by Dylan Allen
I feel . . . great. He’s staring out at the horizon, his posture relaxed. I study his profile. My eyes trace the gentle slope of his forehead where it meets his dark, thick brows. The bridge of his nose is perfectly straight, his lips full and so . . . appealing. If I were an artist, I would want to draw him and then never let anyone see my work. His morning beard covers his jaw and chin and I wonder, again, how it would feel beneath my hands.
“That was great,” he says, as if it was the last thing he expected.
I’ve never been so tongue tied in my life. I just give him a quick smile before I busy myself with my mat. “Tomorrow, we’ll start with the Sun Salutations and then we’ll work on the first position, the Sirisena, or headstand. You’ve already got good core strength from swimming, so we’ll focus on your balance.”
“Okay . . . do you think I should get a manual or something to study?” he asks and I finally force myself to look back at him. He’s so sexy. I want to stomp my foot at the unfairness of it all.
“No, you don’t need a manual. I’ll write the basics down for you. Just practice when you can. If you want to continue learning after we’re done, I can recommend some great teachers in Calabasas or even here.”
“When we’re done? Who says we’ll ever be done? I might want you to teach me forever,” he quips. I laugh. He’s charming when he’s relaxed and it’s so easy to forget myself.
I’m worried about not being able to relax during the session, but surprisingly, I feel even more relaxed than I normally do. But this was . . . a revelation. Our synchronous movements and breathing felt intimate and comfortable.
“I can’t be your teacher forever, Reece. Unless you’re a fast learner, working with you will mean I’m not making progress in my own practice. You’ll be holding me back,” I say with a laugh.
“We’ll see. I’m a natural born athlete, kid. Maybe by the time this is all said and done, I’ll be teaching you.”
“When pigs fly,” I shoot back.
“Oh, man, Luc. Don’t dare me. I can’t say no to a challenge.”
He’s been calling me “Luc” since the day he fished me out of the pool. Everyone shortens my name. But somehow, on Reece’s lips it sounds special.
“I don’t have time to argue, I have a writing team to wrangle and I don’t want to be late. Same time tomorrow?” I say as I start toward the house.
He calls over his shoulder, “Yeah, handle your team.” It’s the only reference he’s made to yesterday’s debacle. “See you tomorrow, same time. Bring your A-game. I’m going to make that headstand my bitch.”
I sing in the shower, and as I make breakfast, and then on the way to the office. It’s a good day.
10
Reece
It’s our second week of yoga practice and I’m so fucking sore, I can barely walk. Lucía’s constantly fighting her laughter when we see each other around the office. I’m practically limping. Yoga uses different muscles than swimming and my thighs feel like they’ve taken a beating.
I’m still trying to master the fucking headstand. At this rate, it will take me another week to get comfortable enough to move on to the next Asana. She makes it look easy.
It crushed my ego when I told her that maybe I was just too big for the poses she was trying to teach me, because then she showed me YouTube videos of these huge football players resting like bosses in the headstand. So now, I’m determined.
I get to her house a little early so that I can be on the deck when she gets there. I want to spare myself the laugh she’ll have at my expense when I hobble up the stairs.
I hear “Crush on You” by the Jets blaring over the outdoor speakers.
Ah, she has good taste in music. Another check in the “characteristics of a perfect woman” column. I see her through the glass doors, standing in front of her blender. She’s dressed for yoga in these tiny, sexy-ass hot pink yoga pants and her sports bra. Her hair is still loose, and flying as she moves to the music. She hasn’t put on the T-shirt she always wears when we practice together. I can see her stomach and sides. Her skin looks like satin. I rub my palms together at the thought of touching it.
These mornings are starting to be my favorite part of the day. We laugh a lot. And she’s a good teacher. She acts like every single inch of progress is amazing. I leave feeling relaxed and ready for whatever bullshit the day brings. We’re becoming friends. Real friends. I look forward to seeing her. And although the attraction is there, I’ve managed to keep it in check and focus on what she’s teaching me.
She whirls in surprise when I knock. A wide smile spreading across her face as she sees me. Shit, that feels amazing.
* * *
“You’re early,” she says good naturedly as I join her in the kitchen. She grabs two glasses from the cabinet, and holds them up to me. “Want to share my breakfast?” she asks as she pours the dark green liquid into two glasses.
“Ugh. It looks disgusting. Like what I used to drink when I was training, but worse,” I say as I take a sniff of whatever vile concoction she’s just handed me. “And it smells awful. No thanks.”
“It’ll help your muscles. You can barely walk.” She laughs as she grabs her glass and gulps it down.
“You talk a lot of shit, you show off. I bet you couldn’t walk when you first started, either.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t an Olympic athlete.”
“I’m not an Olympic athlete anymore. That was more than ten years ago.”
“Excuses, excuses,” she tsks. “But given your advanced age, some soreness should be expected.” She cackles.
“Keep laughing. I’m going to come early tomorrow and have my video recorder ready to catch you in the act. You’ve got those Paula Abdul moves down pat. It’ll make excellent blackmail material.”
She laughs at me, throwing her head back in delight. “As if anyone would care about a video of me dancing.”
