It’s not that I’m not happy for Bo, that I don’t feel a little better knowing she’s alive and happy, but I think I realized when she called me that I’m not happy — not the way I should be, anyway. Between Kimberly and the drama at work, trying to put fires out in sorority land, and not having anything to fuel me in my spare time — like pole used to — I feel a little aimless.
And, underneath all those shallow reasons for my unhappiness lies the real truth.
I miss Brandon.
I still want him, which is absolutely ridiculous after the way he’s given me the cold shoulder at work. The memory of his biting remarks earlier this week make me grunt as I release my hands from the pole, inverting backward and holding myself with the strength of my legs and core alone. And it’s there, hanging upside down doing something I used to love so much, something that feels so challenging an unfamiliar to me now, that I realize I’ve lost myself.
For the next fifteen minutes, I try to clear my head, focusing only on using my body to practice old spins and climbs. After a quick cool down, I pay Karen for the drop-in session and we set up a training schedule.
“You know, we’re looking at going to competition later this year,” Karen says, handing me my credit card back. “Think you’d be interested? You’re already better rusty than half the girls on our team.”
I smile, swallowing down the memories of my last competition. “Thank you, that’s very flattering, but this time around I’m just doing pole for me. No competitions.”
Karen watches me curiously, her almost gray eyes searching mine. “Okay, I can respect that. But let me know if you ever change your mind.”
“I will. And hey, thank you again for today. I really needed it.”
She chuckles, eyeing the new bruises already showing on my arms and legs. “Well, now you’ll probably need an ice bath and some Arnica.”
“No shit,” I agree with a laugh of my own as I tug on my loose-fitting travel pants over my tiny shorts. Adjusting the strap of my gym bag over my shoulder, I give her a little wave and make my way through the studio hall and back out into the Florida heat.
It’s a beautiful morning, just past nine now, and I plug in my headphones to start the walk back to campus. The studio was only a little over a mile away, so I took the walk this morning to warm up.
This one, I need to clear my head.
I scan the windows of the little shops I pass as I weave through downtown, enjoying the cool breeze mixing with the sunshine hitting my shoulders. I work through my plan for the week, starting with a beach day with the girls tomorrow and then back on the grind early Monday morning. Pulling out my phone, I jot down when I’ll go to pole between work and class. My chest feels lighter with every step, and the more my plan falls into place, the easier my breaths come. I know pole isn’t the answer to everything, but it’s the first step to getting a little of the old me back.
I drop my phone back into my pocket, hooking one thumb on the strap of my gym bag as I go back to scanning the shops. My mind drifts from Bo back to Brandon, and my stomach turns.
I miss him.
My hand itches to grab my phone again, to call him and ask to see him. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no and I feel just as annoyed and hurt as I do now? The possibility that he might say yes is enough to shove that fear down, but when I ask myself if I can truly handle another rejection from him right now, I know the answer without saying it out loud.
Taking that roll of my stomach as a sign from the universe, I decide to wait, to talk to him on Monday in the office, instead. At least there, I can’t break down crying asking him if he ever thinks of me anymore. Maybe I’ll have a small chance of keeping my shit together.
The decision is made, but when my eyes flit through the next shop, I wonder if I was reading the sign from the universe all wrong.
Because there he is.
As if he’s a mirage, or as if my soul called to him without asking permission first, I spot Brandon standing inside a suit store, his beautiful, chiseled jaw casting a shadow down his neck as he appraises himself in a mirror.
My feet stop working.
I just stand there and gape from the sidewalk, watching Brandon eyeing himself in the full-length mirror as a shorter, slightly chubby man takes measurements along his inseam and then jots down notes in a little notebook. Brandon’s eyes are hard, the irises scrutinizing as he scans the new suit. It’s a creamy beige, complementing the caramel tones of his complexion, and even now — before it’s been tailored — it fits him in a way that should be illegal.
