Chapter Twenty-Three Jo
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jo
O h, this man can kiss.
One moan from me—that’s all it took for him to let go. He groans as I open for him, and then his hands are everywhere: holding me in place as our tongues and lips find an easy rhythm, combing through my hair, guiding me as he lowers me onto the couch.
One arm holds himself up just enough that he can settle his weight into the cradle of my pelvis without crushing me. My couch is small, so this is no simple task, but with him lying between my spread legs, we manage just fine. My hands have free rein of his back and shoulders this way, and I don’t hesitate to explore, finding the grooves in his muscles while his free hand traces every curve he can find.
I know he can feel everything—this pajama top is thin, and I intentionally did not wear a bra—from the deep moan he releases when his hand grazes my breast, pinching my nipple. I kiss him deeper, harder, as he grinds his hips into me, just enough that I can feel the rigid length of him under his jeans.
My back bows, my body desperate for more friction. He takes the opportunity to slide his hand down my chest until he dips beneath my shirt. The heat of his hand on my bare abdomen is electrifying. Every inch of me lights up as he grips my waist, his tongue and mouth pressing insistently for more. I give myself to him without hesitation as my hands tangle in the gorgeous curls of his hair.
With maddening slowness, his hand trails up my stomach until he finally reaches my chest. He groans, a deep and primal thing that vibrates through me, as he palms one of my breasts. I can feel my pulse between my legs as my hips roll into him. He squeezes and kneads with the perfect amount of pressure as a whimper escapes my lips.
I don’t know who breaks the kiss first—I think it might be me, because I’m so dizzy I’m lightheaded—but we stay close enough for Silas to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. I hold the back of his neck to ground myself. His hand remains on my chest, skin so hot it feels like he’s branding me.
We’re both panting as he says, “Fuck.”
“I know.” I can’t catch my breath, so my words are barely more than a whisper. It takes me a minute to rally—mostly because I’m savoring the feel of his weight pressed against me—but eventually I manage to find my voice again. “We should probably call it a night.”
He kisses me on the lips—gently this time—before he hums a simple mm-hmm.
I know this is the right call; if he stays any longer, clothes are going to come off. And as much as the throbbing between my legs wants him to stay, I also want to take this slowly. I’ve never been quick to jump into bed—I can thank my anxious brain for that—but Silas makes me want to take my time. To savor it.
With some difficulty, we manage to peel ourselves off the couch. My lips are puffy and sensitive as I stand there awkwardly while he packs up his stuff. My heart rate refuses to return to normal as I admire the mess I’ve made of his hair and the subtle shake of his hands.
We hover at the door for a few beats. His smile is soft, and I can’t help but mirror his expression. He cups my face one last time, his thumb gently tracing my lips.
“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he asks. “Saturday?”
I lean into his touch as I remember Derek’s birthday celebration this weekend. “Yeah.”
He nods as he opens the door.
I miss him the second he steps over the threshold.
Just as the door starts to close behind him, his foot steps in to stop it from shutting completely. Then he’s in front of me again, his hands cupping my face as he gives me one last scorching kiss. He presses my back against the doorframe as I cling to him, scrabbling for more of him, to feel him one more time.
He breaks us apart this time. Eyes heavily lidded and dark, he mutters a simple “god damn.” Then he finally disappears down my building hallway.
I know what he means. I hear his words over and over again that night as I touch myself for the first time in a long time. I hear it in that deep, husky timbre. I hear him when I bring myself over the edge more than once.
As I drift off to sleep, I think god damn —I could fall in love with Silas Anders.
The following morning, I send out an SOS. To the group chat, of course.
Serena is the first to respond with many exclamation points. She follows quickly with:
Put me in, coach. Now??
In typical Serena fashion, several texts follow:
Actually I’m still at the office. Don’t judge me. Tonight your time/tomorrow morning my time?
Three-way FaceTime?
If you two are in the same room together when I call I will cry
I reply.
Tonight!
And at the same time Amber replies:
7 pm our time tonight? Derek and I are going to a show at 8:30 so Jo and I won’t be together. No tears required for this call
I almost reply, “Speak for yourself.” I might be freaking out about what went down with Silas, but there’s no need for tears. Yet.
Serena sends a calendar invite, easing some of the panicky nerves zigzagging all throughout my body. I try to remind myself that this is par for the course. Everyone has these moments the first time they hook up with someone they like, right? Everyone plays back every interaction, scrutinizing what they said or did, right? Everyone feels like an exposed live wire because they let someone in, right?
