by Leigh, Ember
“You seem distracted. Did I piss you off that bad?”
She clucked her tongue. “No, Eddie. I told you. I’m fine.”
“It’s just that now that you’re home, I worry.” He shrugged, staring blankly at the car in front of them. “Some of those guys can be real creeps.”
She sighed, resting her head against two fingertips. Their exit sat a half mile away, but it felt like they’d never get there. And she needed quiet time: a chance to decompress from the hectic day, to prepare for the upcoming interview, and perhaps most of all…to process those feelings about her brother’s best friend.
Eddie’s parental anxiety didn’t help matters. Moving home was hard enough; being ensnared in his overprotectiveness annoyed her in a new way now that she was in her midtwenties. Out in DC, the three time zones of separation made it easier to handle.
But in LA, it might as well be high school all over again. Except worse because now she had her own life and her own needs, which often included flings with sexy guys who’d never call her back. In all the hustle and bustle of packing up her room in the shared townhouse back East and saying good-bye to her job and friends, she hadn’t gotten laid in too long.
And she needed it, in a bad way.
Travis seemed to fit the bill perfectly. God-status hot and already within reach. All she had to do was strike up a conversation and send a half-nude selfie, and it would be One-Night Stand Central.
Guys like him were perfect for flings. Even more because it was Eddie’s best friend. Just a little dip and then done. Besides, Travis looked like the type of dude who never called anyone but Hollywood celebrities back.
“What am I supposed to do if I ever want to date anybody?” She turned on the blinker, easing into the exit lane. Dating was the farthest thing from her mind; she wanted a hot body and sexy moans. “Those guys weren’t even leering at me.”
“They were, hijita!”
She rolled her eyes. Eddie was only three years older than her, but he’d made it his job to be the father of the house since their dad skipped out on them when she was five years old.
“Besides, you can date.” Eddie softened. “But bring them home so Ma and I can meet them.”
“Good thing you didn’t meet my last boyfriend.”
The tension in the car spiked. “Who? You didn’t tell me about any boyfriend out there.”
She grinned. He didn’t need to know she and that “boyfriend” had only hooked up for three weeks because his cock had been the size of a plantain. “He was my last boyfriend, and he was perfectly fine. I can choose men without your intervention, you know.”
Eddie shook his head, glaring out the window. “Whatever.”
She eased onto the exit ramp, finally. Traffic moved a bit more smoothly, and soon she pulled into the squat, brown apartment complex they’d lived in since the nineties. It was one of the few areas that didn’t suffer from frequent and absurd rent hikes. Her only hope was that within a few more years, she and Eddie could buy their family the condo they’d deserved all along, in a nicer area, with a big balcony so their mom could drink tea outside in the afternoons while she read her gossip magazines.
Amara parked the SUV, and they walked to the dingy front doors in silence, nearly tripping over the cracked cement steps. Shouting from a nearby apartment reached them, but she couldn’t tell which neighbor. It was a stark contrast from her cool and calculated neighborhood in DC, where almost everyone was a young professional willing to pay over a thousand a month for a shared apartment just to be closer to the political whispers.
But now, being back, she easily recalled why she and Eddie had never brought friends home when they were in school, and why, especially, she couldn’t recall many encounters with Travis throughout their adolescence, even though he and Eddie had been best friends since age fourteen. Only stolen glimpses in the halls of their high school for the one year they both shared it.
She blinked hard, struggling to fit the key in the front door. When she did, it unlocked with a groan.
“Amara? Eduardo?” Their mother craned her neck over the top of the recliner, her head wrapped in a bright-pink bandanna. “Oh, thank God it’s you.”
“I love you, Mama. I have to get ready for the interview.” She kissed her mother’s forehead as she walked by, heading for her small bedroom at the back. Eddie dropped his gym bag near the front door and plopped on the couch as she rounded the corner.
“Bring some leche home with you,” Mama called as Amara shut the bedroom door.
