Vested Interest

by Bethany Jadin

“It was pretty fabulous — but that’s really all that happened. Sorry to disappoint.” I flip to the next page in my tech magazine, my feet tucked under me, looking for an interesting headline. “I know you were hoping for a detailed report of a big orgy.”

  “Well, with the twins at least,” she says. “God, that would be hot.”

  “I think that’s just a ménage, not an orgy.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Look at you with all the lingo. Been researching the possibilities a little, have ya?”

  I toss a throw pillow at her before returning to my magazine.

  Zoey holds the pillow in her lap. “You know what I mean. This living arrangement is turning out to be pretty sweet, right?”

  I lick my finger then rub at the corner of a page, but it’s stubbornly stuck to the other pages and won’t pull apart. I look up and take in the apartment, something I do several times a day because I still can’t believe this is my home now. “This place really is fantastic. And dinner was great, too. They didn’t bring up the code once, did you notice?”

  Zoey gets a naughty smile. “Oh yeah, all they wanted to talk about was Foxy Lady.”

  I finally get the page to separate from the others. “That was just fun and games.” I shoot her a pointed look. “And you really weren’t helping.”

  “Hey, they were eating those stories up!” she says. “But yes, you’re right about business stuff. There was no sales pitch last night. They seemed happy to just hang out.”

  “I really do think they’re good guys. The offers are still coming in, and a few have adjusted their previous offers upward, but I’m leaning in their favor. They seem trustworthy, you know?” My eyes drift down to the page I’ve flipped to, and I fling the magazine to the floor in a reflex of pure disgust. “Uugghh.”

  Zoey’s eyebrows turn down, and she leans forward, reaching down to the floor to pick the magazine up, turning it to the centerfold story. “Oh, yuck!”

  Resolution sets into my chest. I uncurl my feet and stand up with righteous determination. I take the magazine from her. “You know what? I’m over this jerk.”

  I grab a pen from the coffee table and linger over the massive close-up of Jackass Jeremy and the article praising his latest innovation — yet another improvement on the project we worked together on, an improvement I had suggested back when we first came together over the project, one that he’d fought me on. I know exactly what this picture needs. Within a few short strokes, I’ve given him a pair of horns, then it’s on to the curly mustache and little wisps of hair at his chin.

  I hold my masterpiece up to Zoey. “Better?”

  “Much better.” She nods with approval. “The devil horns really bring out his true personality.”

  I toss the magazine to the side and wonder into the kitchen, already thinking of possible recipes I can try.

  Zoey’s voice calls after me. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to make something. In the mood for anything in particular?”

  Her feet pad across the hardwood floor as she joins me in the kitchen. “You know what? I have a better idea on what you could do to relax besides spending all night in the kitchen.”

  “What’s that?” I reply absentmindedly, already poking around in the fridge. I’ve got a whole pork tenderloin that needs using soon. And there’s a bundle of cilantro that’s beginning to look a little wilted.

  “Maybe this new living arrangement comes with other benefits.”

  I pull my head out of the fridge and look at her over the door. “Like what?”

  “Like Trigg’s offer of some… hot yoga?”

  I walk to the counter with an armful of ingredients from the fridge. “I’m not sure that’s what he was implying—”

  Zoey smacks my arm, making me start. “Are you insane? Of course, that’s what he was implying.”

  My best friend notices the cringe I try to hide. “What is it? And don’t try to tell me you’re not attracted to him that way.”

  I shake my head. “No, he’s fine with a capital F. It’s just that… well, it’s been awhile.”

  Zoey’s eyes widen and then immediately narrow. “How long are we talking, here? Please, tell me Jackass Jeremy isn’t the last person you...”

  I lower my eyes to the counter. My best friend knows I haven’t had much of a love life lately — my lack of dates is painfully obvious — but I haven’t explicitly confessed that there’s been zero, zip, nada happening in the bedroom department, at least not anything involving another person. I’ve not had so much as a fling. For as much as we joke about it, sex is a vulnerable thing for me. A private thing. With someone I trust.