“You haven’t seen yourself. Believe me, they would care.”
She stops laughing and gives a playful swat on my arm. Her laughter softens to a smile and her eyes turn nostalgic.
“That was my brother’s favorite song. We used to dance to it all the time. In fact, we wanted to grow up and join the Jets.” Her face falls slightly, but then she forces a smile.
“Come on, you don’t want to hear my childhood stories.” She starts toward the door.
“I want to know you; whatever you want to share.”
“Really?” Her eyes search my face.
I answer honestly. “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”
Her eyes grow sad and she walks over to one of the blue leather and chrome barstools. Her shoulders look like she’s carrying a heavy load on them.
“I was only eight when he died.” Her voice is tinged with nostalgia, her voice just above a whisper. I can see her throat working and her eyes glistening. I’m intrigued. At the same time, I’m not sure I want her to continue. Weeping, sad women have always been my weakness. It’s how Fabienne managed to keep us going for so long. She knew if she cried or admitted some fear or heartbreak to me, I wouldn’t be able to walk away from her.
I know it’s cynical. But, I need to be careful here. Especially because I’m also more attracted to her than I’ve ever been to anyone. One minute, I’ll be patting her shoulder to make her feel better, and then the next, I’ll be begging her to let me kiss her.
She sniffles and accepts the tissue I hand her with a sheepish smile. When our hands brush each other, I feel it. Not quite a spark or a tingle . . . but a strong awareness. The connection makes us both stop and pay attention. It would be so easy, to just do what I’ve been wanting to do for the last few weeks. Her skin is calling to me; I only want one more touch. When I put my hands on her shoulders that first day, I felt the smooth texture of her skin against my palm. I want to touch her. So badly. I want to know what she feels like everywhere.
She’s beautiful and far too tempting. I need to get the fuck out of here.
I look down a
t my watch and step back. “Listen, we’ll be late if we do the lesson today. Let’s pick this up tomorrow.”
There’s a pause before she responds, but I don’t look at her. I can’t.
“Tomorrow’s my day off, and I want to sleep in.” She sounds completely relaxed so I take my eyes off my watch. She’s turned her back to me and is rinsing her glass in the sink.
“The day after, then?” I ask. She gathers her hair and piles it on top of her head with a black rubber band that has a permanent home on her wrist.
And when she does that, the soft skin on the gentle slope of her shoulders is exposed. My resolve to keep my distance disappears and I involuntarily take a step toward her. I want to put my mouth there. Just as I start to move, she turns around to face me and I freeze. When she sees my hand outstretched, and me in mid-stride, she looks concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I re-route my hand’s destination and in a lame save, I rub my neck like it’s sore and her expression goes from concerned to confused.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just a little stiffness in my neck. I need a good hard swim.” God I sound like an idiot. “But, really. I’m glad you felt like you could tell me.”
She smiles brightly and my cock jumps. That decides it. I’m leaving right now and tonight, I’m going to LA. Maybe I just need to get laid.
“I’ll be in LA day after tomorrow, so three days from now?”
“Okay. It’ll give you time to recuperate.” She shoots me a grin and I’m glad the conversation is light again. As if she can feel my relief, she says, “I know it was heavy, but I have to admit it feels good to have gotten that off my chest. I haven’t said those words aloud in a long time. Thank you.” She walks over and steps up onto her tiptoes and presses the softest kiss to my undeserving cheek. I catch a whiff of her vanilla scent and I have to stop myself from wrapping my arm around her waist and holding her to me.
11
Lucía
A little after noon, I head to the office cafeteria for lunch with Dan and Todd. We reached a detente last week. And then on Monday, I brought in some homemade banana muffins for us to share. While we broke bread, we found that we were all dying for the next season of Game of Thrones to start. They decided I couldn’t be a total idiot if I could see how everything that went wrong for the Starks started with Kaitlyn Stark’s myopia when it came to Jon Snow. We’ve gotten along well ever since. We still have disagreements about the screenplay, but they listen to me and I’m learning a lot from them, too.
We’re about to sit down when I see Coco by himself at one of the tables that overlooks the water. I meant to speak to him earlier, so I excuse myself and walk over to him.
Despite what Sol said, he’s been nice every time I’ve seen him.
“Hey, is this seat taken?” When he sees it’s me, he smiles warmly. “It’s all yours, Lu.” His use of a nickname surprises me, but we’ve become pretty friendly in the last few weeks, so I ignore the slight discomfort I feel at hearing it.
“Thanks, Coco. You’ve got the best view in the room. I could look out at that all day.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s one of the reasons I never mind me being on assignment out here. That, and the fact that I get to drive you around.”
“I’m sure the view beats driving me any time.” I laugh, but when he doesn’t join me, I look at him. He’s watching me closely and my laughter dies.
“I’m starving!” I tell him as I try to hide my discomfort.
“You settling in okay? Hope they’re not working you too hard.” he says as I dig into my huge salad.
I finish chewing my mouthful of chicken and tabbouleh before I respond. “No, it’s fine. Just lots to do. It’s just the normal stuff that comes with finding a rhythm and getting the story direction together, but I think we’re off to a good start.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything. I know how intimidating Reece can be.” He smiles knowingly at me.
