8. Sofia
8
SOFIA
T onight, I’m going on my first scheduled excursion for my project. I’m trying something new, and it’s made me super nervous and jittery, especially since I’ll be setting up for the class.
The teacher, Monroe—yes, she’s blonde, yes, she has a mole by her mouth, no, she doesn’t have that patented breathy voice—agreed to let me set up in the corner to crop everyone else out. I totally took that deal.
But also, when I strip down in the locker room, exposing all of the skin necessary for this has me working through some deep breaths before I walk out to the small studio and set up shop.
The pole isn’t as high as I imagined it would be. Not that I think I can hoist myself up to the top of this one.
Some of the other students give me longer glances, and I offer them smiles and small waves.
One of them saddles up the pole next to mine. Her dark hair is stunningly glossy, pulled back into a long ponytail that reaches her waist. “Influencer?”
I snort a soft laugh. “No. Senior thesis project. I’m a film student.”
She gives me an impressed look. “And pole dancing is a part of it?”
I tip my head from side to side. “It’s more about pushing outside of my comfort zone. Trying things that I’m pretty sure I’m going to be bad at but have always thought about. I mean if not now, when?”
That gets a brilliant smile flashed my way. My neighbor reaches forward to shake my hand. “Jordan.”
I give her hand a firm pump. “Sofia.”
“Well, Sofia, I like your style.”
One of my favorite compliments. I try not to preen. “Thank you. Are you a regular?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been doing this for about seven months now? Since my ex very publicly broke up with me in one of the most embarrassing ways.” Her gaze flicks to the ceiling and sends me the it’s mortifying and a long story look. “My sister suggested that I find an outlet. I tried this out, and voila. I had the first step to rebuilding my confidence.”
Okay, Jordan is absolutely a new ally for me. My trepidation at making a fool of myself fades. Monroe gets our attention at the front of the studio mirror. “Alright, Ladies. Let’s warm ourselves up.”
She leads us through long movements, bending and twisting us, waking up muscles I’m not so used to using. I get warm fast, already sweating slightly before I put my hand on the pole.
Oh, this is going to be so bad.
One thing I learn about myself—I don’t have the strength to hold my weight with my arms. I slide down that pole again and again and again until Monroe shows me beginners’ alternatives. Most of it involves keeping one foot on the ground as support while I spin.
Wrapping a leg around the pole also helps. I can manage a single spin off the floor when I use it.
I fall so, so many times.
Jordan laughs with me every time my ass plants on the floor. By the end of it, my abs are as sore as my arms are from it. I plop back on the hardwood, which is blissfully cool, and heave air into my lungs for a long minute.
“You making it down there?” Jordan grins and plops down beside me.
“Yes. That was fun, but I am absolutely awful at it.”
She gives me a gentle shrug. “Like you said, you’re challenging yourself. You’ve already made it further than most people simply by showing up. Plus, you should have seen how many times I cracked my butt bone during my first lesson.”
I laugh. “Glad I’m not the only one.”
“I hope you keep at it. It only took a few lessons before I started to feel sexy again.”
“You know what would make me feel really sexy right now?” I offer, giving her my best mischievous grin. “A slice of cake. Want to come?”
“Psh. Yes. Let’s go.” Jordan offers me her hand, and we both groan as I get to my feet.
It takes me an extra few minutes to take down my cameras and thank Monroe for the opportunity. “I promise not to make my failures look like yours.”
“Oh, honey. We are all works in progress. Don’t you worry about it.” She gently guides me out of the studio with a hand on my shoulder and gives Jordan a squeeze on hers before we’re let back out into the wilderness.
“So. Are you going to tell me about this ex of yours? I feel like I’ve earned some friend points after an hour of being the comic relief.” Not that I mind. I don’t take myself that seriously. At least, not about this.
Jordan sighs. “Oh, sure. Well, you see, Maddox and I were high school sweethearts. Well, middle school sweethearts, too, if you want to get technical about it.”
“I do. I do want to get technical. If you have a manual, I’ll refer to it and everything.”
That cracks another round of laughter between us.
“Okay, so we were together for six years. Only in the last few were we anything really serious. You know how it is at that age. And Maddox, he was my first, well, everything.”