Silence settled in her childhood bedroom, the bed and walls exactly the same as the day she flew east at age eighteen. Now, eight years later, returning to this space felt foreign but comforting, like slipping on a favorite sweater in the middle of a new country.
LA was a new place to her despite being home. On her own in DC, she’d been working at a justice center that provided legal aid to immigrant women facing domestic abuse issues. Stressful but rewarding, it was a post she hoped to return to, if only her mama’s health would improve.
Amara never hesitated about moving home once her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. There was no other option. The woman had raised her and Eddie alone after their father stepped out on them to move in with a secret family he’d kept for years on the East Coast. The deception had been crippling, affecting them in ways they didn’t fully understand.
But planning for her life after the illness felt somehow deceitful. Like maybe she only wanted Mama to get better so she could be relieved of the duty of being here.
Tears pricked her eyes. It had been an emotional couple of days since flying home. Visiting LA for holidays was way different than living here again. Being in the emotional embrace of her mama and brother was comforting at the same time it was suffocating. Sometimes it was easier to flit about in a big city, content in the knowledge that your history lay two thousand miles away. She missed the neat lines of DC, the way everyone seemed to have purpose, the productive conversations about toxic masculinity and progressive feminism. When her mother’s illness was a distant concept, something to be theorized. Back home the truth crashed into her, fist against front teeth.
Between doctor’s visits, the traffic, and the job hunt, she needed an outlet.
Travis flashed through her mind as she readied her interview outfit. He’s the outlet I want. A grin crossed her face as she shimmied out of her leggings and tank top. He seemed to like what he saw, or maybe she was being hopeful. The man was a literal Playgirl model—surrounded by throngs of busty models and LA celebrities all day long. He might be Eddie’s best childhood friend, but he was in a different league now.
Just like her. Because DC activists didn’t date LA bodybuilders. Not that she was looking for anyone anyway, but if she were… Well, Travis wasn’t her type, not anywhere near it. The guy had to be vain as hell if he had his own pictures supersized and hung like dedications in a temple. Besides, he made his fortune beating other people to a pulp. It was the antithesis of what she stood for.
But that body of his…warranted a fling.
Shivers ran up and down her spine. As she buttoned her crisp white shirt, she imagined Travis’s fingers doing it. There were a lot of things that were different about him—that body, infinitely more sculpted than the last time she’d seen him. His eyes were like molten chocolate, deep and swimming and difficult to sustain eye contact with for too long. He made her knees go weak, and that was saying something after so many years working alongside well-groomed capital hotties.
Travis was different. He looked reserved but fierce, full of fire, the type of blaze he tried to keep under wraps.
But maybe she was just starved for sex, fawning over the first truly sexy man she’d seen back home.
Once she’d smoothed her pencil skirt and clipped her hair back into a smart bun, she touched up her makeup and air-smooched herself in the mirror. Though it might not be a justice center working with immigrant women, the job on deck today was based in downtown LA and
provided safety, shelter, outreach, and more to victims of abuse.
She was strong, confident, capable, and about to get hired on the spot.
A stint in LA didn’t scare her one bit. Especially if it involved frequent glimpses of Travis, which would be a necessary part of her daily routine if she had anything to say about it.
Chapter 2
“Holt, your one o’clock is here.”
Travis looked up from the computer screen, smiling tightly at the administrative assistant. “Thanks. Be there in a second.”
It could only be Eddie. Seeing his friend was always the high point of his afternoon, but today he couldn’t help but think of Amara too.
She’d plagued his thoughts the rest of the day after she’d stopped in. Even came home with him in his mind and accompanied him in the shower, where he’d fisted himself into a groaning orgasm that had tensed his body into rock-solid pleasure from head to toe. He hoped she wouldn’t be staying long or would at least stay away. Mixing Amara into his world would be bad news.
