The scent of sweat and sex fills my lungs, mingling with the faint aroma ofhis cologne. His heart hammers against my ear, a frantic rhythm that gradually slows to a steady beat as we lie tangled together in the aftermath, our ragged breaths the only sound in the room. I can feel his chest rise and fall beneath me, the gentle vibration of his laughter as he presses a soft kiss to my temple, his fingers stroking through my sweat-dampened hair.
The sheets are twisted around our legs, the pillows crushed and displaced. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I can see the marks I've left on his neck—dark blooms against his skin that will deepen into bruises tomorrow, visible proof of thismoment, of this surrender. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us, our bodies molded together as if we were always meant to fit this way.
His lips find mine in a slow kiss that speaks of tenderness beneath the passion, of promises whispered in the dark without words. I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips, marveling at the rough stubble against my sensitive skin, at the way his muscles flex beneath my touch as he shifts slightly, settling me more comfortably against him.
His hand slides down my back, tracing the curve of my spine before coming to rest on the small of my back, a warm weight that anchors me to this reality, to him. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.
The world outside this room, with all its complications and uncertainties, fades away, leaving only the two of us, naked and vulnerable in this bed, our hearts beating in sync as we drift toward sleep in each other's arms.
Chapter 34
Pronounced Rural Alaska
Andrew
ImeetCynthiaatour usual coffee spot for our third business meeting.
Well, it's her favorite coffee spot. I don't care. I never drink anything more than drip coffee, always black, and it all tastes the same to me.
According to Cynthia, Daily Buzz Cafe in Santa Monica has the best cappuccino. She lives a few blocks away and likes to walk over, so it's convenient for her. That's all that matters.
Cynthia has been incredibly helpful.Notonlyin connecting me with the real estate company for the open studio in Malibu, but also in guiding me through the business world. I've officiallydubbed her my career mentor, which she knows, and my third closest friend after Vince and Gary, which she probably doesn't know.
I've also been talking to Aubrey on the phone here and there.
Hestill hasn't rejoined the group chat or taken anyone else's calls.
Gary says this is typical for him... something about immature dramatics, but last night Gary admitted it's the longest Aubrey has ever ghosted the group. That worriestheboth of us.
"I already ordered you a black coffee," Cynthia says as she slides into the booth across from me.
I smile. "And your cappuccino?"
"Coming right up," she replies, glancing down at her phone. "Let's talk while we wait."
I notice her eye makeup—bold streaks of yellow, pink, and blueagainst her glowing brown skin. It's striking. Different. This is why I trust her advice about making social media accounts for my yoga business. Not because of her style,which is impeccable,but because of the way she carries herself with unshakable confidence.
I hate taking pictures of myself.
Growing up in rural Alaska, social media wasn't even on my radar. I avoid it, even after moving to Fairbanks. The closest I've come is using dating apps.
But Cynthia has insisted, and I believe in her.
She helpedme set up an AParkerLAYoga handle across every platform.Ispenta day driving from Long Beach to Malibu, taking photos of myself. At first, it feels ridiculous, but by the end, I actually start to enjoy it—timing the camera, striking the poses just right. It's almost like a sport.
Aubrey had joked during our campout that people would come to my classes just to watch me do yoga.I discover quickly,heisn't entirely wrong.Within a week, my accounts have followers. A lot of followers.
"Okay, here it is," Cynthia says, pulling up my Instagram. "Wow. Decent, Andrew. Decent."
"Is it? I have no idea what I'm looking at. I still don't know how to tag someone."
She raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. "The‘at’symbol,Andrew. Come on."
My brow furrows. "Just show me later."
"We need to talk reels and short clips next time we meet for longer than an hour," she says, swiping through my posts. "If your studio deal goes through, we'll need a big enough audience to advertise a grand opening. Speaking of which, have you thought about class offerings and payment plans?"
"I've got some notes on my phone, but I didn't think we'd go over that today."
