Let Loose for Me Read online

I cut the engine to my beat-up Honda and take in the palm trees around me.

  Leo, our Naked Heat coach, made a comment about me improving my flexibility. Suggested I take up yoga or Pilates, and I chose the former.

  So, here I am. Sitting in the parking lot. My car parked right next to hers.

  It was two weeks ago when she slapped me in the middle of her kitchen, a slap I still feel imprinted on my cheek. It’s a constant reminder of her tenacity—I like that.

  I adjust myself, recalling the first night I met her at the club with Sebastian and Kendall. It was loud and sweaty, and Emma stood out among the chaos.

  I asked her to dance. Even pulled my move that never fails, whisper-singing in her ear along with the song with my hands on her hips.

  I mean, I’ve been told my voice sounds like a mix of John Legend and Prince.

  But instead of being impressed, she crossed her arms and cussed me out when my gaze lingered too long on her cleavage. She glared at me the rest of the night because I was “too brash.”

  She hated me with the first word out of my mouth, and I have to admit, I was intrigued she didn’t fall for my fake charms or forced smile.

  But I was lonely. Which is why I went home with two women that night, with Emma’s narrow gaze on me as I walked out. Since then, we’ve only seen each other a few times when Sebastian and Kendall were involved.

  I scratch my head before exiting my car, my yoga mat tucked under my arm, glad Sebastian lives here in LA most of the time now since his new hotel is under construction. I have an excuse to be here, if anyone asks.

  Sweat already accumulates and drips down my back, the LA summer unkind to large mocha-skinned men like myself.

  But I’m used to this kind of heat. I cherish it, honestly. If I ever had to move up north, I’d roll over and play dead. Me moving up north would be like an elephant moving to the North Pole—it wouldn’t last.

  I pat my car for good luck and head inside.

  I hear laughter when I enter the studio.

  “You didn’t!” A guy with a sandy blond man-bun crosses his arms and leans forward, captivated by Emma’s story, while another girl stands to the side.

  “I did. I fell right out of a tree, hit my head on a branch on the way down, and landed on my back. My dad was pissed, yelled at me for being so irresponsible, then asked if I was all right.” She dips her head and chuckles, my heart instinctively reaching out to her. I swallow my sudden urge to ask her to start from the beginning. “The knot on my head was already the size of a golf ball by the time he was finished lecturing me.”

  The other girl chimes in about her own dad being so clueless as I slowly approach, afraid I’m intruding, but seeing Emma so carefree pulls me toward them, anyway.

  “Hey, man.” The guy, two inches shorter than me, offers his hand. “I’m Mason.”

  “Hey, I’m Ty.”

  The girl waves. “I’m Bailey.”

  Mason asks, “I’ve seen you in here before, right?”

  “Yeah, Ty’s been in here once or twice,” Emma says in a neutral tone. She lays her mat out, bending over and flashing us cleavage. For some odd reason, it makes my hands itch to touch her.

  Interesting.

  Without another word, she moves around the room, collecting the stray foam blocks that others must’ve left in the previous class.

  I trip over my own feet trying to help, but Mason beats me to it. With more dignity than me too. “Here, let me get those,” he says.

  “Oh. Thanks.” She smiles kindly at him, a smile I’ve never received from her and didn’t realize until this moment I wanted.

  I rub my aching chest, trying to figure out what’s happening. Am I seriously jealous of him? Of the way she laughs and jokes with him?

  That can’t be right. I’m Ty Alesana, Vegas stripper who goes to bed with a different girl every other night. I don’t get fucking jealous.

  But my feet move toward her, nonetheless, subtly forcing Mason out of the way.

  “So, you’ve noticed I’ve been in here a few times, huh? Can’t keep your eyes off me?” I whisper to her once Mason is on the other side of the room.

  “Yes, I noticed you still can’t manage to get even child’s pose right,” she hisses, grabbing the Windex to clean the smudges on the mirrors. “For a dancer, you’re very inflexible.”

  “Maybe I need some private lessons. Have any openings?”

  She finishes wiping down the mirror, then narrows her eyes at me—bingo. There’s the fire.