I lick my lips, remembering how hard the body is underneath all that fabric, and it’s as if that little spark I taste on my lips shocks him, too. He pauses, flattening a palm over his abdomen before lifting his eyes to the window beyond the mirror he’s staring into, the window where I stand.
His gaze hits me like a wave of fire, burning me from the inside out.
I pluck the neck of my tank top away from my skin, a bead of sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I swallow, wrapping both hands around the front strap of my bag to keep them from nervously fidgeting. Somehow, I manage a smile, but Brandon doesn’t smile back. Instead, he says something to the man working on his suit, and then he steps down from the platform, his feet moving him quickly toward the door.
Toward me.
I steal a breath before he opens the glass door, and when we’re face to face on the sidewalk, I smile, squinting a little at the sun streaming in behind him.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Brandon tucks his hands easily into the pockets of his slacks, ones that hang on his hips a little now but I know will fit like a glove once he’s done. It’s the way all his suits fit — tailored to perfection, hugging every asset.
“Fancy, indeed,” he says, his voice smooth and steady as his eyes rake over me. I catch a slight tick in his jaw then, especially when he takes in my tiny sports bra. “You’re dressed… interestingly.”
I glance down at the bra, my abdomen still exposed, but I at least took the time to throw on travel pants over my skimpy shorts.
“Ah, yeah. I just got done with a pole session, actually.”
Brandon lifts a brow. “Pole? You went back?”
“I went back,” I say, voice soft. Then, I shrug, running a hand over my high pony tail. “It’s just been a really stressful couple of weeks, and I needed to blow off some steam. I suck, though,” I say quickly. “My body is out of shape. I have a lot of work to do to get back to where I was.”
“You are not out of shape.”
“You didn’t see me try to climb a pole.”
“I’d like to.”
I clench my teeth together to keep my mouth from gaping open again, and Brandon just watches me, his gaze smoldering.
“What’s wrong?” he asks after a moment.
Um, besides the fact that you just said you’d like to see me climb a pole?
“You said you went to clear your head,” he clarifies when I don’t respond. “What’s wrong, what’s been going on?”
I sigh, turning so I don’t have to look at him when I lie. “Nothing. I’m fine. Just a little stressed from work and stuff.”
“Just because you’re not looking at me doesn’t mean I don’t know when you’re lying.”
His voice is lower, and when he takes a step closer, my façade breaks. Tears prick my eyes, everything I haven’t been facing welling up at the absolute worst time possible. I sniff, holding it all in, trying my damnedest to pull myself together even as my vision floods.
“Really, I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is weak — pathetic.
Brandon reaches for me, but stops himself short, tucking his hands back in his pockets as he watches me. My eyes stay focused on the sidewalk, and I sniff again.
“What are you doing today?”
I glance at him then, but then my gaze is right back on the ground. “I don’t know, I have some homework.”
“Can it wait?” he asks,
almost hopeful. “I want to show you something.”
And when I pull my eyes back to his, watching him through my wet lashes, I know there isn’t a chance in hell I could say no. The way those dark pools swallow me is just all kinds of wrong. I feel like a tiny little guppy trying to swim upstream in white water rapids — completely helpless.
“What do you want to show me?”
“Oh, my God. You’re kidding, right?”
I gape at the monstrous boat in front of us, taking in the crisp white build of it, contrasted by large, dark, tinted windows. The railing spans the top deck, silver and shiny, complementing the wood flooring and accents. It’s the kind of boat I’ve only seen in movies, the kind I’ve only dreamed about ever being this close to — let alone being on.
Brandon hands his bag to one of the crew members who just met us at the bottom of the ramp, ignoring my question. My eyes widen even more when he says something to the woman in Spanish, and she nods with a bright smile, taking the bag and greeting me with a shy smile before she heads back up the ramp.
Brandon smirks when he sees my mouth hanging open. “What?”