  “I can’t do the one-night stand with a random guy thing,” I tell her. “Not that I haven’t wanted to try it — but I always chicken out. And I haven’t met anyone who I wanted something more with.”

  “I understand.” She sighs and rubs her forehead. “Besides, trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. But hey, Trigg’s not a random guy, right?”

  I think it over. “No. I guess I’d consider him a friend. Maybe. Business-acquaintance-slash-friend-slash-I-don’t-know.”

  Her voice is much more comforting now. “Come on, I haven’t seen you in this good of a mood in ages — you should do something a little adventurous. You’re not the same person you were last year after Jeremy bailed.”

  She’s right. The stress is starting to melt away, and these guys — hot damn. The five of them aren’t just sexy, they’re kind and considerate and funny and smart…

  They have me thinking maybe I can open up a bit. Maybe I can trust one of them with my vulnerability. And maybe I’m not all that vulnerable, after all. I’ve never had such strong men make me feel powerful instead of lording their authority over me.

  “Hmm,” I say, my wheels — and libido — spinning. “Maybe this new living arrangement does come with extra perks. I’m going to take Trigg up on his offer.”

  I can hear Zoey’s sharp intake of breath before she practically squeals. “Yes! Do it!”

  I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll to find Trigg’s number. My hands are trembling a little, and my heart is racing. What if Zoey’s right and it really does turn into more than just yoga? That might not be a bad thing. My back isn’t the only thing that needs attention…

  “Wait,” I say, jerking my eyes up from the phone. “If I do this — I mean, if Trigg’s really wanting to give me more than just a yoga session… then I’m like… it’s like picking one of them, isn’t it?”

  My best friend squints at me. “What?”

  I rub my cheek, staring at the number on the phone screen. “I like Trigg — a lot. But…”

  Realization dawns on my best friend, and her lips draw into a cheeky grin. “Emma Collins! Look at you, wanting to play the field.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” I say quickly, but I’m tripping over my words. “I mean, this would cross a line and — and, you know, I don’t want to upset the other guys and—”

  “Oh, I know exactly what you meant.” She leans her hip against the kitchen counter and crosses her arms with a playful defiance. “You’re a smitten kitten over these guys — all of them. You want a little sample of the whole buffet, don’t ya? Admit it.”

  I’m turning twelve shades of red, and I can’t find the words to counter her. “You’re the worst.”

  Zoey leans toward me, a delighted smugness in her expression. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I set my phone on the counter and give her the steadiest look I can muster, but my cheeks are on fire. “You’re wrong. I just don’t know if this is a smart thing to do — business wise.”

  She straightens and shakes her head. “Nope, not buying it. You’ve got a delicious box of man candy, and you wanna taste all of it.”

  I cover my face with both hands. Me and my big mouth. “Please, God… I will do the dishes every night for the next month if you just stop talking.”

  “Tell you what — you make that call to
Trigg. Go get your yoga on, and I won’t say another word. For tonight, at least,” she laughs.

  Swiping my phone off the counter, I shoot her a glare. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

  “But ya love me. Now call that sexy man and let him help you work out some of your stress.” Zoey’s eyes become dreamy. “I bet he knows how to limber a woman right up.”

  “Zoey, hush!” I try my best not to let my hands shake as I tap his number. She quiets down as I hold the phone to my ear, and Trigg’s voice comes through.

  “Hello, Emma?”

  “Hi Trigg, yeah, it’s me.”

  “Hey,” Trigg says, his voice warm and friendly, his tone upbeat. “How is Monday treating you?”

  “Um, pretty good so far.” I hesitate for just a moment, realizing I didn’t think through what to say, and Zoey’s teasing has me rattled. I dart my eyes at her. She gives me a wide smile and waves her hand at me encouragingly.

  I swallow hard and close my eyes. Here’s goes nothing. “Uh, I was wondering, are you still up for some yoga? I think I’m ready to give it a try.”