I want to say that Reece isn’t intimidating at all. That he’s been nice and has my back. But I don’t say any of that. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression.
“Thank you.” I smile warmly at him. “Uh, I actually stopped by to tell you that I need to go into town to do some grocery shopping and get a few things. I have tomorrow off. Do you think you could take me in the morning?”
His smile dims, but his voice is friendly when he says, “Sure thing. I’m around and you’re my priority when it comes to driving. So just tell me when you need me and I’ll be there.” He winks and stands up.
“Thanks, Coco. I’ll just text you when I’m ready.”
“It’s a date, Lu.” And with a short wave, he walks away. Was he flirting with me? He’s been so nice to me that I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. But recalling Sol’s warning, I resolve to be a little more professional in our future interactions.
I catch a glimpse of Reece. He’s in one of the conference rooms. He’s on the phone, his face a mask of concentration. He’s cleanly shaven, wearing shirtsleeves and no tie, but much more formal than this morning. As if he senses me looking at him, he looks up as I walk by. His eyes light up and he flashes me a quick smile, and waves for me to come into the room.
“Sure, Zev. I agree,” He’s saying when I walk in.
“I still think it would be good to have those numbers ready before we’re done.” He holds up a finger, as if saying he’ll only be another minute.
“If she’s being difficult, cut her loose. I’m sure we can find someone to replace her who’d be happy for screen time.” He leans back in his chair, tension creating brackets on either side of his mouth as he purses his lips.
He rolls his eyes and holds the phone away from his ear. I can hear Zev talking and Reece mouths a silent “sorry” before he puts the phone back to his ear with a resigned shake of his head. I smile sympathetically and then wave before I duck out of the room. And just like that, my unease about Coco is forgotten. I walk back to my desk with a huge smile on my face.
It’s Friday morning and I’ve put off my shopping trip as long as I can. I hate shopping. So, I try to be really efficient about it. I already know which two stores I want to pop into. I need a bathing suit and groceries. I send Coco a text to tell him I’m ready and then sit down to wait.
It’s weird being driven by someone other than an Uber driver, a bus driver or Jess. It’s strange having doors held open and a car waiting for me when I exit a store. I’m not sure that it’s something I want to get comfortable with.
For anyone who’s ever been in a position of service, it’s hard to forget what it feels like to smile at someone who barely acknowledges your existence. The experience is exhausting, but it builds character at the same time.
The first time I went out to eat with Sol and his family, he told me to stop thanking the waiter every time he refilled my water glass. I can’t imagine not thanking him. He’s someone’s child, father, brother or uncle. How can I act like he’s invisible just because he’s serving me?
That’s how the family my mother works for treats her. She lives in the same house they do, yet, they only seem to remember she’s there when something is broken or goes missing.
She’s like a ghost who cleans up after them. She keeps their house running so they don’t have to think about it. When she started working there, they made it very clear I was to be not seen or heard. I stayed in my room and only left it when I was going to school. I ate there, played there and never made any noise. And despite all of that, their children found ways to make me miserable. They sought me out to pick on me.
That’s how it was until the day she sent me to live with my aunt and uncle.
That was the night our relationship changed for good. She distanced herself from me. Sometimes, I can tell she’s thinking about what happened because she can’t bring herself to look me in the eye. She still works for that family, but I don’t blame her. I know she was scared. And she knew I’d be okay. But her losing her job would
have meant both of us were out on the street.
I start to pick up my phone to invite her here for dinner when my doorbell rings. I grab my purse and keys and rush out to the door. Coco is standing on the porch and when he sees me, he smiles his friendly smile. “Your chariot awaits, my lady,” he says with a dramatic bow.
“Hey, Coco. Thanks.” I smile at him and get in the car. My phone buzzes and when I look down, I see it’s a notification from the Google Alert I created.
I’ve been anxious for news about what the new President is going to do with the DACA program that allows me the right to work. My application is pending, but I’ve never had trouble getting it renewed before. I’m deep in thought and don’t realize we’ve arrived at our destination until my door opens and Coco’s standing there smiling at me.
“Sorry, I spaced out. I won’t be long,” I say to him as I start toward the boutique where I plan to buy a swimsuit. It’s the first one I’ve ever owned.
“Take your time, princess,” he calls after me. I know he’s just being friendly, but that nickname . . . it isn’t right coming out of his mouth.
I manage an awkward wave as I set off for Nati’s boutique. This shopping center is typical of Malibu; rustic, eco-friendly and expensive as hell. I grab the first white one-piece I find, check the size and then head to try it on. This is the part of shopping I hate, trying clothes on. But, they have a huge No Returns sign over the bathing suit section, so I can’t take any chances with it.
As I approach the dressing rooms I see a tall, gorgeous blonde smiling widely at me. “Hi, I’m Lila. Let’s get you into a room,” she says as I approach. She touches my arm and steers me to one of the dressing rooms. It’s bigger than my closet in Los Feliz and very brightly lit. The mirrored walls create a three hundred and sixty-degree reflection, that lets you see your whole body at once. I keep my panties on, but otherwise strip.