“Don’t what me,” I chastise. “Usually when someone says they want to show you something, it’s an old family photograph, or a cool, limited edition comic book, or maybe even a secret place where they go to think. They literally never mean, ‘Let me show you my yacht.’”
He chuckles, rolling up the sleeve of his loose, white, button-up shirt and revealing a dark, toned forearm. That button-up shirt is paired casually with a pair of baby blue shorts that end just above his knee, his boat shoes pulling off the sailor look he has going. It was the outfit he changed back into after leaving the suit for the tailor, and I wonder if he had plans to come out here before he saw me or if he was just dressed and ready.
“Are you just going to stare at me or can we get on board now?”
“I think I’ll just stay here and stare.”
He smiles at that, showing me his perfect teeth as he gestures one hand toward the ramp.
“Seriously, I don’t have a swim suit or anything. I wasn’t prepared for a boat day.”
“We have everything on board.”
I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. “Oh, so you’ve just got swim suits waiting in every size so you can entertain whatever lady you have with you, huh?”
“Maybe.”
Anger flares deep in my belly, boiling my skin. “That’s disgusting.”
He laughs, stepping into my space as his eyes descend on mine. “I called ahead and asked Marietta to go down the street and grab you one from one of the tourist shops, okay? Now, stop being such an adorable pain in my ass and get on the boat.”
I chew my lip, which makes his gaze fall to my mouth.
And if the sun was hot before, it’s absolute fire now.
Brandon keeps his eyes fixed on my lips as he swallows, stepping back and gesturing toward the ramp again. This time, I step onto it, making my way toward the boat with him following close behind.
I can’t take everything in, it all happens so quickly. My eyes try to take in every accent, every luxurious corner of the yacht as the captain and crew greet us. They each shake Brandon’s hand first, and then mine, and the next thing I know I’ve got a glass of champagne in my hand, a beach towel laid over one arm, and directions to a room inside that has a swim suit waiting for me.
Well, this day turned around quickly.
“Why don’t you go get changed,” Brandon says, nodding inside. “I’m going to speak with the captain, and then I’ll meet you on the top deck?”
I shake my head, still looking around. “This isn’t a boat, this is like a… home. A mansion.” My eyes widen when I glance over his shoulder. “Oh my God, is that a pool? A pool, on a boat.” I press a hand to my forehead. “What even.”
Brandon watches my little meltdown with amusement, standing just as confidently and casually as he had on the sidewalk outside the tailor.
“Trust me, it’s a lot more exciting once we get out on the water. Go, change, then meet me up top.”
I think I nod, though I can’t be sure. I just let my feet guide me inside, following Marietta’s instructions until I find a beautiful bedroom. It’s like the master bed and bath of a mansion, a grand California king bed sprawled out in the middle of the room with gorgeous views out the large tinted window. A tiny, white bikini is laid out on the deep burgundy comforter, and I hold up the top with one eyebrow quirked.
“Nice,” I murmur, realizing how much my tits are going to spill out of the fabric. I may not be a super curvy girl, but I’m blessed enough for my athletic figure.
When I hold up the bottoms — which might as well have been just a thong — I laugh.
But once I’m dressed in the suit, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror fixed to the wall opposite the foot of the bed, I smirk.
“Damn, girl,” I say, turning to see my tan backside before taking in the full-frontal view again. Thank goodness Erin has been obsessed with getting sun lately. The suit reveals a little bit of my tan lines from my other suit, but it fits perfectly, almost as if it was tailored for me.
Thanks, Marietta.
Tossing the towel back over my arm, I take a sip of my champagne and carry it with me as I make my way up to the top deck.
Of course, I can’t get to the top deck without first passing the massive dining area, the living area — complete with the biggest flat-screen TV I’ve seen in my entire life — and that damn pool. There are chairs lining the edge of it, but I find Brandon casually reclining on a couch on the very top deck, his bare feet kicked up on the table in front of him and his arms lining the back cushions as he stares out at the water.
