My Treasure Hunt
Leighton
At pole class the next evening, I’m feeling pretty damn good. Hand necklaces and red-hot spankings just have that effect on a girl. The good sex sends me spinning—literally—as I glide around the pole for another mermaid spin at Everly’s studio.
But when I finish, I realize I’m the only one spinning.
Oh.
My cheeks flush hot and uncomfortable as I plant my feet on the floor. Everyone else has stopped and is looking at Jewel, who’s demonstrating the next move.
Swallowing hard, I glance around at my friends. They’re standing next to their poles, focused on the teacher. Maybe no one noticed my extra spin. Maybe no one cared.
But I care. Because I can’t fucking hear her.
Why does Jewel play the music this loud?
How can anyone hear over this thumping bass?
Her voice is muffled, indistinct as she slinks around in leg warmers and tiny shorts, demonstrating some new choreo.
I can’t quite read her lips, because she’s in motion, her hair swishing past her face as she goes.
I’m standing here just…wondering what the hell she’s saying.
The thing no one tells you about hearing loss? It’s not just the volume you lose. It’s the ability to pick out speech in a sea of sound. With this sexy, throbbing music blasting, Jewel’s words are a garbled mess.
Faking it isn’t working.
I swallow tightly, trying to push down the stupid rush of emotions I don’t want to feel.
Shake it off, Leighton. No one even saw you. This could happen to anyone.
Right. Of course. I don’t want to ask for special help since I don’t want to draw attention to myself. But really, I just got distracted. A little too much Miles on the brain. This is my reminder: focus more, daydream less.
With my throat tight, I zero in on Jewel for the rest of the class. I don’t miss a beat—not because I hear her, but because I watch her and everyone else like a hawk.
When class ends, Everly slings her workout bag over her shoulder. “Who’s up for Moon Over Milkshakes?”
My first thought is the sound, the noise. My second is whether there’s another diner I could suggest. But everyone’s already nodding and saying yes, so I go.
It’s easier that way.
Besides, I’ve learned how to manage here. Once we’re inside the bright, noisy diner and seated at a booth, I discreetly adjust the settings on my hearing aids. It’s not that I don’t want my friends to know—I just don’t want them to think they have to accommodate me. I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.
We slide into a worn mint-green booth. The scent of French fries and pancakes fill the air, and I inhale them, taking comfort in the way I can tell them apart no problem.
“So,” Maeve says, whipping her gaze to me the second the server walks away. “You’ve got that freshly fucked glow.”
Well, then.
In one spot-on assessment, Maeve takes my mind off my funk. “Do I now?” I ask playfully.
“You do,” Josie agrees, drumming her Kim’s Convenience-themed nails on the chipped Formica table.
Fable nods, her hazel eyes twinkling with interest. “Spill, girl.”
“You all have freshly fucked glows too,” I point out, shooting them knowing looks. Most of their boyfriends are back in town after the same road trip Miles went on.
Everly wags a finger at me. “And yet we’re talking about your freshly fucked glow. So I’m guessing resistance proved futile?”
The earlier tension from class fades completely as I let myself focus on Miles and the whirlwind of emotions he stirs up.
“He’s kind of…” My stomach flips, my chest tightening with a mix of nerves and something far more dangerous.
“He’s great. Like, really great. And it’s weird that he’s so great.
I don’t know what to do with him being this great. ”
Josie raises a hand, her blue eyes curious. “Did you just skip all the sex part and jump straight to feelings?”
“I guess I did,” I say, a little sheepish. Then I smirk. “Do you want me to back up and tell you how absolutely incredible it was? Because it was. Best I’ve ever had.”
Maeve claps her hands several times. “Thank you, because that’s super important.”
Fable nods sagely. “Never underestimate the benefits of a good banging.” She grins, turning to Maeve next to her. “Put that on one of your mirrors, Maeve.”
Maeve, who’s expanding her art business with a line of mirrors featuring cute love lessons, taps her chin thoughtfully. “That is solid advice. But maybe I’ll add, ‘Never underestimate the value of a man who truly gives a shit about you.’”
There’s a collective sigh around the table, and my heart goes a little squishy.
But then Everly gives me a concerned look, her brow furrowed. “What are you going to do about it, though? You know…your dad and everything.”
The warmth in my chest is doused with a bucket of ice. There are so many feelings swirling inside me right now that it’s hard to find space for them all. “I honestly don’t know,” I admit, shrugging. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
The conversation shifts when the food arrives, and I let myself breathe. It’s easier to join in when I’m not in the spotlight.
