Chapter 28
jeremy
“Dirks,” I hissed, breath fogging in the frigid air. “If I’d known yoga involved freezing my balls off while pretending I’m a fucking swan, I would’ve stayed in bed.”
“You wouldn’t’ve,” he muttered as he bent over with his ass in the air. “You came for her.”
I grunted, trying to follow along, knees wobbling. “My body doesn’t bend this way. I wasn’t built for downward anything.”
Dirks chuckled softly.
“Don’t fucking laugh,” I growled, shifting awkwardly into what I assumed was the pose. “Some of us aren’t built like bendy little pegging fairies.”
Dirks lost it, and of course, that drew the attention of half the group. I gave up, collapsed dramatically onto the icy ground, and muttered something about dying from frostbite.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Around us, everyone else was practically moaning about how “invigorating” the winter air felt. Masochists.
I was too busy staring at the woman up front—the one leading the class like she wasn’t currently dressed like a fucking bumblebee. Puffy yellow jacket. Black leggings. Yellow leg warmers. Hair swinging as she moved.
My fucking bee.
“Is it just me,” I muttered, “or are all the guys here eye-fucking her ass?”
Dirks looked up from his downward dog. “Are you jealous?”
I scoffed. “Since when are you Mister Namaste?”
“I’ve always come to her classes. You never showed back then.”
Shit.
I rubbed my jaw, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Didn’t know.”
Dirks smirked. “So . . . are you jealous?”
“Yeah, I’m jealous.”
Dirks dropped to his knees and turned toward me, brow raised.
“Not of you. You’re different. You see her. You respect her. You don’t try to own her like the rest of them would.”
He smirked. “Still jealous?”
“Fuck yeah,” I said without hesitation. “You’re the only one I can stand sharing her with, and even that makes me want to punch drywall.”
Dirks let out a low laugh and stretched out his arms. “Well, don’t. I just got the drywall in my place fixed.”
I glanced toward Luna again. “She’s gonna be starving.”
“Exactly.” He clapped me on the back. “Take her to lunch while I’m at practice, then both of you come watch me play tonight.”
“Bro.” I stared at him. “That is a full day of couple shit. We’re friends.”
He pointed to my mat. “Roll it up.”
“It’s frozen,” I muttered, kneeling to yank it free.
My fingers were going numb. My dignity was long gone.
“Your problem, not mine,” he said, walking toward the parking lot. “Admit it, you’d kill for an entire day with her.”
“Five years ago?” I huffed, hoisting the mat under my arm. “I did kill for a day with her.”
“Here’s your resurrection.” He grinned over his shoulder. “Tickets are at will call. Luna knows where to grab them. Have fun, lover boy.”
He shot me a smirk that made me want to chuck my frozen-ass yoga mat at his head.
“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Downward Fucking Dog,” I muttered under my breath. “Hope you pull a hammy in practice.”
I tossed the mat onto the stack of other frostbitten mats and waited while Luna took pictures with half the class. She was glowing, laughing, hugging, doing that thing where she made every single person feel like they were her favorite.
God, I envied that.
Even in the foster home, she had this way about her. Kids who wouldn’t talk to anyone would whisper to her. She made everyone feel safe. But when it was dark, when no one else could see, she only ever crawled into my bed. It was always me she needed when the world shut down.
Finally, she came strutting toward me, cheeks pink, hair wild from the wind.
“How’d you do?”
“Everything hurts,” I muttered.
She patted my back. “Good. That means it’s working.”
“Pretty sure my balls went numb in downward dog.”
She snorted. “You’re dramatic.”
“I’m serious. I think they crawled back inside me for warmth.”
She laughed, looping her arm through mine. “You’ll live. C’mon, I’m starving.”
Yeah. So was I . . . but not for food.
“Are you staying near the city?”
We were in my car because Dirks had driven her here earlier, so it was us, alone.
“Yeah,” I said, eyes fixed on the road. “Near my old apartment.”
“So . . . near Dirks, then.”
I nodded.
What was I supposed to do—ask about her day? How friendly were we now? Friendly enough to sit this close and pretend I didn’t want to brush my fingers along the inside of her thigh?
All I could do was stare at the road and think about how she looked sitting there—confident, glowing, like she hadn’t spent years being shattered in the same storm that had drowned me.
What I wanted to say was: Just sign the damn paperwork so I can stop pretending I don’t still feel everything I ever felt for you.
“I was thinking that we could go eat . . . ”
I stopped at the red light and glanced over. Her blue eyes were already on mine.