Right?
Thank god for the Girlfriend Council convening later today.
I’m deep in this spiral the entire walk to the Haven studio, coasting on autopilot as I dig through my tote bag for my lip balm, which is why I don’t see the approaching set of shoulders until we collide hard just as I’m stepping through Haven’s front doors. Black hair flashes in my peripheral vision and I realize just who I’ve slammed into.
“Jesus, Z.” With one hand on my racing heart, I reach for my boss to make sure she’s not injured. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?”
Thankfully, she appears to be fine—aside from looking totally drained—as she shakes her hair out of her face. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m sorry. That was my fault. Had my head buried in my phone. You good?”
I nod as I give her a once-over. Gone is her nearly perfect posture; she looks like she’s wilting, her shoulders curving forward. Her hair is the messiest I’ve ever seen it, the short layers sticking up in odd directions. There’s even a visible streak of gray just near her temples—which is something I have never seen before.
“Are you… like, really okay?” I ask.
Her lips flatten into a tight line before she says, “Walk with me.”
Even though this detour will probably make me late for the new instructor training session that Mike and I lead together, I fall into step beside her as she marches down the sidewalk. When your CEO tells you to walk, you walk .
“Again, I’m fine,” she replies, one eye on the text she’s hammering out and one eye on the path in front of us. “This fucking deal is draining the life out of me, but I’ll survive.”
I yank her toward me so she doesn’t fall into an open sewer grate, then ask, “Are you sure about that?”
Maybe it’s the disbelief in my voice, or maybe she’s realized she nearly toppled into a hole in the ground, but she puts her phone in her pocket and sighs. “I promise,” she replies, offering me a small smile before steering us across 4th Street. “I can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
“Really? As in, you think you’ll close it?”
“I think so.” Z’s voice drops so low that I can barely hear her over traffic; I have to bend down to catch what she’s saying. “Whatever happens with this acquisition, it’s time for Haven’s next big step. We’ve been idling on our success for a long time. We’re getting comfortable. That means it’s time to push forward. Nothing good ever comes from staying in your comfort zone, even though it’s hard as hell to leave it.”
I blink in surprise at how this casual drop of wisdom is so relevant to my own life.
Even though Z is talking about the corporate world, she’s right. I know this, even if I didn’t have the exact words to articulate it before now. It’s the reason I moved to New York with little more than a vague dream and a cardio dance class certification. It’s why I kept teaching Haven Spin through the darkest time in my life. Why I picked a new nail polish color. Why I went to MoMA and that flower class.
Why I asked Silas to write about me.
“Anyway,” Z says, abruptly halting my train of thought, “what’s going on with you?”
As we round a familiar corner, I realize where Z’s been leading us this whole time: to a little independent coffee shop she’s loved for years, where they make her oat milk latte just how she likes it. We order—a decaf Americano for me, the usual large iced latte for her—and I give her the abridged version of my life the last few weeks. When she learns that I’m Metropolitan ’s September cover, her shadow-rimmed eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
“The first Haven instructor to land a cover,” Z says as she chuckles to herself. “I should have known it was going to be you.”
“I think most people would have bet on Mike,” I reply before taking a sip from my coffee.
After we exit the shop, Z looks up at me, her expression thoughtful as she rattles the ice in her cup. “Maybe. You both have that star quality, but you’re the kind of person who likes to do things your own way. Don’t get me wrong, Mike is super smart about his media strategy, and it pays off for him. But you? You’re always gonna be the person who forges a different path. I think you were just waiting for the right opportunity, and now you get to shine.”
Swallowing hard, I manage to nod as we set off for HQ together. Z is right. It’s not that I wasn’t capable of putting myself out there or taking risks—I just needed to do it on my own terms, with a little push from a certain journalist I’ve since come to care about.
Later that afternoon, I’m hovering over Mike’s impressive chest, hands lightly gripping the barbell as he lowers, lifts, lowers, lifts, all 300 pounds of metal. One final grunt and I help him hoist the barbell back into the weight rack.
“Nice job,” I say. “You’re getting beefy.”
He sits up and shakes out his arms as he laughs. Turning away from the weight bench, I grab my water bottle and chug, relishing the burn of my own muscles. Most of our day was spent co-leading a training session for the newest batch of Haven instructors, who will soon be released to their home studios across the country. Leading these trainings is fun, even if they’re a little draining. I can tell that Mike loves it too; I catch glimpses of the former football star when he celebrates their wins, like we’re all one big team. We both agree that there’s a genuine satisfaction in watching the doe-eyed newbies transform into confident instructors over several weeks.
