“You look like you’re dying to say something, Mr. Montgomery,” I muse, pocketing my phone once again.
“I’m just wondering,” he ponders. “I noticed Chadwick walk back into the bar shortly after you two walked out together. So, unless he rocked your world in point two seconds, then he isn’t the one responsible.”
I swallow over my suddenly dry throat and clench my clammy palms around his towel, holding it tightly to my chest.
Stay cool, Perrie. You’re the epitome of it.
“So, Perrie,” Sterling says softly, taking a step closer toward my body so that space is basically nonexistent between us. “Tell me. If Chadwick didn’t rock your world, who did?”
I lean back, trying to remain cool as a cucumber. There is something in his tone. It isn’t jealousy. No, he doesn’t seem like someone easily filled with envy. He seems almost smug, curious, and slightly domineering, but it isn’t intimidating. If anything, my body itches to see more of those sides of him. I know little to nothing about Sterling, most of it coming from Rachel, and knowing her, I have a feeling that ninety-nine point nine percent of the information she shared was crap. There’s more to this guy, and I want to learn every single part. As friends, of course. Obviously.
His lips curve, challenging me.
Fuck it, I have no shame.
“If you must know,” I blow out with confidence in my tone. “I gave myself a very memorable, very satisfying orgasm last night, no thanks to you.”
“Me?” He laughs, arms crossing over his chest. “Why would I be the one to thank for that, anyway?”
“Because I would have totally thanked you had Chadwick not been a grade-A douchebag, which I’m sure you very well know,” I accuse, brows rising in challenge. “Right? You definitely knew the type of guy he was the second you picked him out.”
He laughs abruptly. “I might have known, yes. But does that really matter? You claimed to want your itch scratched, no strings attached, and he could have easily done that.”
He has a point.
My phone vibrates against my hip, and I know it’s Blake either yelling at me for being late or wondering where I am. I huff, pulling it out and reading over her message. It’s a mixture of both. She even attached a picture. The mats that were once empty are now filled with people patiently waiting to start the class.
“Eff my life,” I grumble, pocketing it once again. Sterling laughs again, at my expense, the jerk. “We’ll have to continue this conversation another time.”
“You sound so broken up about it,” he comments.
I turn, flipping a middle finger his way, as I make my way toward the spot Blake said the class is at.
I hear him laugh again, and then he yells out, “You’re welcome for the towel, Esperanza.”
I ignore the flips my stomach makes at his use of my full name and how good it sounds on his lips.
“I’ll be sure to leave it extra damp with sweat for you,” I holler back, smirking.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I hear him say just before I’m out of earshot.
With his towel in hand, I speed walk—because I refuse to jog or run ever unless my life depends on it—my way to Blake and yoga. As much as I hate to admit it, after that interaction, I could use a minor distraction, and what better way than stretching my limbs beyond what they’re capable of?
I take my place beside Blake, placing Sterling’s towel on the edge of the mat. “Sorry, I got held up.”
“Sure you did,” she chastises. “I’m just glad you even showed up. I know how much you loathe exercise of any form.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” I argue.
“Sex doesn’t count, Perrie.”
“I don’t know what type of sex you’ve been having, but it sure as shit does count.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Point taken. But think of it this way, if there ever is a zombie apocalypse, you’ll be in better shape to run from them.”
“Run?” I crinkle my nose, the thought making my body hurt. “Yeah, no, there will be no running. I’ll find a secure hiding spot and stock it up with food and water and call it a life.”
“You’re such a wishful thinker, it’s cute.”
The instructor demands our attention, and our conversation is halted for the time being.
“If you actually put in some effort, I’ll treat us to drinks after,” she whispers my way.
My body tingles to life at the thought. For some form of alcohol? Totally worth it.
“Deal.”
“Okay, I don’t care what anyone says, yoga is a lot harder than it looks,” I say, barely catching my breath. “I mean, it got really intense back there.”
I wipe the sweat off my neck and chest using Sterling’s towel. It smells like him, but I don’t let that thought settle for long.
“It sure did,” Blake breathes. “Even I’m feeling the after-effects, and I go frequently.”
“Ugh, I just need a nice cold beverage to settle my aching limbs,” I voice, shaking out my arms and legs. “I do feel good though, wired and awake, so it was definitely worth it, I’ll give you that.”
“Ohhh, Perrie Ayala, are we about to make this a weekly thing?” she asks, hopeful.
“As long as we can brunch and drink after, I’m all in,” I tell her, surprisingly not instantly regretting that decision.
“There’s a really cute, quaint cafe down the street that overlooks the ocean. Are you down?”
We head that way, and once we’re settled in with mimosas and a spread consisting of French toast, fruit, pancakes, eggs, and a few other brunch items, I raise my glass.
“Here’s to mimosas and girl time,” I say with a smile.
“Here’s to mimosas and girl time,” Blake repeats, taking a sip before eyeing me a little too hard.
“Something on your mind, Blake?” I ask, eyes narrowing in slight suspicion.
“Where’d you get that towel from?” she asks suddenly, more curious than anything, and it takes me a bit to catch up.
