Pulse racing at the thought of my classes becoming obsolete, I forced myself to remain calm as I rewound through my memories of this morning’s sessions. None seemed any smaller, and I’d felt no weirdness from the members. We’d had a very good turnout for my yoga/mindfulness class in particular. It was those mindfulness techniques, in fact, that stopped me from overreacting to stressful situations such as this.
And thank goodness, because if what they were saying was true, then wouldn’t my classes have been smaller? Someone would have said something, surely? Lachlan would have gotten complaints from members and said something, no?
“I didn’t hear that,” Michelle interjected. “I just heard that Iris Benning was shooting her mouth off about you.”
“Me too,” Anne-Marie, a nail technician who lived in Ardnoch, added, expression reassuring. “I didn’t hear anything about boycotting your classes.”
“I think most of them are probably well aware that Iris Benning is a rotten apple.” Jacinda, the spa’s oldest staff member, an experienced freelance physiotherapist who only works Mondays, shook her head. I could tell she was annoyed they’d even brought this to my attention. “Anyone who’s crossed paths with that woman knows it. And this isn’t the Golden Age of Hollywood. That kind of behavior doesn’t stay buried anymore. Soon enough, the world will know who Iris Benning really is. So don’t you let her worry you a bit, Eredine,” she said kindly.
I gave her a small smile. “I won’t.”
“Good.”
A call of my name drew me from the conversation. In the time it took me to collect my lunch and return to the table, I’d convinced myself to focus on Jacinda’s advice. There was always gossip among the staff here because we’d all signed nondisclosure agreements that meant we couldn’t discuss anything that happened inside the club with the outside world. So we only had each other to unload it on to. But the gossip always died down within a few days when they found something else to talk about.
“I honestly thought it was a myth.” Anne-Marie giggled as I sat down.
Jacinda snorted while Michelle wore an envious expression.
Just before taking my first bite of grilled salmon and rice salad, I asked, “What’s a myth?”
Anne-Marie beamed. “The G-spot.”
I nearly choked on my mouthful, and the ladies laughed. “Sorry,” I said once I’d swallowed, my cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was I.” Anne-Marie cackled. “But my God, where has it been all my life?”
Now I felt envious.
“You’ve honestly never had a man hit your G-spot before?” Jacinda frowned.
“Hey, I’m not sure I have,” Michelle answered, her lip curled in disappointment. “And I’m ten years older than she is.”
Natalia shook her head. “You need to get that man of yours told.”
“Aye, don’t I know it.”
“Do it doggy style,” Anne-Marie instructed. “Seriously, I was totally against it because I always thought it would be impersonal, but oof …” She waved a hand over her face like she was getting hot just thinking about it. “He hit me so deep, and at this angle—”
“We get it,” Michelle cut her off. “You’re embarrassing Eredine.”
“No, you’re not,” I promised Anne-Marie while trying not to be annoyed at Michelle for using me as the excuse. “I’m thirty-two, not a shy virgin.”
“You’re thirty-two?” Natalia’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “Give me your skin-care regimen. You look my age.”
Granny had taught me to take care of my hair and skin from the age of twelve. “Thanks.”
“Not a shy virgin?” Michelle pounced, eyeing me. “So, why do we never hear about your sexual exploits?”
Because I hadn’t had sex in eight years.
Oh my Lord.
Eight years.
Maybe my hymen had regrown. Who knew?
I missed sex.
Not that I’d ever been a casual sex kind of girl. I’d always been in a relationship with the person I was intimate with, but I’d had this one boyfriend before everything fell apart, and he was the first guy I’d met who seemed to care if I had a good time. We’d had some pretty great sex together.
I really missed sex.
Squirming, I crossed my legs under the table and speared my fork through a piece of salmon, a little too aggressively. “I’m very private,” I finally said.
“So, you’re not banging the headboard with Arran Adair?” Anne-Marie teased.
Unamused, I shot her a look that made her smile fall. “More gossip?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything …”
“It’s fine.” I shook my head. “Arran and I are just friends.”
“How can you be just friends with him?” Natalia huffed. “He is gorgeous.”
“Not as gorgeous as Brodan,” Michelle said. “Did you see his last film? I kept rewinding the scene where he comes out of the bathroom naked, and though they didn’t let you see his dick, they certainly let you see his arse. And what an arse it is.” She closed her eyes as if replaying the scene in her head.