Holt shoved away from the computer, trying to shake off the sting of screen-staring. He left his spacious, quiet office, heading through the hallway toward the staff area. When he crossed the doorway facing reception, Eddie was propped against the counter, chatting up the receptionist on duty.
And behind him stood Amara, checking out the class-list brochure, her full lips snagging his attention before he had a chance to process almost anything else.
His belly flopped. Fuck. Hopefully she’d come for Pilates and make a quick exit stage left. Though what he’d really like was for her to show up at his house, unannounced, sweaty and glistening and ready to pounce on him after a run.
His cock stirred. Fuck fuck fuck. Eddie’s eyes lit up when he spotted Travis.
“Bro, there you are.” They did a half-handshake, half-hug combo, bumping chests lovingly. “Brought the little sis along today; says she needs to de-stress.”
Amara’s mouth turned up at the comment. “Like you don’t?”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “You got any classes to recommend for her?”
Travis steeled himself to take her in, let his eyes sweep up and down her tightly packed frame, loving the arc of her hamstrings as he pretended to think. “What are you into? Yoga? Pilates? Cycling? We’ve got it all.”
She scrunched up her nose, looking at the list. “What’s barre?”
“It’s like ballerina stuff,” Travis said. “You use the bar. Plié, all that good stuff.”
“Have you ever done it?” She snapped her gaze up to meet his. Heat scorched through him.
“Yeah, I have.”
Eddie cackled, punching him in the shoulder. “I bet you have.”
Travis grinned. The ribbing was par for the course. He couldn’t say a damn thing without inciting teasing from Eddie or the rest of their friends. “It’s kinda hard. It whips your ass into shape; that’s for sure.”
Her gaze rooted him to his spot. “Is my ass out of shape?”
The question hung heavily in the air. Had that been meant for him or Eddie? His answer quivered on the tip of his tongue: Hell no, your ass is perfectly, lusciously fine.
“You said you wanted something new.” Eddie shrugged. “Try it if you want.”
She nodded, shoving the paper across the counter toward the receptionist. “Okay, I’ll do the barre class.”
“She’s on the house,” Travis told the receptionist. Amara smiled shyly at him, which made his stomach plummet. This was already such bad news.
He clapped Eddie on the back, and they headed toward the weight room. “How you feeling today?”
“I’m all right. A little sore from yesterday’s workout, but not much.”
“You’re bulking up.” They breezed into the weight room, heading for the benches. “Today’s workout we’re gonna do in reverse. Same as yesterday, but backwards.”
Eddie grinned, stretching out. “All right, boss.”
While Eddie readied himself on the bench, Travis scanned the room. A group of girls giggled in the corner, looking blatantly at him and Eddie, and a couple of regular afternoon dudes milled among machines. It was quiet overall; for once, the televisions were louder than the grunts and clanking.
“Looks like you have a fan base,” Eddie said as he lay back on the bench.
“I think we have a fan base.” Travis smirked, loading up the bar for his friend.
“I’ll be your wingman if you ask one of them out tonight.” Eddie’s eyes lit up as he waited. “Come on. Let’s go out for some drinks in Los Feliz. We haven’t gone out in so long.”
Travis looked over at the girls again. “I don’t think I can tonight.”
“Come on, Trav.” Eddie slapped his thigh. “I’m finally ready to hit the scene again. You gotta respect that. It’s your brotherly duty.”
Travis grinned, loading the last fifty-pound weight plate onto the bar. “Gotta make me feel guilty about it.”
Eddie cackled. “Come onnn, I know what a freak you are. Don’t act like you aren’t Travis Handsy Holt.”
The nickname had been coined somewhere around their junior year—“handsy” because he’d discovered how many girls he could get by getting into fights and also how far he could get with girls by being a little extra daring. A horrible nickname, so of course it had stuck.
“It’s Wednesday.” It was his last attempt at an excuse.
“So? For me, it’s the weekend.” Eddie slapped his leg again. “What do you say?”