I nod, understanding that all too completely, even if most of my firsts happened in a whirlwind romance during my freshman year of college. The same one that produced Noah.
“Our first year at college, we… well, you know, the usual thing happened. We went to different universities. We made different friends. We grew apart. That’s all fine and well, but when I went to visit him…” Jordan sighs, and I want to hug her for something that’s long in the past. “He had a new girlfriend on campus. When I caught them together, he made it seem like I was this crazy girl from back home that he pity fucked because no one else would. That I’d gotten this whole romance wrapped up in my mind, and I wasn’t even a good lay. You know, we’d talked about getting married. I wasn’t even the one to bring it up!”
Jordan takes a few deep breaths and visibly calms herself.
Not me, though. My hands clench with the want to smash that dude’s face in. “How dare he.”
“I know, right? I fled in tears, burned everything he’d ever given me, and he had the gall to call me up and ask me for the necklace he gave me. It was his mother’s. I refused. Even though I didn’t burn that.”
“No?” I might have. But my vindictive streak runs cold.
“No. I packed it up and sent it back to his mom—because I liked her—and included a note about what her son had done to me. In excruciating detail. And once I’d dropped that off at the post office, I signed up for the pole dancing lessons. The rest is, as we say, history.” Jordan brushes herself off like a physical reminder that the past could no longer hold onto her.
“You’re much nicer than I would have been.”
“Oh, really? Lots of juicy breakup stories from you?” She gives me that wild eye that says spill .
“No. No breakup stories. A lot of not really started stories. I might be a little bit picky.” I hold up my fingers to indicate how little. Really, I haven’t slept with anyone in a few years. It’s hard when you have a kid. “But I have sugared the gas tank of a friend’s ex back in high school.”
I see a mild respect glow in her eyes, so I lean in to give her the nail in the coffin.
“It was a sixty-seven Mustang… his graduation present.” I shrug. “Shouldn’t have cheated on Shelby with that cheerleader skank after prom and it wouldn’t have been an issue.”
“Love it when women band together. Female power!” Jordan shoots her fist into the air.
We’re giggling to ourselves as we enter the small bakery on the edge of campus. And even though it’s late, they still have a slice of red velvet. Yes, please!
When we sit, Jordan asks, “So, besides pole dancing, what do you have on that list of yours to try out?”
“So many things, but the ones I’ve narrowed it down to are yoga, origami, cooking classes, pottery, crochet, and painting, which I already have an awesome eleven-year-old tutor for.” The mention of Birdie must have spontaneously manifested her father because the door chime swivels my attention to that broad chest and broader shoulders.
“Oh, my God. Mmm.” I turn to see if Jordan has finally taken her first bite of cake, but no, she’s ogling Braxton as he strides to the counter. I get it. Not only is he big and broad, but he’s handsome, too, with his short-cropped beard sprinkled with only a little bit of gray. His eyes are kind. And those tattoos down his exposed forearms give him complexity.
Bad boy, lumberjack professor? I mean, come on. I’m not blind.
When he turns to see me, he offers me a smile, pays, and heads over to our table.
“Out for a late-night snack?” I ask. “Care to join us?”
His almost silent laugh is music to my ears. “No. Birdie had a rough day, so I’m grabbing her a treat before heading home. I’m glad I caught you, though. Are you free this Sunday to babysit?”
I perk up at this. “Yes. Absolutely. So long as you don’t mind Noah coming with me.”
“I don’t mind at all. I won’t be out of the house, but I thought it might be good for Birdie to spend some more time with you. She hasn’t stopped talking about you. You made an impression.” The small curve at the corner of his mouth warms me up with pride.
“She made an impression on me, too. I would love to spend time with her.”
“Good. Thank you.” Braxton turns back to the counter when they call his name. “I’ll see you then.”
Braxton picks up the small triangular box of cake and heads for the door. He’s not quite out of it when Jordan says, “God, I’d let a man that sexy toss me over his shoulder.”
Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks. “Shut up. That’s my dad’s friend.”
The door finally closes behind him, but I swear I saw a hitch in his step. Oh, no, what if he heard her?
“I wish my dad had friends who were that good-looking. Mmm, mmm.”