Chapter Six
Cordell
It's been less than twelve hours since Billie walked out of our house with our pack mate, and I can't help but to feel like I've lost something. The whole thing doesn't make any sense, because I'm not one to get emotionally attached to anyone or anything. I have my grand, old, familial pack to thank for that. My mother and her mates all worked high-profile careers, leaving me to be raised by nannies. Or, more often than not, myself. I learned a long time ago that the only person you can ever truly rely on is yourself.
Which is why I'm shocking the hell out of myself all morning wondering if I'm going to run into Billie at yoga today. I'm so far gone, that I've had to stop myself from going across the hall and having Palmer text her to ask. Which, of course, sets off another round of self-loathing, because I'm jealous that he's able to contact her when I'm not.
Lucky enough for me, Mondays are slow enough that I don't have any meetings to go to and am able to work from home most of the day. Roz isn't going to be happy that I'm skipping out today, but he'll get over it. Not like he has any current clients in dire need of investment-banking advice right this second anyway.
By the time the early afternoon rolls around, I take consideration in picking out what I'm wearing for yoga and decide against any cologne, even in the slightest. I want my alpha scent all over her. Maybe as a payback for not being able to walk anywhere in our house since yesterday without smelling honeysuckle. I found myself many times last night wishing I would've walked around with them yesterday so that she would've at least walked into my room. The one place in the house I wish still smelled like her and it never did to begin with.
Showing up a little earlier than I usually do to class, I park and head inside. I assumed I'd be the first inside, and I'm not wrong. For the past two months, I've come to this class twice a week. Almost every single time, she's been here. I've done a great job pretending like her honeysuckle scent didn't hit me like a ton of bricks every time, too. I'm really good at blocking things out. Especially when it comes to people.
Laying my mat out in the setting next to where I know she'll be, in the same place she's always ever been, I stretch, just waiting. The class starts to fill as the time ticks away. Just as I think she's going to lose her spot or not show up for it at all, she breezes through the door. Her cheeks are flushed like she ran the whole way here from campus. At first, her eyes are locked onto her phone, but when they flick up to avoid stepping on people, she spots me. I see the physical lift and fall of her shoulders like she just sucked in a breath. There's no pause in her step, but I can tell that I surprised her.
"Hi," she says, making her way to where I am.
"Hello," I reply.
She doesn't have to be offered the place beside me since it's unspokenly hers anyway. Laying out her things, she rolls out her mat, setting her other stuff beside it before propping up her phone and starting a video. I watch the screen for a few minutes as she stretches and curiously notice that even with all the angles that her body turns, she doesn't capture her face at all.
Finally observing that I'm being a total creep, her head swivels my way and she smiles. And just like that, we're in that deep water that Roz was so worried about us drowning in. The whole hour of class, I try to get into the different poses, and not a single time being loose enough for it to work. I'm too distracted by the long-legged blonde beauty at my side, who seems to have tuned everything out. I wish I could say the same.
By the time class is over, I think I'm more worked up than when I walked in. More like know that I am, not think . Waiting until we've both got our things packed up and there's a bit of conversation going around the room, I ask her, "Want to go grab a drink?"
"Sure," she says, adding, "I just hope you don't mean alcohol, because it's a little early and I don't typically drink on the weekdays."
I swear, this woman has made me smile more in the past day than I feel like I have in a long time. "Non-alcoholic, I promise."
Letting her lead the way outside, I get to admire how nice her ass and legs look in her skin-tight pants. Once we're on the sidewalk, she follows me to my car where I open the door so she can slide into the leather seat.
I go around to the other side to get in. As soon as I crank it up and ease out into traffic she questions, "Okay, I didn't get the chance to ask you yesterday what it is that you do."
My normal attitude is to be suspicious of a person when they ask that, especially when they've seen our house and cars. But, I don't get that skeptical little voice in the back of my head with her, making it easy enough to answer honestly.
"I'm an investment banker. I help people decide what to do with their money."
Her expression is impressed. "So, you make money by telling people how to spend theirs?"
"Exactly that."
"Wow," she states. "I think I'm going to school for the wrong thing."
"At least you're going to school," I tell her. "More than half don't even bother these days. It's even more noble with your case. Palmer told us that you work to send money back to your mother while you're trying to keep up with classes."
"That's quite subjective, actually," she says, looking out the window and watching the town pass by without seeing any of it. "My mom made it known that she thought going to college was useless and that I'm throwing my life away when I can be making money instead. I haven't spoken to her since the day I left to come here."
I make disapproving sound in the back of my throat. "And what were to happen if you stopped providing for her poor lifestyle choice?"