  “How do you know each other?” Bailey asks, her braid falling over one shoulder. She seems young, probably not even old enough to drink.

  I open my mouth to respond, but Emma’s snarky wit appears once again. “Remember when Kendall went to Vegas a few months ago? Well, she brought us back a couple strippers.”

  Bailey’s eyes widen when she follows Emma’s hooked thumb as though I’d whip my dick out right here and now.

  Amused, I say to Emma, “You sure are obsessed with my occupation. Come to a show. I’m sure we can loosen up the tension in your shoulders better than any yoga.” I wink at Emma, who gapes at me, her fists balled at her sides like she’s ready to punch me. I then smile at Bailey as Mason walks up with the rest of the forgotten blocks.

  People file in, and class is about to begin. I keep my gaze on Emma, who watches me with a menacing scowl as people settle in.

  She looks ready to strangle me, but I also glimpse the red tint of her cheeks.

  Like she’s intrigued, and for reasons I can’t quite decipher yet, I hope to God I’m right.

  This should to be fun.

  After class, Mason hangs around and helps tidy up, again. Seriously, who is this guy? I lose patience in the easy way he and Emma laugh together. He’s young. His innocent eyes give him away—a boy compared to me, a man.

  But those same eyes wander to Emma’s ass every time she turns around, and all I want to do is throw him through a wall.

  He’s tan with light hair and chapped lips—a surfer, no doubt. I’m surprised Emma’s even friends with such a Neanderthal. All the surfers I know are pretentious assholes, and I suspect this one’s no different.

  I roll my mat up as the room quiets, feeling as juvenile and pathetic as I did in high school when I was described on several occasions as “the lanky nerd who can’t get a girl to go out for ice cream, let alone in the sack.”

  Fucking Cole DeWitt lived to embarrass me.

  Mason leans in to give Emma a hug. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then?”

  My whole body tenses when she nods in response. She doesn’t teach yoga on Wednesdays. No, Kendall teaches Pilates that day, and Wren teaches Zumba, according to her schedule online. I memorized it for professional reasons, to ensure I’m the best dancer I can be, not because of anything else.

  Which means… she hangs out with this guy.

  Wait—are they together?

  And more importantly, why do I fucking care so much?

  Mason nods to me on his way out, and I walk to Emma to carry her bag. Reaching my hand out, she yanks it away. “I got it.”

  “Let me be a gentleman and carry your bag.”

  She scoffs. “A gentleman? Please.”

  “I’m more of a gentleman than man-bun. What a douche. Where did you even find him?”

  “Mason? He is a gentleman. Kind, funny, smart. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

  Now, it’s my turn to scoff as we make our way to the parking lot. “Yeah right. Only thing he could teach me is how to catch ‘a totally killer wave, dude,’” I mock in my best surfer accent. “Seriously, I lost brain cells just being in his presence.”

  “I think you do that all on your own.” She doesn’t meet my gaze, focusing instead on putting her bag in the back seat of her car, but I notice the reddening blush on her long neck.

  I take a chance and push her back against the car, only slightly, desperate to know one thing. “What’s the deal with you two?”

  “Get o
ff me.”

  I smile at her wide eyes and the blush growing darker down her usually pale skin. Her breathing quickens to a pant, making my mouth suddenly water for her. “Answer the question, and I will.”

  Her eyes flutter.

  Her stare briefly falls to my lips mere inches from her, her thumbnail digging into my skin as she grips my forearm.

  I fight the urge to smirk, knowing I’m winning this little game.

  She shakes her head like she’d shake off a bug, then juts her chin up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Mason and I are friends. We volunteer at the animal shelter together.”

  “Ah, a goody-goody.”

  “Is that supposed to be an insult? Because I happen to enjoy doing right by animals.” She frowns, then glances away, and it makes my stomach churn.

  It’s the first time I’ve noticed anything troublesome when it comes to her.

  But as quickly as I saw it—the chink in her armor—it disappears, and hard-ass Emma is back, snarl and all. “It’s a concept you wouldn’t understand.”

