14. Kira
14
KIRA
Pussy Posse Group Chat
Kira
Rachel. Georgie. I need your help.
G:
What’s wrong?
Rach
Why are you awake? It’s after midnight in NY
Dottie Girl
And why don’ t you need my help?
Kira
Because Dot. I have a problem that only a buttload of money can solve. Rach and G are both married to gazillionaires, which makes them gazillionaires. Stephen is but a lowly, small-town peasant. The two of you are cute but you are no use to me right now.
Rach
You need money? What’s going on?
G
Don’t tell me you need bail money. Keeks, if you killed Warren…
Dottie Girl
Stephen is not a lowly, small-town peasant. He makes a good living. And hello, I have money!!! I can post bail, you ungrateful swine.
Kira
“Makes a good living” is code for “He’s a kept man and we all know it” Honestly, how can you even sleep with him? Haven’t you listened to a word Cardi B has said? brOKE BOYS DON’T DESERVE NO PUSSY!
Rach
I know that’s right
Dottie Girl
Whatever. Rot in a Staten Island prison for all I care.
Kira
I’m only kidding, Dot. You know I love Stephen, even if he’s not a gazillionaire.
G
Keeks, WHAT IS GOING ON?!
Kira
I need a time machine, stat. I need to go back to the morning of G’s wedding and tuck a vibrator into my clutch so when past me gets horny, she can take care of herself instead of giving in to her baser instincts.
G
I’m so confused. Just to be clear–you didn’t commit any crimes that would land you in a jail cell, correct?
Kira
Correct. The only crime I committed was using Warren’s stupid, handsome face as a fuck toy and grinding myself all over him in your bridal suite.
Rach
You know, we must have just missed each other. Am and I snuck away to the bridal suite after the cake cutting.
Dottie Girl
Omg, Stephen and I hooked up in the suite during dinner.
G
Aww, and James ate me out there before the ceremony. Damn, that room saw some action. We all had sex in the same place on the same day. That’s kind of sweet if you don’t think about it too hard.
Kira
It’s adorable. Now can we get back to my problem?
Rach
Of course. Tell me, Keeks, how would a buttload of money help you in this situation?
Kira
The buttload of money would go towards building the time machine.
Dottie Girl
Stephen is in construction. He could build you a time machine.
Kira
But he couldn’t fund the expedition of scientific research. Use your brain, Dottie!
Dottie Girl
Damn, good point.
G
Here’s an idea! How about instead of fantasizing about a time machine, you admit to us and yourself that you’re developing a crush on the man you swore to hate?
Rach
And now that you’re stuck in the same hotel as him, you can’t sleep because all you can think about is the orgasms he bestowed upon you?
Dottie Girl
And maybe you can even put on your big girl panties, knock on his door and ask him to fuck you to sleep with his shiny penis?
Kira
I am simply flummoxed. How could you all suggest I canoodle with the enemy? He lied to me. He used me.
Dottie Girl
We’re all Team Kira, but sometimes the team needs to give Kira a little kick in her booty.
G
Exactly. We’re on your side but just playing devil’s advocate here…you don’t know for a fact that he lied to you.
Rach
I’m not supposed to tell you this since Am is scared shitless of you, but he believes Warren would have told you the truth if he knew the score when you guys hooked up
Dottie Girl
And we all know Amir is the best judge of character out of all of us.
Kira
…
That’s it. I’m putting an ad in the paper for three new best friends.
This is the worst kind of morning. I woke up way too early–before the sun even thought about opening its eyes–my nerves firing on all cylinders and keeping me from sleeping until my seven o’clock alarm.I never get nervous on talent scouting missions. I have an excellent track record, after all. I don’t put the offer out there unless I’m pretty sure it’s coming back to me. I’m certain that the woman we’re here for is going to accept my offer, and I know that she’ll make an excellent addition to the Spin Sync family, but that certainty didn’t help me shake the nerves.
I laced up my sneakers and went for a run, forgoing my headphones since it was still dark, and I wanted to stay aware while burning off energy in an unfamiliar city. Instead, I listened to the sound of my heavy breathing while rehearsing my pitch to Jeslyn Bender in my head as I sped through Central Park. I ran six miles, showered, ate breakfast, skipped the coffee, and watched three episodes of Gilmore Girls and still, anxious energy courses through me.
Now, standing on the other side of Warren’s hotel room door, my fist raised to knock, I think I’ve figured why I have butterflies currently preparing for the Olympic gymnastics trial in my belly. I lost a piece of my willpower last night in that restaurant. I let the smallest section of my finely crafted walls down, and Warren busted through like the Kool-Aid man on steroids. I don’t know why I told him about my dads and Tía Camila, except that it felt good. I had to fight to stop myself from telling him more about my trips to Argentina, my Bobe and Ziede and the family that is uniquely mine.