I didn’t even realize we were moving, but up here on the top deck, it’s easy to see the water spreading for the nose of the yacht. The blue is reflected in the lenses of Brandon’s dark sunglasses, and I watch him for longer than I should before finally dropping my towel next to him.
He glances up, and when he does, I swear I see his eyes widen even through his dark shades. But he doesn’t let his neck move, doesn’t give away whether his gaze is roaming my body or staying fixed on my face. My cheeks warm regardless, and I cross my arms over my middle with a shrug.
“Thank you for the suit, Mr. Church.”
He just stares for a solid thirty seconds more, and then he clears his throat, patting the cushion next to him.
“It’s no problem. Here, sit.” When I do, he holds up his glass of champagne toward mine. “And you can call me Brandon, Miss Daniels.”
My heart leaps into my throat, but I hold my glass just a little away from his. “Is that only for today?”
His smile falls a little at that, and in lieu of answering, he just clinks his glass to mine.
“To secret getaways.”
I swallow, holding his gaze as we both take a sip of the crisp bubbles.
And for the next hour, not another word is said.
Brandon asks Marietta to put on his playlist, which includes everything from Chance the Rapper and Kendrick Lamar to The Dirty Heads and Sublime. He sings along to every song that comes on, tapping his feet on the table, and I sprawl out on the circular couch next to his. As the sun warms my skin, and the champagne warms my blood, I let out a content sigh and soak in the day.
Sometime after I flip onto my stomach, I doze off, and Brandon wakes me with a gentle sweep of my hair off my slick forehead.
“How do you feel about some lunch?” he asks, the sun serving as a halo around his silhouetted frame.
My stomach grumbles before I have the chance to respond, and we both chuckle.
“There’s my answer,” he says, holding out a hand to help me up off the couch. When I slide my fingers into his palm, he tugs me up, catching me in his arms once I’m standing. His Adam’s apple bobs hard in his throat, and he lets me go slowly, stepping back with a hand gesture to the lower deck. “After you.”
I debate wrapping my
towel around me, but leave it behind, saying a little prayer to the cellulite gods that my ass looks good as I strut inside. Brandon follows behind me, and when I stop at the sight of our lunch spread with a gasp, he runs right into my backside with an oof.
“Sorry,” I murmur, but I still can’t move. “You said lunch. I thought, like, sandwiches.”
My eyes scan the massive spread, complete with what looks like a full raw bar of oysters and crab legs. There is more champagne waiting where our plates are set up, and a bowl of fruit large enough to feed ten easily makes my mouth water. I eye the juicy watermelon, the bright strawberries, the crisp grapes.
“I love how surprised you are by all of this,” he says, moving past me to the table. He pulls one chair out, holding out a hand to help me sit. “Sometimes I feel like I take it for granted.”
“I don’t think I ever could,” I say, still amazed as I take my seat, eyeing the rest of the table.
“You think that, but even when you come from humble beginnings, it’s easy to get used to this kind of life. If you don’t take the time to appreciate it, that is.” Brandon sits across from me, unfolding his napkin onto his lap. “I’m glad you came out here with me. Makes me slow down and really take it all in, the way I used to.”
“What was it like the first time you set foot on this monster?” I ask.
I go to lay my own napkin out, but it feels strange setting it across my bare thighs. Marietta seems to pick up on my discomfort, and she exits her post at the far corner of the dining area, returning quickly with a plush, beige robe.
“Oh, thank you,” I tell her as she helps me put the robe on. Brandon watches every move of my body with a tense jaw, not speaking until I’m seated again.
“The first time I set foot on this, I was twenty-seven,” he says. “Single, on top of the world — at least, it felt like it.”
“Did you have a big yacht party with all your friends?”
He smirks, plucking a grape from the bowl between us. “Not really my style.”
Legacy: A New Adult College Romance (Palm South University Book 4) Page 19