  With a big whiff of her coconut scent, I whisper in her ear, “When you’re ready to do a little bad, call me.” I smile coyly and back away, vowing to find out the reason behind Emma’s sadness.

  There’s an ache deep down that’s hidden by her flawless makeup and snarky comments.

  I know it’s there because pain recognizes pain. It’s drawn to it like the first taste of your mom’s turkey casserole after a long time away.

  It’s home.

  CHAPTER 4

  Emma

  “I do not make that face,” I deadpan as Kendall and I settle onto the couch for a much-needed girls’ night.

  She pours red wine in both our glasses on the coffee table, then rolls her eyes at me. “You do. You twist your lips like you’re too good for quality TV.”

  “That’s because the shows you watch aren’t quality TV.”

  “They’re funny. I thought you liked comedies? The Office, Jane the Virgin, Brooklyn Nine-Nine?”

  “I like Jane,” I argue. “Besides, you just like all shows! You laugh at everything.”

  “Maybe you should try it.” She throws part of a cheddar rice cake my way. “I’m a happy human, laughing at everything while you glare and make a snobby face.”

  I dust off my tank top, my eye fighting a twitch at the mess she’s making, my fingers trembling to get a broom. “I’m also happy. I could scold you right now for making a mess, but see”—I hold my arms out, orange specks still on my arm—“I’m not freaking out.”

  She crunches on more of her rice cake, then takes the remote from me without wiping her hands off.

  I instinctively cringe, and she catches me, pointing at my face. “There it is. There’s the real Emma.” She throws her head back, laughing like an evil witch, and my fingers itch to wipe the smile off her face.

  But I mainly need to wipe down every surface in a ten-foot radius like a crime scene cleanup crew would a murder.

  “Not my fault I live with a buffoon,” I say, getting up to grab a few Lysol wipes. She tries to snatch them from me, but I shake my head.

  She would only make it worse if she tried to help me clean. Not sure how that’s possible, but she always finds a way.

  We settle into our spots and decide on a romantic comedy movie of my choosing. She pauses it halfway through to answer a call from Sebastian. This is my chance to go to the bathroom since I’ve been holding it in for a good twenty minutes now. When I re-enter the living room, I catch the end of her conversation.

  “… totally come over. Emma and I are just watching a movie.”

  She notices me standing and shrugs in question. I nod in response, then make my way to the kitchen to put away our dishes before he gets here.

  “Oh, I didn’t know Ty was in town…”

  I whip back toward Kendall and fight to walk to the living room casually but quickly. Waving my hands in front of her, I give her a death glare, slicing my hand across my throat in warning.

  “Sure, bring him too,” she says into the phone, peering at me with her head tilted.

  My shoulders slump when she hangs up. “Did you not see my hand signals? Since when do you not read my hand signals anymore?”

  “What’re you talking about? It’s just Sebastian and Ty. You remember Ty, right?”

  If she wasn’t my one true friend, I’d smother her with a throw pillow. And if she wasn’t so happy with Sebastian, I’d find a way to separate them just so I’d never have to see Ty’s dumb smirk ever again.

  Or smell his cologne.

  Or watch him tug at his shirt just enough for a glimpse of his collarbone.

  My God, what’s wrong with me? I’m noticing his damn collarbone now?

  “Of course, I know Ty. The barbarian who disrupts my yoga classes on occasion. How could I forget?”

  “Oh yeah. He does come to your classes sometimes.” She hums in wonderment like she’s discovered a secret ingredient to making protein pancakes taste good. And just like that doesn’t exist, I want to reach out and tell her there’s nothing interesting about Ty coming to my classes.

  He only does it to piss me off with his crude comments and invasive questions.

  “They wanted to swing by for a bit so Sebastian can pick up his stuff. They’re doing shows in Texas over the next few days. Sebastian doesn’t do any more shows outside of Vegas, but Leo needed him to fill in for one of the other guys at the last minute.” She pours the last of the wine in her glass, my lip quivering in sadness.

  If Ty’s coming over, I needed that drop more than she does.

