Chapter VII #2
“And there it is, the sex joke I was waiting for.” I roll my eyes but don’t hate the warmth creeping up my neck. Bending over into my own downward dog, I can only hope he’ll assume the redness on my face is from being upside down.
“OK, fair, but not my intention, I swear. How’s this one feeling for you?” I notice that his face is equally flushed.
“Feels good,” I reply. “Sometimes my muscles get tense from trying so hard to stabilize my joints. It’s nice to do some gentle movement like this.”
To my right, Levi’s eye catches on the windows that run the length of the gym. After a double take, he stands, runs a hand through his hair, and then squats next to me to bring his mouth to my ear.
“There’s someone with a camera outside,” he whispers. “They’re trying to film you. Do you want to go?” His protective act is cute because it’s not an act. He genuinely thinks this could be a problem for me.
“Levi, of course they’re trying to take photos. That’s why I chose this place. Let’s try to look comfortable together, yeah?”
“Then . . . is it all right if I touch you?” He waits for my quiet “yes” before he rises to his feet, settles himself behind me, and plants his hands on my hips. Hips that are still raised in a pike position, with my ass pointing directly at his waist.
Wow. OK.
“So you’re jumping right in, then?” I exhale while pedaling my legs to expend some of the tension that’s building between them.
He presses in with his fingertips, stilling me.
The touch is both assured and reassuring, his confidence meeting my vulnerability like an offering, asking if I’ll trust him.
Beyond my own understanding, I think maybe I could.
“Just helping you get comfortable.” He lifts my hips, adjusting me slightly to shift the angle at which I’m bent, relieving the pressure on my knees.
It’s like he knows, without conscious thought, what my body needs.
It would feel like more of a revelation if I wasn’t so acutely aware of what this position looks like.
“Comfortable with what, Levi? Acting out doggie-style fully clothed in front of a window?” The words come out in a hoarse whisper. A chuckle cracks out of him, and he steps to my side, dragging a hand from my hip along the line of my spine. It makes me shiver.
He crouches down beside me again. “I feel confident they got their shot.”
With that, I sink to the floor, grinning, happy to let the blood rush back into my extremities. This man is committed to the bit, which is what I want from him. The unexpected humor? I’ll take that too.
As we wipe down our mats, I feel limber in a good way and relaxed in an unexpected way.
“So what’s the plan from here? Want to grab some food?” Levi wipes his arm across his brow, baring that same hint of his stomach.
“Oh, well, thanks, but no. I’m not really hungry, and my afternoon has another round of fittings, a meeting with my publicist, and a call about a possible project.
And I still need to pack for Nashville. Should we head out?
” I thread my fingers through his, but he immediately drops my hand, and for a brief moment, I feel rejection pinching my stomach.
Rejection that stings until he swings his arm over my shoulder, pulling me tight to his side.
He’s warm and firm, his skin slightly tacky on mine as we head out the gym’s front door.
We don’t have to wait long until we’re greeted by one of my least favorite paparazzi, a greasy guy with a camera around his neck, lens extended fully. “Ana! How’s Colt? Is Francesca cool with you two sleeping together?”
I pick up my pace and shield my eyes. He got his shots of us inside; he doesn’t deserve anything else.
But Levi stops us, turns, and towers over the guy. “Hey, man, I need you to step back.” The photog’s eyes dart between us as he withdraws slightly.
Amid my horror, I spiral: What the fuck is Levi about to say? I should’ve prepped him to stay quiet.
“She’s not with Colt, she’s with me. Are we clear?” He squeezes me closer as he says it, and this is not the gentle, playful Levi of earlier. This version of him is authoritative, possessive even.
“We look alike—Colt and I. That’s kind of my job. But you and your second-class, story-selling friends don’t get to mistake him for me and drag her into this. So go sell those photos you took inside with my name attached. Levi Stephens.”
Well, I guess that’s one way to get the ball rolling. I focus on keeping my expression as stern as possible.
I bring a hand to Levi’s chest, and his heart is pounding. From nerves or the anger he’s projecting, I’m not sure, but it’s an easy opportunity to double down on the ruse, to comfort him in front of this sleazeball. “Babe, he’s not worth it. Don’t waste your energy.”
The photographer twists his lips into a smarmy grin. “She’s right, man; I don’t give a fuck. They can say whatever the hell they want, and that’s your problem, not mine. Good luck in the industry, buddy. Start by learning how it works.”
“I’ll take that to heart.” Levi turns us away.
We’re heading toward a black car. He drops his palm to my lower back and ushers me into the back seat, the faint click of the man’s shutter disappearing as he closes the door behind us.
“Where to?” the driver turns around and asks.
“Sorry,” Levi says to me. “I shouldn’t have pushed you in here. I got caught up and wasn’t thinking.” He brings his hands to his hair and tugs at the ends. Sheepish, almost. “Did you drive? Did you park in the lot?”
“After that performance, you can direct me into all the cars you want. Francesca is going to love seeing what comes of that.”
His hands fall from his hair as his eyes slice over to mine. “You think that was good enough?”
“I think we’ll see those photos circulating in hours. Just in time for us to bring this show on the road.”