Does the girl not wear clothes to the gym? I really don’t need a Sterling brawling when someone looks at he
r ass in those tiny shorts—I think they should be classified as underwear—and a sports bra.
“Damn it,” Corbin growls when he sees her.
“You can sign up for yoga,” I tell her, handing her the sheet. “But this is for the more advanced class.”
“I learn quickly.”
“Why do you want to yoga?” Maverick asks her.
“Yoga isn’t a verb,” Britt says while writing her name in and reading over the list. “And I want to take it because my paper research on porn stars versus virgins got me curious as to why so many men chose porn stars. I think I understand why. They’re very flexible, which allows for some very unorthodox positions.”
Maverick and Corbin glare at her, but Maverick finally looks away, shaking his head while muttering, “Why do I ask these things?”
“Bo Brendon’s name is on here,” Britt points out. “That’s Ruby’s friend.”
“Making sure she has a spot.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but Maverick looks at me, surprised.
“Bo is coming?”
“Bo knows about it,” I say in deflection.
Something akin to “inspiration striking” crosses his eyes.
“Holy fucking shit! How have I not thought of that before?”
“What?” Corbin, Britt, and I all ask in unison.
“Bo knows!” he says, doing a terrible Bo Jackson impersonation.
Corbin and I both groan, while Maverick does what I assume is his version of a happy dance. There’s some air-spanking involved.
“Do you realize how many jokes I can make with that? It’ll be epic!”
“It doesn’t take much to excite him,” Corbin says, rolling his eyes.
“I don’t get it,” Britt announces.
“Sports thing,” Maverick says dismissively.
They walk off to go work out on the side of the gym that doesn’t have the viewing window, while Maverick continues to make terrible Bo knows jokes.
Almost an hour later, I look up just as she walks in, and I have to brace myself on the counter to keep from falling to the floor like a little bitch. Her eyes lock with mine immediately, and she fidgets nervously.
I try not to notice how her hair is bunched on top of her head, exposing the neck I used to have free access to. Or the spandex pants that stop at her calves, looking more like another layer of skin than clothing. Or the damn pale-pink tank top that is suctioned to her body.
I also try not to notice the way she nibbles on that lip that I miss having in my mouth. A yoga mat is tucked under her arm, and she holds it much tighter than necessary.
Putting on my game face, I give her a slow, pleased smile. “You came.”
She’s wearing a lot of makeup to cover the bruises most likely, but the swelling has gone down. The split on her lip has healed a lot in two days.
All I wanted to do was hold her when she was curled up, battered, and hurting, looking lost on her massive bed. She couldn’t even stand my touch.
She walks toward the counter. I grab the clipboard and check her name off, before pointing toward studio two. She glances toward it then back to me.
“I need to pay first.”