And when he’d told me about the story of the soggy fish and chips and his piece of shit father, I’d nearly flipped the table in rage. All I could picture was this beautiful man in front of me as a small boy, crying and being held down. I wanted to punch something. Actually, I wanted to punch someone , but I tamped that urge down after a quick online search gave me Warren’s father’s name and informed me of his passing more than twenty years ago.
Something about Warren has always affected me, made my judgment blurry and lured me into his orbit.
Not just something. It’s his eyes. His stupid, evil, beautiful eyes and the way they cut through me, slicing me open and leaving me raw. I’m going to have to ask him to keep them closed from now on if I’m going to have any chance of hating him.
The door swings open, and I take a step back. Warren is dressed in a light blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the color making those stupid, evil, beautiful eyes pop. It’s tucked into a pair of criminally tight dress slacks that hug his thighs. His feet are bare, his slutty little ankles peeking out from the hem of pants and making me blush.
Goddammit. I’ve had the man’s dick in my mouth, yet here I am, blushing over his ankles like a Victorian debutante.
“I thought I heard you lurking out here. I just need to slip some shoes on. Would you like to come in?” He steps back, opening the door wider.
Wordlessly, I tuck my hands into my back pockets and cross the threshold. His room is identical to mine but unlike the sterile room with just a bed and my suitcase open in the corner that I slept in last night, this one feels lived in.
A newspaper is splayed open on the rich burgundy couch propped under the window. A tangle of white sheets and blankets are mussed on the king-sized bed, the pillows arranged as though he slept with two under his head and one in his arms. A nearly empty mug sits on the coffee table and a television mounted on the wall plays a morning talk show on mute. The bathroom door is open, fog still coating the mirror from his shower. It smells like sage and something warm, and I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to slip off my coat and slide into his bed.
“Hey, so I know we were planning to leave later tonight, but I managed to snag a breakfast meeting with the head of a wellness company–Lumina Salts?” Ugh. Stupid fucking nerves. My voice is high and whiny, and it sounds like I’m asking him a question, not informing him of something. But I soldier on. “They’re opening new operations on the west coast. I think I might be able to get them to supply some electrolytes and supplements to our studio in exchange for the advertising space. They’re a really cool company. Everything is all natural and organic and they donate a good portion of all their proceeds to climate relief efforts as well as feeding hungry children. So, I’m going to stay and catch a flight back tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds like a great opportunity. Do you mind if I tag along? I can call the charter company and have our reservations rearranged,” he says as he sips from the mug.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You go home to San Francisco. I’ll make sure to write up a full report, whether we end up striking a deal or not.” I shake my head and wave a hand between us.
“I want to go, Kira. And it’s not because I feel the need to micromanage you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it yet, but I enjoy watching you work. Whether it’s in the studio, on the bike, post-production, or the more business-focused things like brand deals and talent scouting. You have a brilliant mind, and your passion for your work shines through in everything you do. I’ve been looking forward to today’s meeting all morning. I can’t wait to have a front row seat to watch you knock it out of the park. ”
Warren’s earnest words and gentle praise wash over me, lighting something inside me that yearns to be told that I’m good. That I’m smart and capable and competent. And something happens to me that is so rare, I can’t remember the last time I experienced the phenomenon.
I’m stunned silent.
Warren flits about the room, pulling a pair of socks from a drawer and then leaning against the dresser as he slips them over his feet. What kind of person unpacks his clothes into the furniture when they arrive at a hotel? Why can’t he live out of his suitcase like the rest of us?
I watch him, fascinated by the way his forearms move and flex while performing such a mundane task. My mind travels back to the bridal suite, when Warren was on his knees in front of me and I’d been entranced by those same forearms as he gripped my thighs.
“Kira,” he snaps his fingers, breaking me out of my trance. He definitely caught me staring, and I feel heat spread across my chest as my skin flushes.
“What?”
“I asked if you think I’m going to be overdressed. You look lovely, of course, but a bit more casual than I’d expected.”
I look down at myself, taking in the charcoal grey cargo pants I’ve paired with a cropped white t-shirt, black puffer jacket and my favorite set of Gucci monogrammed dad sneakers. I let my hair air dry after my shower, so my natural curls are a little wild where they frame my face, and I only swiped on a bit of mascara and some lip gloss before leaving my room.
If we were headed to a meeting with a lawyer or someone equally as stuffy, I’d say that I was the one who was dressed inappropriately. But we’re going to lunch and then a gym. I think I’ve nailed the cool California, vibe I’m going for.
“You look nice. But I’d bring a change of clothes. You’ve got a whole pretty boy thing going on, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Jeslyn ropes us into taking a class with her. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared for anything. If you want to throw a pair of shorts and some sneakers in my bag, that would be fine.”
Warren tilts his head, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as his eyes stare into mine.
“You think I’m pretty?” He asks, his amusement clear. I roll my eyes. Of course that’s the one thing he takes from what I say.