We’re finishing up when an athletic blonde with shiny hair and a shinier ring walks past. She does a double take and turns to Everly. “Everly, how are you? It’s so good to see you!”
“Sabrina!” Everly lights up, standing to hug the woman in a cute pink sweater and distressed jeans. She’s all smiles and exudes a poised, magnetic energy that immediately draws attention. Also, her rock is as bright as a disco ball. It’s on her left hand, so she must be engaged.
Everly quickly introduces her to the table.
“Everyone, this is Sabrina. She’s with Glace,” she says, mentioning the Cirque du Soleil-esque ice show that’s set up camp in San Francisco for a long stay.
“And amazing, by the way. You should see her triple loop. Well, you will—she’ll be at the rink in a couple weeks doing a promo. ”
Sabrina waves, her bright eyes sparkling with warmth. “It’s so nice to meet you all. And here’s hoping I can keep the crowd entertained while they wait for the boys to get back out there.”
“Our fans love the intermission entertainment,” Everly assures her, then gestures to me. “Leighton will be there too—she’s taking photos for the event.”
“Perfect!” Sabrina’s smile widens. “Can’t wait to see you then.”
We chat for a few more minutes before she heads out, her effortless confidence stirring something in me. She reminds me of how I felt more than a year ago in the studio with Miles. I wouldn’t mind getting that feeling back.
When we’re done, I’m glad to have spent this time with my friends, but I’m also ready to go.
On the bus back to Miles’s house, I’m mentally making plans for later when I see him while trying to close the loop with my mother on the handbag shoot.
Last night, I finally replied to her text asking for more details, but as she sends me the dates now, I’m secretly relieved.
They line up perfectly with dates for the Sea Dogs calendar’s shoots.
The money would have been nice, but it’s not even an option.
As we trundle past the cafés and shops on Chestnut Street I write back.
Leighton: Sorry! I can’t be in two places at once. But I appreciate the offer.
Her reply is lightning fast.
Mom: That’s disappointing! Usually you’re so good at making time for these.
Yup. Still passive aggressive. But I stand my ground as I tap out a note.
Leighton: That’s not the issue. The issue is I’m working with the Sea Dogs, and I literally have a shoot on those days.
Really, that ought to be enough to settle her down. But my phone buzzes again as the bus nears Miles’s home.
Mom: Perhaps I can convince the Sea Dogs to move the shoot? I can be very persuasive.
Why doesn’t she just move her shoot? That would make the most sense. And yet, she wants everyone to bend to her. Still, I don’t know what she might try to pull, so I try to nip that in the bud.
Leighton: Please don’t. I’ll try to make the next one.
Mom: Brilliant! Send me your schedule and I’ll work around you.
I roll my eyes—she finally gets it. But also, I don’t want to send her my schedule.
That feels entirely too personal for some reason, and I don’t entirely know why.
It just does. My schedule is mine. I don’t share it with others.
Still, I want to treat her the way I want to be treated by her—with respect. So I reply with that in mind.
Leighton: I’ll send you some dates.
Then, I set the phone aside as I hop off the bus and head inside, eager to execute my plans for Miles.
* * *
But as I’m setting up, everything feels too…girlfriend-y. Maybe it’s because I’m alone in his house, adjusting my tripod, leaving a trail of lingerie for him to discover with geocache clues.
A bustier hanging in the closet next to his ties.
A satin nightie tucked under a pillow in the guest bedroom.
A thong slipped into a bathroom drawer.
It all sounded playful and bold in my head, but now my stomach twists, and I feel…
off. Like I’m overstepping. Like I’m trying on a role that doesn’t quite fit.
Miles isn’t here—he’s working out with some of the guys on their off day and grabbing a bite afterward.
So it’s just me, the dogs, and all my uncertainty.
I wince, glancing around the bedroom. Boppity and Cindy sit at my feet, their cute, inquisitive stares somehow making me feel even more exposed.
The queasiness settles deeper, a pit in my stomach that won’t go away.
It’s not just that I’m staying a few extra days—it’s that it’s starting to feel like something more. And I don’t know what to do with that.
We’ve been sharing his space, making breakfast, getting ready together—like we’ve done this a thousand times before. We’re playing house, and I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying. Maybe both.
I look at the white duvet cover, crisp and unassuming, and then at the carefully written clues in my notes app. The plan was to surprise him with a lingerie treasure hunt, then pose for him, taking pictures he could keep.