She keeps her eyes closed even when we shift into Half-Moon Pose, and it’s weird, watching her. It’s like seeing her transform. I think of the first time I saw her here, when I thought she was spying on me again. I feel stupid about it now; she’s obviously into this. It looks so natural on her, like she was born in Rabbit Pose or something. Her ponytail’s pulled high enough that I can see the entire Om just underneath her hairline, and when she stretches upward, her T-shirt rises just enough to show that there’s more, colorful ink just north of her hip.
It’s only when I catch Raoul’s gaze on me that I realize how long I’ve been staring. We’re almost halfway through and I haven’t taken my eyes off her once. Nor has she opened hers. His scrutiny is totally mild, but I feel myself blushing under it anyway. I tear my eyes away and finish the rest of the poses, alternately watching Raoul and counting the tiles on the ceiling.
When everyone’s done, she and I take our time hydrating, wiping ourselves down, and getting our stuff together, until we’re the last two in the room.
“Don’t you get hot in that thing?” I ask, gesturing at her sweaty cotton tee. “I can’t even stand my tank top anymore by the first water pause.”
The corners of her lips quirk up. “You realize we don’t all look like that in a sports bra, right?” She lifts her chin in the general direction of my torso.
Instinctively, I look down. “What — flat as a board?”
She snorts. “Yes, but I meant in the ab area.”
I glance at the same area on her. Okay, so there’s the slightest curve of tummy there, just a cute little nothing. “That’s your issue?” I point with my water bottle, then take a sip. “Please.”
“I didn’t say I have an issue,” she says defensively. “I just…don’t need it on display. Especially next to…” Now she’s the one gesturing. Apparently, words aren’t really our thing. “It’s not like I think I’m fat. I’m just…St. Louis thin. Not LA thin. I like food.”
“You think I don’t?” I roll my eyes, thinking of all the burgers I used to put away with Ally at our favorite diner. “I work out every freaking day so I can eat and still be ‘LA thin.’ Or almost LA thin, I guess.” I pinch at the tiny bit of love handle I can never seem to get rid of.
She whacks my hand, making me yelp. “Stop that,” she demands as I rub my injured paw, making sure she didn’t chip a nail. “You’re crazy if you think your body is anything less than perfect.”
I open my mouth to argue, but something about the look in her eyes makes me shut it. Like…she believes what she’s saying. About every single part.
Instead, I say, “Well, I think the same about you.”
And the thing is, I mean it. I like that she’s built that way, all gentle curves. In a town of zero percent body fat, it’s nice to see a little softness.
“Oh, shut up,” she says, but her voice falters a bit. Because without meaning to — without even realizing I was doing it — I’ve placed my palm on her tiny little tummy.
What the hell am I doing?
“It’s true,” I say, quickly pulling my arm back, though it does nothing to dissipate the heated tingle on my skin.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, stretching her lips into a thin, grim smile for just a second. “Um, I should go shower. I’m pretty gross right now.”
She isn’t, but I don’t think my being an even bigger creeper is a great idea right now. “Yeah, me too.” I hitch my yoga mat higher on my shoulder, but I can’t let her go just yet. I need to get my stupid, embarrassing tummy touch out of her head. “So, um, got any fun weekend plans?”
“Not really.” She shrugs. “Maybe hanging out with some friends from high school. But probably just helping my mom. She doesn’t believe weekends are days off.”
I already knew that well about Jade. In fact, I have a meeting with her and Zander bright and early on Saturday to discuss the whole purity pledge thing, how it would go down, whether we’d be giving any exclusives on the story.
I really, really hope Brianna knows nothing about that meeting.
“Cool,” I say with a nod. And then an awkward silence descends, and I know it’s time to let her go. “So, I guess I’ll see you next Thursday.”
I hope she’ll say something about hanging out before then, but all she says is, “Same time, same place. And probably the same T-shirt. Washed, of course.”
All I can do is nod again. God, I’m pathetic. I even debate mentioning Josh’s party tomorrow night, but inviting her out after that seems even weirder. She clearly wants to get away from me right now, and I don’t blame her.
So I step back and watch her go.
Chapter Eleven
Josh
“I thought this was a small party.” I turn around to see Holly sizing up the packed bar. The crowd at my wrap party for Daylight Falls is admittedly a little bigger than I was expecting, thanks to everyone bringing a few guests, but I’ve always been a “the more, the merrier” kinda guy. Especially when “more” refers to the amount of cleavage being shown off by Carly Upton’s roommate.
“This is like half the number I had here for my last one,” I tell her for no good reason other than I’m already a little drunk.
She sighs and grabs a flute of champagne off a passing tray.
Whatever. She’s always been a little bit of a killjoy. But the food smells awesome — I’m having it catered by my favorite Korean barbecue place — and I’m looking forward to the fact that it’ll be a pretty chill evening, as far as parties at my place go. Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone, but I actually liked working on Daylight Falls, being surrounded by people all day, even hanging out with K-drama. It was almost worth getting up at the ass-crack of dawn not to spend every day hanging out by myself or with my idiot friends.
Speaking of my idiot friends. My phone buzzes with a text from Liam that he’ll be late. Shocker. The guy’s barely surfaced to breathe, let alone party. I don’t know how the hell he went from doing a couple of modeling gigs to being in every project under the sun, but suddenly, he is everywhere—on every entertainment website, blog, show, and front page, the new fucking golden boy of Hollywood.
And, predictably, he hates it.
Ungrateful bastard.
He’s missing out now, though, if I may say so myself. The pool area is full, the music’s playing, and the sounds of meat sizzling on the grill and drinks being poured are all combining with it to make my perfect soundtrack. If I were the sentimental type, I’d think I was actually a little sad about the fact that this would be the last Daylight Falls gathering at my place, at least until hell freezes over and Liam wins an Emmy for playing Tristan Monroe.
It’s definitely smaller and more chill than my usual parties, but it’s nice, just relaxing and eating and drinking and talking with our feet dangling in the pool. I’m actually enjoying myself for what feels like the first time in a really long time.
Which is, of course, when Chuck and a couple of cameramen come fuck it up.
I jump up the second I see the scrawny bastard and rush up into his face. “I told you already. Nobody wants to be on your piece-of-shit show. You may be able to set foot on my property because of my psycho-bitch mother, but you’re not getting any of my guests on film. Unlike that famewhore, these people are on a show viewers actually give a damn about.”
Chuck just grins. “Why don’t we ask them?”
And people think I’m a douche. But fine. Chuck wants to have his ass handed to him by Jamal and the other guys — let him. Maybe that’ll get rid of him once and—