“Then tell me something, Leigh.” I reach down, brushing a stray curl that has fallen loose away from her eye. “Why is it that you haven’t walked away?” Her tongue darts out as her lower lip curls. I don’t let her answer yet. “How come every time I stay after class,” I lower my voice as I dip my head, “you let me invade your space? You stand here, letting me tease you, tempt you? Is it because you like being teased, Leigh? Hmm?” I step forward and she retreats, her back hitting the mirrored wall of the studio. I place a hand on the mirror behind her, reaching down to tip up her chin so she’s looking at me.
“Is it that you’re hoping—praying—each week I’ll go a little further?” My voice is a low rumble at this point and I lean down until our lips are mere inches apart. “Or is this what you need so that when you go home and touch yourself, you can easily imagine all the filthy things I’d do to you on this studio floor?”
“Go fuck yourself,” she says before pressing against my chest and making a beeline toward the door.
“Oh, I plan to, sweetheart . . . a few times,” I say after her.
1
Leigh
Present Day
* * *
I tap the horn outside Stephanie’s apartment. I see her pull back the curtains and wave, letting me know she’s heading out. Steph and I hit it off pretty quickly when I met her at The Lariat, the local bar everyone hangs out at where she’s the bartender. She’s tall and thin, the exact opposite of my petite, curvy frame. She’s friendly and shy but has an air of mystery about her. Nobody really knows too much about her, other than the fact that she moved here not too long ago from an even smaller Colorado town.
“Let’s gooooo!” She laughs as she stuffs all 5’9” of her lanky frame into the passenger seat of my red Audi coupe. “I ended up getting off work a little late, which left me behind when it came to packing and cleaning up my apartment . . . but, ugh, I’m so ready for some girly time in Denver.” She pushes her seat back, attempting to stretch out her long legs as much as possible before sighing and looking over at me with a huge smile.
Steph and I have been planning this little getaway for the last several weeks. After I ended things with Remi Frederick—then he and August eventually figured out they were meant to be together and got married—my social life has been nonexistent. Even when I dated Remi, my sex life was nonexistent. That’s the problem with dating a man who’s in love with someone else: he isn’t really into trying to get you into bed. Lesson learned. Needless to say, I need to get laid.
“You and me both,” I say, putting the car in gear and heading out onto the open road.
“So we’re staying at your parents’ house?” Steph asks, opening a bag of chips.
“Yeah, they live in Boulder, which isn’t too far from Denver. I still can’t believe you’ve never been to Boulder,” I say, and Steph shrugs.
“I haven’t really been anywhere. Never even been on a plane.” She pops a chip in her mouth, unbothered by my slack-jawed reaction.
“Well, my parents’ house is huge, so no need to pay for a hotel, and honestly, they’re social butterflies and love when I bring people over. So be warned, they will be all up in your space wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and have everything you need . . . and then some. My mom hasn’t gotten the memo yet that I’m soon to be 26.”
“Aw, I’m sure they’ll be wonderful.” Steph smiles but it quickly fades as she gazes out the window. I haven’t pressed her too much about her life before Grand Lake. The few times I’ve asked about her family or her past, she’s become guarded and vague—a pretty strong signal that she isn’t interested in sharing that part of her life with me yet.
The two-and-half-hour drive to my parents’ house passes quickly as we chat about my job teaching Pilates, and where I’m at in my journey to open my own studio in town, which will be the first-ever Pilates studio in Grand Lake. When we arrive at my parents’ house, it’s just after 5 p.m., and they greet us at the door with open arms and fresh cocktails. They dote on Steph, my mom attempting to show her my baby book, childhood crafts, and photo albums while my dad offers her a tour and tells her how they designed and built their home.
“Okay, okay, you guys, I’m not marrying her. We’re only here for a short time but I promise that tomorrow you can show her all of these wonderful things. We have a dinner reservation in 90 minutes, so we need to freshen up and get over to Denver.”
“Oh my God, Leigh, your parents!” Steph says once they’ve left the room, her eyes watery as she places her hand over her heart.
“You’d think they didn’t have three kids and six grandchildren,” I laugh. I show Steph to the guest room she’ll be staying in across from my childhood bedroom. I pull out the red dress I picked out for tonight. It’s short, hitting midway down my thighs and clinging to my curves—leaving little to the imagination. It’s the kind of dress that says one thing: I’m here to get laid.
“Holy shit,” Steph whistles, eyeing me as I adjust my cleavage. “We picking up some dudes or what?”
“I wish,” I say sarcastically. I’m hoping to at least get a number though. Obviously, I wouldn’t dream of bringing a guy back to my parents’ house tonight, and especially not on a girls’ weekend, but the options in Grand Lake are about as dry as the Sahara right now.
“How’s this?” Steph twirls, showing me the dark purple strapless mini dress that adorns her modelesque frame.
“Do you even have to ask? You look like Heidi Klum on your worst day.”
We grab our purses, say goodbye to my parents, and dash out the door to make our reservation.
“Oh God,” Steph groans out as she rubs her belly. “I think I ate too much, but that lobster ravioli tasted like sex on a plate. I’m going to hit the restroom before we head out,” she says, popping up and sashaying across the restaurant as almost every head turns to stare at her.
I’m sitting at the table when only a minute later my phone buzzes with a text from Steph.
Steph: Oh my God help me
I blink at the message, confused. Did she mean to send this to me? I’m about to respond when another comes in.
Steph: Bleeding
I dash to the restroom to see her bent over the counter, her face close to the mirror as blood runs down her hand.
“Oh my God! What happened?”
“I’m not sure, but I think my ring somehow got caught on the back of my earring and I pulled it almost through my earlobe.” She winces as she tries to pop the earring back through with no success.
“Okay, don’t pull on it. We should get you over to the emergency room.” I grab a handful of tissues and hand them to her to press against her ear. I pull up my phone and hit Google Maps. “Porter Adventist is the closest.”
We pull into the hospital and rush to the front desk in the ER. A middle-aged woman peers over her half-glasses at us before going back to whatever she was doing on her computer.
“Hi, excuse me, we have an emergency. My friend pull—”