  I haven’t seen Ty since the last time he was at yoga a week ago, when he pried into my personal life, having the audacity to ask about Mason and me.

  Although, I did enjoy the way he clenched his jaw when he asked, like he was angry. Maybe even jealous. Wouldn’t that be something?

  “Don’t hurt yourself over there.”

  I shoot Ty a glare, which only makes him smile wider, and I hate how perfect he is. On the outside, anyway. On the inside, he’s no better than a bird turd in your hair.

  Leaning back, he swallows my couch, his large build too much for this tiny apartment. “What’re you thinking about so hard? Want to sit on my lap and tell me about it?”

  “Not even if you had a big red suit on and a jolly smile.”

  “So, you’re into Santa Claus, then? Kinky girl. I like that.”

  “How? How do they let you walk the streets instead of locking you up with a straitjacket?”

  “It’s the charm.” He winks at me, and my stomach rolls… but not from nausea.

  Butterflies. Too many butterflies.

  “I doubt that.” I turn my face to hide my blush. “You have less charm than the bums on Venice Beach.”

  He spreads his arms and legs, taking up most of the couch by himself while I’m curled on the small accent chair to the side. “You’re on fire with the comebacks tonight. Please, go on.”

  “I hear Texas is terribly hot this time of year. I hope you burn up like a lobster dropped in boiling water.” I flip him off, then stand to leave.

  His large frame and damning smirk are suffocating me.

  “Ouch! Now that one hurt,” he calls after me.

  He’s in jeans with holes in each knee and a loose T-shirt that gives a peek of the tattoos across his chest. I’ve never been into tattooed guys. Too messy and rebellious, neither of which are me.

  So why am I letting Ty get to me?

  Before I get very far, Kendall and Sebastian finally come out of her bedroom with his duffel slung over his shoulder. “Well, I’d love to stay and finish watching whatever chick flick Emma roped you into, but we have an early flight tomorrow,” Sebastian says, then dips his head to give Kendall a chaste kiss on the lips.

  She smiles at him, then points her slender finger at me. “But Emma promised me Annabelle next time.”

  I roll my eyes, unable to understand how someone can love scary movies as
much as Kendall does. I can barely get through a whole horror movie without crying.

  “I love Annabelle!” Ty bounces on the couch like he’s on a sugar high, and I dislike him even more.

  Sebastian puts an arm around Kendall as they walk toward the front door. “We’ll come back over for a movie night after our trip, then. Who doesn’t love watching a demented doll kill people?”

  “I’m in,” Ty says, his gaze focused on me as I faintly hear Kendall murmur her agreement.

  Ty watches me with a knowing grin, like he’s won a game I never agreed to play. A game which might be scarier than any horror movie.

  He waits a moment longer, and when he stands, I say with fake enthusiasm, “I’d love to.”

  When Sebastian and Kendall step outside, in their own blissful bubble, Ty smacks my ass on his way out and whispers, “Wear these shorts again for our movie night.”

  “You’re impossible!” I shove him toward the door as best I can, but his massive body doesn’t move easily. “And don’t fucking touch me,” I say on a huff, exhausted from trying to push a wall through the door.

  “You like it, though, especially when I’m this close to you.” He leans forward, towering over me, and audibly inhales like he’s smelling a bouquet of roses.

  I don’t admit he feels good and warm and strong.

  Or that I do, in fact, like it when he’s close.

  He looks like he’s about to kiss me, and I hate that I lean into him involuntarily. But before his lips meet mine, he pulls away, leaving me hot and bothered.

  Who even am I?

  I haven’t reacted this way to a guy in months. I haven’t even been with anyone since Brant, except for a couple of angry one-night stands right after the big breakup.

  But they were only rebounds.

  They didn’t excite me.

  They just made me feel worse about myself, icky, even. It’s why I decided to take a break from men altogether.

  “I’m going to end your dry spell, Jones,” he whispers, his gravelly voice traveling down my body and heating my core.

  I back away in horror that I might’ve voiced my thoughts and that Ty knows about my dreadful dry spell. “I don’t know what you mean,” I whisper, sure my face is redder now than after a long jog.