Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Shit. I hadn’t really thought about how much this would affect their friendship through the whole season. Selfishly, my focus has been keeping on Dalton’s and my activities a secret.
“Gotta eat quick. I have an appointment in thirty minutes.” I can’t tell him no after that plea for companionship. But I also mentally check a clock to see if I have time for this, even though I know I’m absolutely eating pancakes and bacon before I go.
“What’re we doing today?” Dalton asks in my kitchen as he pulls plastic boxes out of the bag.
I slam the drawer shut, not finding any forks, and instead open the dishwasher to grab two. I’m terrible at putting dishes away.
“Are those clean?” Dalton’s brow lifts dubiously as he scrutinizes the offered silverware.
“Of course they are.” He leans around me and points at the magnet on the front of the dishwasher, which is definitely showing dirty, but that’s only because I didn’t slide it to clean when I started it. “If not, it’ll build your immunity.” I lick my fork obscenely to prove the point.
He shrugs, but also adjusts his dick when I walk past. Maybe it was the fork-licking, or maybe it’s my yoga pants. Or maybe that monster he’s hiding is always a little uncomfortable.
Answering his earlier question as I sit at the bar-top counter, I say, “I have a private Pilates session with Rayleigh. What’re you doing today?”
“Going to Pilates.”
He sits beside me as I laugh, totally thinking he’s kidding. “I didn’t say pie and lattes, which you can’t have anyway, Mr. Protein Omelet. I’m going to Pi-lat-es.” I drawl it out extra long so he can hear the difference.
“Heard you the first time. I’ve got the day off from Fritzi, so I could use an extra stretch.” He shoves an enormous bite of omelet into his mouth, using the fork he questioned without hesitation.
I blink, thinking I surely must’ve heard him wrong. But he’s looking at me in complete seriousness as he chews. An evil smirk steals my face, and I rush to hide it so he doesn’t realize the hell he’s getting himself into. Making my voice sound totally casual, like Rayleigh’s sessions are no big deal, I say, “Yeah, you should absolutely come with me. It’ll be fun.”
We finish brunch quickly and go outside. He automatically walks to his truck and opens the door for me.
“We can’t take your truck. What if people see it at the studio?”
He looks at his truck like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Probably think I’m fucking Rayleigh.” He has the small amount of decency to cringe as he says it. “Besides, I won’t fit in your tin can car.” He points at my Mini Cooper, and I imagine him folded up to fit in the passenger seat. He’d have to hang his legs out the side window and his head out the sunroof, and that might be a little more noticeable driving through town.
“Fine,” I concede.
Thirty minutes later, on the dot, we’re walking into Rayleigh’s studio.
“Uh, heyyy, Joy. Dalton,” Rayleigh greets us, looking confused at the appearance of a sudden guest for our session. She’s wearing a bright-red sports bra and leggings set, which means today’s private session is going to be intense and punishing.
I can’t wait to see how Dalton handles this.
“Hi, Rayleigh. Hope you don’t mind, but Dalton wanted to tag along. Said he had the day off from workouts, so a ‘nice stretch’ would be good.” I do finger air quotes as I meet her eyes, and she instantly knows I want her to work the shit out of him.
Pilates isn’t the aerobics queen “stretch with a plastic hoop” shit most people think of. It’s no joke, and Rayleigh is serious about her craft, priding herself on finding muscles you never knew you had and working them until you cry or plead for mercy. Or both. And of course, she does it all with her trademark positivity.
“Nope, I don’t mind a bit. Shall we?” If I didn’t know her as well as I do, I’d think her eyes have an evil twinkle as she waits for us to remove our shoes and put on grippy socks before guiding us into her space.
I watch Dalton’s reaction as he walks in the studio where Rayleigh has several reformer machines lined up. I expect him to look a bit fearful of the long, table-like carriages and various straps and bars, and am secretly ready to give him a hard time. Who’s scared now?
Instead, he looks . . . excited?
“Cool place,” he tells Rayleigh. “This all yours?”
She beams, her pride in her business visible. “Yep, this is my baby. Been here for a year and growing exponentially every month. If people in town hear I’m training a Moose, even more will come.” She claps her hands in anticipation.