  There’s silence on the other line, and just when I’m ready to pretend I have a bad signal and hang up, Trigg comes back with, “Give me thirty minutes to set some things up and get changed.”

  “Oh. Now?” My stomach goes on a rollercoaster, and my heartrate tries to keep up.

  “Yes, sure, now is perfect. Unless you have plans.”

  “Uh, no. No plans.” I look at Zoey, who is absolutely beaming. “I’ll be up in thirty.” I press the end button with a trembling finger and drop my phone on the counter, looking up at my best friend with big eyes. “What did I just agree to?”

  Zoey tips her head at me, a huge grin on her face, both eyebrows raised suggestively. “Whatever it is, I want to hear all about it later.”

  I need to get moving before I lose my nerve and call him back with a lame excuse to cancel, but the butterflies in my stomach are fluttering so hard I’m a little dizzy. I shake my hands and pace around in a small circle for a moment, trying to release some energy. I did not plan this out. It might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done — or the best thing.

  Zoey watches me, amused. “Do you need a glass of wine?”

  I shake my head. “No time. I’ve got thirty minutes to shower, shave, and find something to wear.”

  SNEAK PEEK OF BOOK TWO

  1

  Trigg

  I breath deep, trying to calm myself. Ever since Emma said the words ‘I’ll be up in thirty’, I’ve been straightening up the penthouse and trying to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. My housekeeper comes on Tuesdays and Fridays, but over the weekend I’d managed to make a hell of a mess — projects and paperwork spread all over the place, dirty laundry on the bathroom floor, running shoes scattered haphazardly in the foyer where I kicked them off as soon as I came in the front door.

  Not to mention Gunner’s big boots and the dried clods of mud which match the sole of those boots perfectly. He managed to track the mud all the way into the kitchen. I’m just glad he’s at a marketing symposium tonight because I’m amped enough already without the big guy making quips about hot yoga and deep breathing. It took a few hurried minutes to put things back in order, but it’s looking like less of a bachelor’s pad now.

  As soon as I’m out of the shower, I dry off and slip into my Prana yoga pants then pull on an old Marine t-shirt. I check my watch. Five minutes to spare. Just enough time to make sure my meditation space, which the guys have dubbed the Zen Den, is ready to go. It should be — it’s the one room I keep exceptionally tidy. No clutter to distract from my morning meditation or an evening session of tai chi. It’s my sanctuary away from daily stresses and the grind of work.

  Occasionally, I break out the elliptical machine or some free weights, especially when it’s pouring rain and I can’t go for my usual run. But that gear is currently stowed in the closet, where I also keep my yoga equipment — mats, blocks, wedges, and straps. I pull out two rolled-up yoga mats, which I set in the center of the room.

  The space is a study of soothing minimalism, with soft neutral colors, light bamboo flooring, low-slung chairs, and comfortable floor cushions. It’s perfectly presentable, but it doesn’t seem like enough. It needs a touch of romance.

  I’m not an idiot — or at least I hope I’m not. A request for a yoga session at this hour of the evening probably isn’t totally about yoga. But Emma’s more on the reserved side, so I don’t want to assume she’s looking for anything more than some helpful guidance. I’m happy to give her pointers on a couple positions that will relieve some stress from her muscles. I just can’t help but pray the positions will end up having less to do with yoga and more to do with me working out that tension of hers in other ways.

  Fumbling with the lighter, I set a stick of incense alight then blow it out, wispy tendrils of scented smoke curling into the air. I make sure it’s secured in its holder before walking to the long, narrow table on the other side of the room. It holds a half-dozen wide pillar candles, and I set the wicks aglow with dancing flames. Ah, that’s better already.

  I dim the lights and use the app on my phone to start a long-playing tantric soundtrack through the sound system built into the room. The music floats gently into the space from hidden speakers, the rhythmic drumbeats and soft chimes adding just the right touch to the relaxing, sensual ambience I want to achieve.

  I’m unrolling the second yoga mat on the floor when the door alert beeps on my phone. She’s here. I take a deep, steadying breath and a last glance around the room. It’s ready, for whatever might be on the way.

