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“Are you serious?”
He shrugs his well-shaped shoulders. The more I notice how he moves, the more I wonder what he looks like under those clothes. This thought has me biting my lips. I think it’s the fact that I’m originally from the South, but my conservative roots means that there are still prudish weeds left deep in my brain, despite Becky’s attempts to pull them all out with her explicit talk back at the warehouse.
The warehouse. Shit.
Although I imagine him shirtless, hanging over the edge of a sail boat with muscles rippling as he grips the rigging, skin tanned and sheening with sweat, the sad truth falls out of me: “I can’t.”
“I promise to get you home by curfew.”
“It’s not that.” I hate that I’ve become the kind of person who has to say this, to turn down an opportunity that is never going to come my way again. But I don’t have a choice. I’m not eighteen anymore. My hands are tied with unbreakable bills. Bills that must be paid if I want to keep a roof over my head. “I have to get back to work. This is just my lunch break. I don’t have a lot of time. I have to walk back when I finish lunch.”
“Walk?”
“My car’s in the shop. I just work a half mile down the road.”
“At least let me drive you there.”
Normally I would turn down an offer like this for the sole reason that I hate asking people to go out of their way for me. But I don’t want to turn my back on Michael just yet. Even if it’s just a short drive, my heart urges me on.
As I follow him down into the parking lot, I’m too distracted by his height and the width of his shoulders to notice the car he leads me to.
“This is yours?” It’s a Mercedes Benz. I’ve never even sat inside one of these before.
“It’s just a company car,” Michael says. “On lease.”
The leather interior is supple. It even smells new. And when the engine starts up and we glide onto the road, I start to understand the difference between this example of German precision and the shitty car I drive around when it’s actually in commission.
The roads pass quickly beneath us, and before I’ve found a way to keep the conversation going, Michael is pulling into the little parking lot around the back of the yoga warehouse. When the car comes to a stop, I unbuckle my seatbelt. Michael looks over at me. There’s something in his eyes. A desire that goes beyond lust. It’s like a magnet that makes me rethink all of my responsible decisions.
“Are you sure you can’t come?”
I bite my lips and look over at the warehouse. I know if I step out of this car, I’ll be sucked back into the life I knew before meeting Michael. My old routines will welcome me back, and if I lie about where I’ve been, I can eat my sandwich from the break room fridge and not have to endure Becky’s incessant need for details. I won’t have to hear her ask why I didn’t just take the day off and go with this gorgeous guy.
No one has to tell me that my life’s hanging by a thread. Living paycheck to paycheck is only possible if you never skip work. And if I lose this job, I’ll have to start eating into my savings. My dreams of actually taking off and living for a change will be pushed back even further.
But living isn’t possible without a bit of risk. So despite my brain screaming from inside my skull, I allow my heart (and my libido) take the wheel.
I click my seatbelt back. Smile over at Michael. And say, “I’ll call in sick. Let’s go.”
Chapter 6
Michael
The air between us is still and silent save for the sound of tires gliding along the asphalt. As this is the first time I’ve ever had anyone in the car with me, I rethink all of my standard habits when driving alone. I almost reach over to turn on music, but I stop myself when I wonder if that would signal that I don’t want to talk to her. At the same time, the quiet between us isn’t of the comfortable variety. There’s a tension—almost sexual in nature—that must be broken.
“Where do you work?” she asks.
“I’m between jobs at the moment,” I lie. I can’t exactly come out and say that I’ve never worked a day in my life. I want her to see me as a normal person before she gets to know the son of the CEO.
“But you said this was a company car.” Her tone is inquisitive instead of accusatory.
“My dad’s company car. I was embarrassed to say I don’t have a job at the moment.” I’m really piling on the bullshit here.
She nods her head at this. “It’s pretty rough out there. Before I got this job, I was looking for months. I was this close to getting evicted. So I can imagine what you’re going through.”
No, you can’t, I think. “Actually, I’ve got a job waiting for me, but I’m not sure I want to take it. It’s not exactly the sort of thing I ever saw myself doing.”
This comment earns me a sort of lopsided smile that pulls up the right corner of her lips; it’s both the sexiest and cutest thing I’ve ever seen. It. “You think it’s always been my dream to work in a yoga warehouse? Don’t get me wrong, I like yoga. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy packing hundreds of boxes a day with yoga pants I could never afford. What I wouldn’t do to be on the other side for once.”