“Forget it. Carry your own shit. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”
I can hear Warren’s laughter ringing in my head long after the door to his room has closed.
True to my intuition, getting Jeslyn on board with joining us at Spin Sync was as easy as pie. I pitched her over pumpkin curry and non-alcoholic IPAs at a midtown vegetarian joint, emphasizing the freedom she’d have as one of our instructors. A loose non-compete clause would allow her to expand on her personal brand deals, and our flexible class and filming schedule means that she wouldn’t have to relocate permanently to San Francisco and could bounce back and forth to New York in her off time if she chose. I had her hook, line, and sinker before I even mentioned the generous salary.
We reached a verbal agreement and shook hands as we’d finished lunch, and a contract was in her inbox before we’d made it three blocks over to The Core Collective.
Warren had sat back and allowed me to work on Jeslyn myself, as I’d expected. Unlike recruitments of the past with Jonathan, Warren didn’t make me feel like he was there to watch over me and make sure I wasn’t spending too much of his money or making promises he didn’t intend to keep.
Instead, he’d listened intently as Jeslyn and I spoke and negotiated, only jumping in to assure that if Jeslyn joined our team, she would have paid time off when the Olympics came back around. And when all was said and done and Jeslyn turned to Warren to thank him for the opportunity, Warren placed a warm, proud hand on my shoulder .
“Don’t thank me, it wasn’t my opportunity to give. I’m just here to learn all I can from the woman in charge.”
Sure, the words had been placating. A bone thrown my way, an ‘atta boy’ I’d never gotten from his predecessor. I’m not the one in charge. Jonathan had made sure of that when he left, but that tiny bit of acknowledgement of my work and commitment to making Spin Sync the best fitness platform available from Warren…it left another crack in my armor. With each passing moment, he’s making it harder and harder to remember why hating him is so important.
As I predicted, Jeslyn invited Warren and I to join her afternoon shadow boxing class, and we happily accepted. Boxing is one of my favorite forms of cardio. There’s nothing like getting out your aggression with a few well-timed punches, even if your only opponent is a bag or the air in front of you.
The Core Collective’s locker room isn’t nearly as nice as the ones at Spin Sync, but it’s a clean place to get changed so I’m not complaining. After slipping out of my streetwear and into a long-sleeved pink crop top with a built-in sports bra, extra short, lemon-yellow shorts and a pair of white and silver Air Jordan’s, I pull my wild mess of curls into a bun on the top of my head and secure it with two hair ties. I check myself in the mirror, admiring the way my toned thighs and calves look extra tan against the bright yellow of my bottoms. Then I fill my water bottle at the filtered water station by the door and head back out of the locker room .
When I find the room where Jeslyn is holding class, I feel the Warren’s gaze on me like a brand. I don’t need to see him to know that he’s here in the room, watching me. But I search for him anyway, unable to keep myself away. Like an addict looking for her next fix I scan the room, something settling in my stomach when I find Warren leaning against a large punching bag, arms crossed against his chest.
The olive green fabric of his moisture-wicking tee clings to his pecs and the soft cotton of his joggers do little to hide what I know to be a very impressive and sparkly package between his legs. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his eyes roam over my body or the way his mouth falls open and his chest rises when they settle on my thighs. And I don’t bother lying to myself and pretending that the hungry look on his face wasn’t exactly what I wanted when I shoved my shortest shorts into my gym bag this morning.
Warren couldn’t get enough of my legs when we were together. I wore the evidence of his adoration in the form of hickeys and bite marks on my inner thighs for weeks afterwards.
Steeling myself, I cross the room and stop just shy of Warren’s personal bubble.
“Are you ready for your very first boxing experience?” I ask, kicking my foot out and lightly tapping the top of his crisp, white sneaker. When Jeslyn invited us to this class, Warren mentioned that he’d never done any kind of boxing, shadow or otherwise before, but he was assured that the forty-five minutes would be beginner friendly.
“That depends. When it’s time to partner up, are you going to take it easy on me?”
I laugh, throwing my head back with dramatic flair.
“Absolutely not, Warren. In fact, you have been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ for a long time. I’m looking forward to kicking your ass up and down this room.”
“Hmm. I like the sound of you touching my ass. You’re on, little pest.” He leans in close, pushing a flyaway curl out of my face before brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. “And please, call me Ren.”
Goosebumps erupt on my skin as I fight the urge to shiver. I press a palm to the flat of my stomach, steadying myself to take a deep breath as Warren slowly pulls away from me. The lights dim as a Rolling Stones song begins to play over the loudspeakers, and Jeslyn cues us to find a spot on the mat to warm up. Warren winks, turning towards the front of the room and following the class as we collectively swing our arms and begin to limber up.
Thank goddess for boxing. At least I can work out some of this sexual tension with some jabs and crosses.