  Moving through the main living space to the penthouse entrance, an unexpected amount of nerves are firing off through my gut. I open the front door, and there she is, beautiful in those same type of leggings she wore during our jog together, a tight workout shirt, and her hair up in that spunky, adorable ponytail I love. She smiles, looking bashful, and I step to the side, inviting her in.

  “Come on in, I have the room all set up.” She moves inside, and I lead her further into the penthouse.

  “All set up? I thought all yoga took was a mat.”

  “You don’t even need a mat, but it does help with learning positioning and keeping your feet from slipping during some of the poses. I have a room I prefer to practice in, that’s all — Gunner and Daniel nicknamed it the Zen Den.”

  “Cute,” she says with a smile as we enter the hallway leading to the back rooms. “I like your place.”

  “Thanks, but I know it’s a bit of a mancave. Gunner and I don’t usually have female company up here.”

  I notice she’s biting her lip and fidgeting. My pulse jumps a little as I watch her out of the corner of my eye. I take it as a good sign, because there’s no reason to be nervous unless she has other ideas in mind besides yoga.

  As if she can feel me staring, she turns her eyes on me, sweeping from head to toe. “It looks like I was wrong on what to wear.”

  I turn to face her as we near the doorway to my meditation room. She has no idea how fucking breathtaking she is — today, every day. It doesn’t matter what she wears, from a fancy evening gown to a pair of jeans, she looks great in everything, but I love her just like this — minimal makeup, simple clothes, a pretty smile.

  “Oh, no, you’re perfect,” I tell her. “Some people prefer stretchy, form-fitting clothes for yoga and others like looser clothing. It’s absolutely a personal choice. You can do yoga in a snowsuit, or completely naked.”

  Emma raises an eyebrow at the word naked, and an intriguing look dances across her face for a second. She steps into the room, and her eyes take everything in. “Wow. This is nice.”

  “Thanks. It’s my favorite room.” I pull my shirt off and drape it on one of the wide, cushioned chairs along the wall.

  Emma attempts not to stare at my chest, but it’s only half working, and she turns away, pretending to become very engrossed in the stick of incense. “What is this?”
<
br />   “It’s a custom blend called Mystic Evening. A mixture of jasmine, ylang ylang, neroli, and sandalwood.”

  “Ah, sandalwood. I love it.” She turns back to me, her eyes sweeping across the bare skin of my stomach and chest. I don’t have the big bulk of Gunner, but I eat right, run often, and do core-strengthening every week. My abs and arms are well-toned, and I love the way her gaze lingers on me.

  “Have you done yoga before?” I ask, stepping to the mats.

  She swallows and licks her lips before responding, “No. Some of the nurses have shown me some poses, but I’ve never taken classes.”

  I get down on the mat in a cross-legged position. “Well, I’m happy to show you some things. Go ahead and sit across from me.”

  Emma takes off her shoes and sets them along the wall then lowers herself onto the other mat, facing me, mimicking my position. “Now what?”

  “We’re just going to warm up and then move into a few gentle, seated poses. Let’s start with some neck rolls.”

  I lead Emma through a few very basic warm-ups, checking in with her to demonstrate proper rotation and to make sure the stretches aren’t too much. She’s doing pretty well, but she’s still carrying a lot of tension, and I urge her to go slow, to focus on her breathing and ease into the stretches until she’s fully limber in each position.

  By the time we’re through the floor warm-up and are ready to start standing poses, she’s loosened up quite a bit and is learning to stop holding her breath, instead drawing in deep, relaxing breaths through her nose and exhaling through her mouth to release the tension.

  We take a breather, and I excuse myself to grab a couple bottled waters from the fridge. Either the heat in the room is malfunctioning, or things are heating up in a different way, because both of us are a little flushed, and our skin has that kiss of moisture as if we’d been on a long jog.

  I hand her one of the waters when I get back to the room, and she gratefully tips it up, sipping the cool liquid.

  “I’m going to strip down a little, if that’s alright.”