“No, Lune. I’ll decide where we’re going. Don’t think.”
The corners of her lips lifted, soft at first, before stretching into a slow, serene smile that curled like a secret between us. The kind of smile she used to give when she was about to hand over control . . . and love every second of it.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, loud enough for me to hear over the quiet hum of the heater.
My fingers clenched the wheel tighter.
Fuck.
We pulled into a small pay lot just off the main street. I twisted in my seat to grab my jacket from the back and shrugged it on, then stepped out and walked around to her side. She was already cracking the door open, but I opened it fully and offered my hand.
“It’s around the corner, but parking in the city sucks, so we’re here.”
“It’s fine.” She slid her hand into mine. “It’ll be a nice cooldown.”
“You warm enough?”
“Plenty.”
We walked shoulder to shoulder out of the lot and around the corner, the wind slicing through the alley of buildings and aiming straight for our bones.
“That was a big crowd you had,” I said, nudging her lightly as we passed a gust tunnel.
“Hmm.” She tucked her chin into her scarf, cheeks pink from the cold. “It’s growing.”
Without thinking, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a black beanie. “Here,” I said, tugging it over her head gently. A few blonde strands stuck out the sides, wild and windblown.
“I’m not a toddler.”
“You’re a menace when you’re cold. This is damage control.”
She squinted at me. “What exactly are you controlling?”
I tapped the beanie down to cover her ears. “My patience.”
“Wow. You’ve gotten marginally more tolerable.”
“Ha. Well, you’ve gotten more beautiful.”
Luna groaned, yanking the beanie lower over her eyes. “Ugh. Don’t be nice. Be mean to me.”
“Fine.” I bumped her elbow as we reached the door. “You look like a pissed-off bumblebee.”
She snorted. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
The second we walked in, the smell hit me hard—garlic, fresh bread, and tomato sauce that had clearly been simmering all day. I took her up the stairs, where the real magic waited, and gave a little nod to push her forward when she hesitated.
“Downstairs is a Nutella bar and a coffee counter,” I muttered. “Basically, diabetes and a panic attack rolled into one. But up here . . . ”
We crested the landing, and I held my arm out like I was presenting the gates of heaven.
“This is the Italian food mecca of the Midwest. Every section of the market? It’s a damn restaurant. You want seafood? It’s that way. Pizza’s over there. You want pasta made by some third-generation Nonna flown in from Naples? She’s probably tossing it behind that glass.”
Luna turned in a slow circle, eyes wide. “This is amazing. I can’t believe I’ve never been here.”
“To be fair, I imagine London doesn’t have anything this impressive.” I teased.
She snorted. “You’d be surprised.” Twirling slightly under the high ceilings, she continued. “But this . . . this is perfect because—”
I cut her off before she could finish, smirking. “Because sometimes you don’t want to eat what I’m eating. Or sometimes you want a whole-ass charcuterie board and a steak, and I’m just trying to eat a plate of cacio e pepe in peace.”
Her mouth twitched. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did, Luna girl.” I didn’t even have to think about it.
Her expression shifted for a second. That smile faltered, softened, like I’d said something too kind on accident. Like she didn’t expect me to still hold pieces of her in my memory that precisely.
How the hell could I forget? Back when we were us, this was the shit that mattered. The little things. The way she hated spicy food, but always ordered it anyway. The way she refused to eat cold sandwiches without a warm drink.
People talk about love like it’s grand gestures, but it’s not.
It’s remembering how someone likes their steak.
It’s knowing they’ll need three sugars in their espresso before they even sit down.
It’s standing in the middle of a grocery store-slash-restaurant and watching her light up because she gets to choose exactly what she wants and no one’s telling her no.
“So what’ll it be, Luna girl?”
She laughed, a low, giddy sound, and slipped off her coat.
Underneath, she wore a tight black long-sleeve top that clung to her body in all the ways that made it nearly impossible not to stare.
Her tits were practically begging for attention, but I tore my gaze back to her face just in time to catch that mischievous glint in her eye.
“Come on,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “Let’s go explore.”
She dragged me past display cases filled with fresh mozzarella, ogling the hand-rolled pasta, sniffing candles that were wildly overpriced, and squealing over tiny jars of imported honey.
She was darting from one section to the next like a kid on Christmas morning who couldn’t decide which present to open first. Her hair bounced, her eyes sparkled, and I swear to God, I forgot we were supposed to be playing it cool.