I was in a hurry and trying to avoid getting hit by traffic. He just happened to look back at me the exact second I lost my footing.

Coincidence. That’s all it was. Not directly related to his perfect, fuck-me face.

“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word,” I reassure her.

Turning, I move past the next woman in line and make for the exit.

An animated voice calls out behind me.

“Look! This is the class I was telling you about. God, that guy. I almost vomited all over him when he spoke.”

Stopping next to a rack of water bottles, I look over my shoulder in the direction I just came from. The other chirpy blonde chimes in next.

“I’ve never been this excited to work out before. We need to get there early so we get a good spot. I want front row. Prime viewing seats.”

I laugh under my breath.

Jesus. Okay, so Mason has an effect on every woman. At least all the ones within the Chicago city limits.

Get there early? Fight other bitches off for prime viewing seats? I’m not worried about either one of those.

I’ll have the best view of Mason after class is over.

Joey approves my purchase as soon as I get back to the shop. Not that I needed him to, but it is always a nice ego boost when your fashion savvy friend announces how flawless you’re going to look in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. He then lamely suggests I go back to the store and return the items before they get torn from my body after he gets a look at the receipt I forgot about.

I stow the items away and pretend not to hear his rantings. Talk of creditors, addictions, and something about his car payment costing less than my yoga pants go on around me as I busy myself with work.

Dylan leaves after we close up for the night to eat dinner with Reese’s parents. I think I’m in the clear when Joey slips out of the shop and heads in the direction of his car.

Good. One less person to get rid of later.

Grabbing my bag, I head upstairs to get changed.

A nervous energy buzzes through me. My skin feels hot at the thought of Mason’s hands on my body, his lips moving over mine. Questions swirl in my head as I hastily get dressed.

Is his touch gentle? Will he use my body like he has a right to it? I’m sure he’s a disciplined guy, his physique gives that away, but does he always maintain a level of control when he fucks? Or is that the only time he allows himself to be reckless and unrestrained.

Do I want him that way? Rough and wild? His hands moving me how he wants. Taking what he needs.

As I’m securing my hair back with an elastic band, the loft door swings open, snapping my attention off the wall mirror.

Joey appears in the doorway, now dressed in workout clothes and sneakers.

I’m quickly annoyed at the sight of him, until he whistles appreciatively at my outfit and motions for me to spin.

“Well, you look ready for sex.”

I give him a sly smile. “That’s what I was going for.”

Joey moves to stand beside me. He smiles at my reflection. “There’s a line half-way down the block for his class.”

I meet his gaze in the mirror, my hands frozen in my hair. “What?”

“Yup.”

“Half-way down the block? Seriously?”

“Yup.”

Scowling, I grab his hand and head for the door. “Let’s go.”

Fuck! What if the class is already full? I knew Mason would have a crowd at this thing, but that many people? If I have to wait another fucking day to bang this guy . . .

I don’t even allow myself to finish that thought as we walk outside. I refuse to entertain that possibility.

Joey locks up and joins me on the sidewalk.

“See?” He gestures across the street at the parade of women, his palm outstretched in the air. “I almost ran over three of them when I went to park.”

“Maybe you should’ve.”

That would’ve been ideal. At this rate, if I go to the end of the line I’ll be lucky to get in on a class next week.

Joey grabs my elbow and pulls me off the sidewalk after a truck passes. “Nervous?” he murmurs, dropping his head.

I slowly look over at him. “Of?”

“I saw how flustered you were after talking to him yesterday.”

“What? No I wasn’t.”

I think back to the minutes in the shop which immediately followed that interaction.

My quick consumption of a cupcake. Hardly the breakfast of champions.