I wish I could take out your sister instead. He sighed loudly. “Fine. But I have to be home by midnight, for real. I’ve got early meetings tomorrow.”
Eddie’s smile widened. “We can get into all the trouble we want before eleven thirty; you know how we roll.”
Except a Wednesday night out on the town at age twenty-nine felt a lot different from when they were hitting the strip at age twenty-one, or even age twenty-five. Travis hated using the term “slowing down,” but sometimes he wondered if that was happening. He was aging, sure, but did that mean he’d lost his edge as a connoisseur of ladies? He certainly had no trouble being attracted to women, but the zest for follow-through had shriveled.
If he had to predict, the night would start off with beer, segue into a couple of shots, and he’d leave with at least two numbers of women who had gathered like moths around a light. The attention was nice, but after a while—like almost a full decade of it—it became grating.
Sometimes he just wanted a damn coherent conversation.
With a grunt, Eddie started his reps. Travis watched and counted, not letting his gaze or mind wander while his friend breathed through the workout. After ten, they settled the bar, and Eddie took a deep breath, letting his arms fall.
“That shit’s heavy.”
Travis laughed. “No shit.”
“Go ask those girls out.”
“Jesus, already? Let’s get ten more in.”
“Fine.” Eddie grabbed the bar and leaped in sooner than what he might normally do. After the requisite grunting and gasping, he lodged the bar.
“Now go.” Travis glanced toward the girls; they were still eyeing him and Eddie. “You’re the big shot here. I told you, I gotta be the wingman.”
Travis shook his head, slapping Eddie’s leg with a face towel. “You know I don’t prowl on the clientele.”
Eddie grumbled, hopping to his feet. “Fine, fine. But I’m name-dropping you, and you can’t do anything about it.”
* * *
Amara milled around the reception area, checking every ten seconds to see if Travis might wander by.
How did anyone get work done around him? One of the employee doors moved, and she tensed. A trainer came out; she deflated. Travis was too hot—hot enough to make her start a gym routine even. But it was worth it to glimpse that body in the flesh.
“Mara?” Eddie’s voice cut through to her above the murmur of the foyer. She spun on her heels. Her brother came toward her, draping his towel a
round his neck. “You been waiting long?”
“No.” She flashed a smile, scanning the area behind him discreetly. “My class ended about ten minutes ago.”
“Did you like it?”
“Hard as hell, as promised.”
“Typical Holt.” He adjusted his duffel bag over his shoulder. “You ready?”
“Where’s Travis?”
“In the gym.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Why? Was there something wrong with the class?”
“I just wanna thank him for letting me take it for free.” And get another look at him before we go, for my fantasies later.
“You can tell him later.” He nudged her toward the door. “Let’s get outta here.”
“Tell him later when?” She frowned, unsure how to extend their gym visit any longer without looking like an addict. They pushed through the front door into the overhead sun; she squinted in the sudden shift, feeling dizzy.
“Like later tonight. Listen, you’re still going downtown tonight, right?”
She’d mentioned yesterday that she had an engagement with some friends of hers; Eddie didn’t know she’d lined up a Tinder date—one of the few she’d swiped right on since coming home. It was part preemptive dating strategy, part hookup attempt, part friend-making. “Yeah.”
“Think you could take me and Holt on your way?” He flashed a cheesy grin, holding it steady as she went around to the driver’s side of the car. She saw it through the car even—serious pandering.
They slid into the SUV; the leather seats singed the backs of her thighs as she settled in. She turned the car on, blasting the AC. One of the last hot days of the season.
“Why? I told you it would probably be an early night.”
“Which is fine because Holt has to be home by midnight.”
“Which means I would have to be back to wherever you are by eleven thirty at the latest.” She shook her head. “Where are you going?”
“To the Dinky Bar; you know it’s my favorite. Besides, it’ll be on the way if you’re heading downtown. Holt’s place too.”