They all want to be the next Mike or me. They want to be the streaming stars in New York City. You can see how hungry they are for it.
Mike and I did an excellent job of hyping them up. We both turned the energy to an eleven today, even though I was twenty minutes late after my impromptu walk with Z. Afterward, we retreated to the private weight room tucked away in the back, a quiet space where instructors can test out different routines with all the Haven-branded equipment. We served as spotters for each other while we each ran through a lifting session.
“How are you feeling about all this?” Mike asks.
I turn to find him lingering behind me, wiping the sweat from his brow. “The new instructors? It’s a good group. They’ll be fine once they get back to their home markets.”
“I’m talking about the acquisition, dumbass.”
“Oh.” I hesitate, but I shouldn’t, because if there’s one person I can actually talk to about this, it’s Mike.
We’ve been side by side since the beginning, forming a pseudo-sibling relationship built on mutual trust and respect along the way. We needle each other, egg each other on, but in the end, we both have each other’s backs—and I’ll never forget how he stuck by me, how he kept my secret and refrained from judging me when I completely fell apart.
Now that we’ve both had some time to process everything, it seems he has more to say. Because I’ve spent most of the last decade with Mike, I recognize the signs of concern: the line between his brows, the tension in his neck, the storm brewing in his dark brown eyes.
“You were talking to Z, weren’t you?” he prompts. “I saw you two walk out together before training.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “There’s no news or anything. We just ran into each other, and she asked me to get coffee with her.”
“She thinks she’s going to close it?”
“Seems like it.” I shrug as I take another swig from my water bottle. “But like you said before, it’s not over until the signatures are dry and the money’s been transferred.”
“And you’re good with it if it does happen?” he asks.
“I don’t know how I feel about it, to be honest. You know I had a hard time when Haven Home launched. I don’t know if I want to go through that again.”
He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Jo. Not that I don’t think you can handle it or whatever, because I don’t think it will be like last time. None of us had any idea what to expect back then. We’re better prepared now.”
Mike had struggled with it too—albeit not as badly as I did. Nothing could have prepared either of us for the reality of going from Nobody to Somebody at the national level almost overnight.
But for him to voice what I’ve only ever considered privately—that leaving Haven is an option—that’s a testament to how well Mike and I know each other. There is only one other person on this planet who could understand this job, this life, and that’s the man who’s pulling me into a side hug so he can sling his arm over my shoulder. The sibling I never had.
“Yeah,” I reply with a half-smile. I wind my arm around his waist as we make our way toward the weight studio exit. “What do you think is on the other side for us? Have you ever thought about it?”
“Of course I have,” he replies with a huff. “I don’t have an exact answer, but I know whatever it is will not have me waking up at six A.M. on Sunday mornings.”
“Oh my god, I feel that in my bones.”
Before we can leave this quiet stretch of hallway, though, Mike pulls us to a stop. “You know neither of us owe our lives to Haven, right? I know the three of us built this thing together, but that doesn’t mean we have to stick around forever.”
Objectively, I know he’s right. Everyone who works here—me included—can walk away whenever they want. Now that I’m setting my life back in motion between Silas’s interviews and all the little homework assignments I’ve been completing, I carry a glimmer of hope for my future. I don’t have all the answers yet, but this aspiration still grounds me, still helps me to believe I’ll find my way out when it’s time.
I give Mike a little squeeze as I reply, “I know. Thanks, Mike.”
“Speaking of the future,” he says, “how much money do you think we’ll get in this deal?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I have no idea. Weren’t you the big shot finance guy? You tell me!”
“I can’t put a number on it, but I think you and I are going to be rewarded handsomely for selling our souls for the last decade.”
Even though I’m laughing, I hope he’s right. Mike had to sacrifice just as much as I did to get where we were now. There’s a constant expectation for Mike to perform; people want the boisterous silly person they see in class, even though Mike is a soft-spoken, private person most of the time. It bothers him. I know it does.
It bothers me too. And it’s all right for us to say it.
The rest of my Friday passes without incident. I grab groceries on my way home, then take a long, luxurious shower while blasting my favorite tunes. At ten minutes ’til, I settle into the scene of the crime—otherwise known as my couch—to wait for the council to call.