“Why do you ask?” I question casually, sipping on my drink and nibbling on a piece of fruit.
“I just noticed that the initials LSM are embroidered on one of the corners,” she shares.
Of course he has it embroidered. Why wouldn’t he? Maybe he’s a lot more pretentious than I originally thought.
“Oh, did you now?” I muse before shoving a bite of French toast into my mouth. I take my time chewing, and she stares at my expectantly.
After several more seconds of obnoxious, overly dramatic chewing on my part, she rolls her eyes and tosses a piece of egg at my head.
“Okay, rude.” I narrow my eyes. “What exactly are you hoping to uncover right now?”
“Are you seeing someone?” she asks bluntly.
“I sure as shit am not,” I state proudly. “I’m as single as anyone looking for kisses on St. Patrick’s Day or the Fourth of July.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
I shrug. “Blame it on the champagne-filled yumminess we’ve been downing for the last hour.”
“Perrie, come on, you know I live for this stuff.”
“Oh, I do,” I say with a laugh. “You’re a hopeless romantic, and I refuse to feed into your obsession.”
“Okay, that’s great and all, but whose towel is it then?” Her eyes widen with hope, and who am I to crush the dreams of my assistant slash best friend?
“It’s Sterling’s,” I awkwardly cough out, failing miserably at being as casual as possible.
“Sterling? As in on-and-off-again boyfriend to your wannabe best friend, Rachel?”
“Wannabe best friend?” I bark out a laugh. “That’s hilarious.”
“I’m serious. I wasn’t even aware the two of you were friends or anything,” she accuses.
“We aren’t, or we weren’t, but we sort of are now?” I don’t even sound convincing to my own ears.
Get it together, Perrie. Are you twelve again right now?
<
br /> I clear my throat, trying again. “We’re new friends. We ran into each other at the bar last night and then again this morning at the beach. The stick I assumed he once carried up his ass twenty-four-seven? Nonexistent. He’s an entirely different person than I thought. Also, it’s confirmed, not that we already didn’t know, but Rachel definitely made everything sound more amazing than it actually was.”
“No shit?” She leans forward, eyes wide with curiosity and amusement as she soaks in this new information.
“Shit,” I confirm. “She’s just as psycho as we suspected, if not more so.”
“Okay, so, wait. You two are friends now? You and Sterling, I mean?” she questions, interest piquing.
“Sort of, I guess?” I shrug, really unsure myself. “We’ve only been around each other a couple of times, but my body reacts in an embarrassingly needy way whenever I’m around him. Actually, I almost jumped him at the bar before he threw a bucket of cold water on my face by reminding me I know him.”
“You didn’t recognize him?” Blake’s brows rise.
“Honestly? No. But I’m going to blame that on the alcohol because I’m usually really good with faces.”
“Well yeah, you have to be in our line of work.”
She’s silent for a moment, and then, “Why not just jump his bones then? You’re obviously attracted to him. If you could see yourself right now, you’d notice the redness spreading over your cheeks.”
“Ew,” I deny. “I am not red, and I might be attracted to him, but that’s physical and definitely not worth ruining a friendship over, no matter how insignificant that friendship might be. Girl code exists. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves her hands in the air, dismissing my words. I doubt she even registered what I said. “But if the situations were reversed, how do you think Rachel would handle it?”
“That’s a dead argument because she and I are completely different people.”
“Humor me,” she challenges, forearms resting against the table as she leans forward all detective-like.
“She wouldn’t think twice,” I say, not missing a beat. “But she also has no regard for other people’s feelings, and you and I both know I feel too much. So again, this is a dead argument.”
“You deserve happiness and fun.”
“I have those.”
“But you deserve them with a guy.”
“I can find one of those with the snap of my fingers, Blake. They’re not that complicated or hard to find.”
She groans, sighing at my expense. “Fine. But what if you find out he’s attracted to you the way you are to him?”
“I never said I was attracted to him,” I argue.
“You didn’t have to. It’s been written all over your face throughout our entire conversation.”
“Then I’d print out and laminate an official girl code card and throw it at him every time he tried to act on that attraction,” I say easily. “It isn’t that difficult, Blake. It’s called being a decent human being, even if it is more of a half-decent sort of thing.”
She visibly deflates, and I playfully roll my eyes at her. “Are you sure you’re not the one who needs to get laid? You’re awfully invested in my love life this morning. Did the dude the other night not go over well?”
“Ugh, it didn’t go over at all,” she groans, eyes widening hopelessly. “I do. I really, really do.”
“Thirsty Thursday at a random place this week in hopes of finding you another one-night lay?”
“Yes, please.”
We clink our glasses and return to stuffing our faces and downing fizzy orange drinks. As we move the conversation to something much lighter, my mind wanders to the towel I’ll inevitably need to return to Sterling. He’s different than I expected him to be, and I probably sound like a broken record with that thought, but it’s true. How someone like him dated Rachel for so long, despite their social statuses and family connections, I’ll never understand.
I shake that last thought away. She isn’t the best friend, but she’s still a friend. I think. Regardless, she’d freak if she even found out he and I talked as much as we have already, even though it really isn’t all that much at all.
