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“I know she can! I’ll text her right now and figure out a time. What’s good for you?”
I think about my jam-packed schedule. Then I think about the fact that I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind since Saturday night. “Morning works. The earlier, the better.”
Chapter 8
Sage
“I’ve solved your problem.”
Emerson’s voice bubbles over the second I answer the phone. And I’m not going to lie—this level of enthusiasm is a little disconcerting, especially coming from Emerson. It’s been happening a lot more lately, and I’m thrilled that she’s so happy, but it’s still weird considering she’s been the droll, kickass one in this relationship from the very beginning.
“Which one?” I answer cautiously. “I have so many.”
“No, you don’t!” she says with a laugh.
“Sure feels like it right now.” I glance back at my laptop and the truly depressing numbers there. “So, which one specifically have you solved?”
“Your I-don’t-know-any-attractive-men problem!”
My brows shoot up. “I don’t remember having that problem.”
“Well, you do,” she tells me firmly. “And I’ve solved it!”
A whole new level of wariness invades me at the smugness in her voice, one that has the hair on the back of my neck standing straight up. “I don’t do blind dates. I’ve told you this a million times.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not a blind date!”
Her reassurance only makes me more concerned. “I don’t do dinner-party setups, either. I’m serious, Em. I’m not looking for a man.”
Even as I say the words, images of Shawn play through my head.
Shawn smiling at me from across the bar.
Shawn gently holding my elbow and asking if I’m all right.
Shawn on his knees in front of me, bringing me more pleasure than I’ve ever had.
A tingle starts deep inside me, but is immediately extinguished as I look back at my laptop—and the financial mess my mother has left me in.
“I don’t have time for a man,” I reiterate firmly. “And I’m not interested. Not right now.”
“Fine.” She sighs loudly.
“Fine?” I repeat, just to make sure we’re on the same page.
“Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I promise. No random meet-ups with men.” She pauses. “But I do need a favor, then.”
“A favor?” I think of everything I have to do today—which includes finding a way to pay Soul Studio’s instructors—and then give a sigh of my own. Because Emerson doesn’t ask for help often and there’s no way I’m going to turn her away now that she has.
“A friend of Hunter’s hurt his back cliff diving in Acapulco a few weeks ago. He’s been to the doctor, done some physical therapy for it, and it’s basically healed. But he’s still in pain—sometimes a lot of pain—and the doctor thinks yoga might help.”
That’s it? That’s the big favor? “Sure, send him over. I’ll have Autumn talk to him, see what we’re dealing with. She can get him in a couple classes that will help him out—”
“No!”
My eyebrows shoot up. “No?”
“No. I mean, I was thinking more along the lines of therapeutic yoga? One-on-one with you, since that’s kind of your thing?”