At seven P.M. on the dot, my phone lights up with an incoming FaceTime.
Serena’s and Amber’s faces fill my screen when I click accept. The relief is immediate; nothing calms me or makes me happier than seeing my two friends’ faces in real time. Serena is makeup free, her sleep mask still affixed to the top of her head as she sits up in bed, while Amber is dressed for a night out, complete with shimmery gold eyeshadow and deep red lips.
“The council meeting has officially been called to order,” Serena says, her voice still thick with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“Wait a second,” Amber interjects. “Did you just wake up?”
“Three minutes ago, thank you,” Serena replies. “I worked until after midnight, okay? Let a girl live.”
“Wow, Japan is really doing a number on you. Where’s the woman who wakes up at five A.M. every day to work out?” Amber teases.
“She died when her boss dangled a huge pay bump in front of her,” Serena deadpans. “Enough about me. Jo called this emergency session. What’s up, babe?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. All day long, I’ve gone around and around about how to tell them what happened last night. What I need from them is either reassurance that it’ll all work out, or for someone to knock some sense into me and tell me to get out before it blows up. Knowing my friends, Amber will be firmly the former, while Serena will be the latter.
“I… may have hooked up with someone last night.”
Twin screams are their response. I have not uttered this sentence in years.
Serena shrieks, “Who?!”
Amber asks, “Silas?”
“Yes, it was Silas.” God, I’m already blushing. “You guys, it was so hot.”
“Wait, when we say hook up, what do we mean?” Serena asks. “Did you sleep with him? Or was it just hand stuff?”
Amber cackles. “Hand stuff? What are we, fifteen? Hold on, let me close the door. I don’t want Derek to hear this.” I chew my lip as I wait for Amber to shuffle around her bedroom. When the door snicks shut, she flops onto her bed and comes into focus again. “Okay, really. How are we defining ‘hooked up’ here?”
“We didn’t sleep together,” I reply. “Just, like, feeling each other up. Pretty PG-thirteen.”
Serena is wide awake now as she rolls onto her stomach, eyes focused and alert. “Okay, so. You’re spiraling, aren’t you?”
I knew they would get it. “Yes! What does this mean ?!”
“It means our girl is back in the game,” Amber replies. Her dangly silver earrings dance around her face as she shakes her head in delight.
“It also means he better be careful,” Serena adds. “You obviously like this guy if you’re making out with him, but has he said how he feels about you?”
“He…” This is what I keep coming back to. Neither of us has said how we feel about each other. Sure, we’ve shown it various ways—Silas, specifically, has shown up for me more than once—but we’ve never discussed where this might go. “Not exactly, no.”
“He did rush over to your apartment when you had that muscle spasm,” Amber says.
“Mmm, I don’t know,” Serena muses. “Could that be because Jo is the subject of this article he’s being paid to write?”
As much as that possibility stings, it does help to hear someone else voice the same concern I had. I find myself nodding as Amber shakes her head.
“Silas didn’t have to go that night. Derek could have gone on his own, but he said Silas was, like, determined to stay with Jo. I think that counts for something.” Now I’m nodding with Amber, swayed—and touched—by this piece of insider information. “Some people are better at showing how they feel instead of talking about it.”
“I might buy that if this guy didn’t make a career out of words,” Serena argues.
Amber considers this for a moment, then says, “Fair.”
“Okay, all this speculation is super fun,” I say, somewhat sarcastic. “But the question is what do I do ?”
Serena is, of course, the first to respond. “Ask him how he feels about you. Point blank.”
“I would rather die,” I reply. “Any other suggestions?”
Amber laughs as she shifts on her bed. “Spend some time with him, maybe? One on one, without any of the magazine shit in the background. Feel him out. It’ll come up naturally in conversation.”
“Hard disagree,” Serena replies. “Hey, what’s his number? I’ll text him now and ask him myself.”
I know she’s only half serious, but I cackle as I shake my head. “Time with him. Just the two of us. I can do that.”
“Fine,” Serena mumbles. “In the meantime, I’ll do a deep dive on him. LinkedIn, social media, college records—the whole nine yards. I’ll report back if I find anything juicy.”
God, I love them both so much.
We go around about bachelorette plans despite there being a very long email chain and a Google doc with a detailed itinerary before hanging up a few minutes later. I spend some time journaling before climbing into bed later that night. Drifting off to sleep is an easy, peaceful process when I can feel the love of my girlfriends surrounding me despite the miles between us.