“Ahem,” Blake clears her throat, capturing my attention. “Get out of that head of yours. It’s girl time, remember? We can drink some tequila and get all up in our feels another day.”
“Hey, it’s your fault my mind is on overdrive right now, missy.”
“I’d apologize, but I’m definitely not sorry.” She smirks unapologetically. “I won’t be surprised if you two are swapping spit and other bodily fluids by this time next week.”
“Blake!” I throw a watermelon slice her way.
“What?” She fakes innocence. “I’m just saying.”
“Anyway, moving on.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
An image tries to push itself to the forefront of my mind, but I push it back. The mimosas might be clouding my judgment, but I’m not stupid enough to entertain that idea. There’s no point. I just need a proper lay, that’s all.
Keep telling yourself that, Perrie, the devil on my shoulder dances with glee.
Oh, I will, inner me, you can count on that, I counter.
8
Sterling
I’m bathed in heat from the sun above and the sand below, and I take pleasure in the sheen of sweat building on my skin as I run alongside Cooper. I enjoy pushing my body to its limits, and I never feel more alive than when I’m putting it to use and exerting myself. I may be privileged, rich, and indoors during the work week, but I’m anything but averse to physical activity; if anything, it has only made me crave and appreciate it more. Whether I’m running, swimming, free-falling, or fucking, I go all in each and every time.
Hell, who am I kidding? I go all in each and every time with whatever I set my mind to.
I rule my body.
I rule my mind.
I rule my business.
And now, especially after our run-in earlier, I want to rule over the very unruly Perrie Ayala.
I tamp down that thought but allow myself to analyze my attraction to her while I run, and I feel the beginnings of a smile stir the corners of my lips. She’s sassy, and it’s refreshing to verbally spar with someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, especially after dating someone as closed-off as Rachel. Perrie is down-to-earth, real, and doesn’t seem to give a shit about who I am or which family I belong to. Outside of Coop, do I have anyone else I’d call a close friend? It takes a second to realize that no, I don’t. I want that to change, and I can’t say I’m surprised to admit I’d like that person to be Perrie.
For all her bravado and flippant words, I don’t think she realizes I’m serious about being her friend. Luckily for me, I’m exceptionally good at winning people over and welcome the challenge, our shared connection to Rachel be damned.
With renewed energy, I take a steady, unhurried breath and increase my pace. I hear Cooper’s grunt behind me, and I don’t fight my smile as I pull ahead of him slightly.
“Show-off,” he pants, wasting precious air.
I hear his steps increase in answer to the gauntlet I threw down, and it isn’t long before we’re both breaking out in a full-on sprint along the shoreline. Whistles of appreciation follow us as we race past the increasing population of beachgoers, and our limbs turn into a blur as we fight to come out ahead in our race.
A few minutes of intense running later, and I know I’m victorious when I hear a low wheeze. I glance sideways and back to see I’ve passed him by a few yards, so I slow into a jog to allow my friend to catch up.
Coop’s arms are up and behind his head, like mine, but his chest rises and falls rapidly as he gulps in air through his mouth.
I can’t help but goad him. “What’s wrong, Coop? You wouldn’t shut up about your stamina last night. Is that the best you’ve got?”
“Suck a”—gasp—“dick, you”—wheeze—“fucking mut
ant.”
“Now, that’s not very nice.”
He glares my way but finally manages to catch his breath. “You’re not even winded. How is that possible? How do you always win?”
“Genetics,” I say, straight-faced, even though my muscles are screaming. “An unparalleled diet provided courtesy of my extremely fortunate upbringing.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re right. It’s my ego. I have to look good for the paparazzi. After all, I have a physique and reputation to uphold.”
“Okay, pretty boy. I’ll beat you one day, mark my words.”
“I’m waiting patiently. Just think, you have the best example to look up to for inspiration. Someone has to show you what real stamina looks like. You’re welcome, asshole.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he says on a laugh.
We punch each other on the arm in jest, and we fall silent when we stop to take in the glittering ocean view in front of us.
Droplets of water start to slowly roll down my face now that I’m standing still, and I lick away the salty drops that make their way to my lips. I reach back and grab the towel tucked into the waistband of my board shorts and use it to wipe down my head, neck, and chest before looping it around my shoulders. As I hold onto the ends, my thoughts wander back to the woman I lent my spare towel to earlier.
“She looks like she’ll give you a run for your money,” Coop says without preamble. For all his joking ways, he has an uncanny ability of dragging my inner thoughts out into the open.
I continue to stare at the rolling waves in the distance but can see his profile out of the corner of my eye. “Well, then I guess it’s good I have a lot of fucking money.”
“You going to try and break girl code?”
“I want to try and be friends with her; nothing more. She’s fun, and she’s a far cry from the rich socialites trying to snag a husband. I like how she wants nothing to do with me in that way. She’s almost like one of the guys.”
“Ha, okay,” he scoffs. “Last I checked, none of the guys have a body like hers. I’m of the belief men and women can’t be friends without wanting to fuck each other’s brains out.”
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