Page 72 of Rum Sips and Salty Lips

At the end, when we’re both on our backs, lying down in corpse pose with our arms relaxed by our sides, I realize how close our mats lie. Her fingers graze the back of my hand. I’m sure she will adjust and move away. But she rests her hand against mine.

Class ends and she surprises me again by facing me.

“Um…did you drive?” She’s so completely relaxed and beautiful.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Can I get a ride?”

She never asks. She takes one when offered and I was going to offer, but she has never asked me.

“Sure.” I’ll take any extra time with her.

We exit the studio. It’s not a quick process with so many people stopping to talk with her. But she sees me waiting and extracts herself. I wonder if she’s trying to keep me from beingannoyed, but I’m too relaxed to gather the energy needed for that.

Once we’re in my SUV, she speaks first. “I’m grilling chicken tonight. Do you want to come over? We can relax in the pool a little.”

“Sure,” I say again. I don’t have any other specific plans for the evening. Alex is working and I have been hanging out at Paradise most weekend nights when I’m not with Carina. It’s a continuation of what we’ve already been doing. It doesn’t have to be more.

But fuck, I hope it’s more.

twenty-seven

CARINA

I havea voicemail when I check my phone after my back-to-back classes. I expected it, which was why I did an extra class. I wanted the extra hour without being told I am a failure.

The fact I got to spend it next to Orion was a bonus. I practice with friends all the time—almost everyone I know tries yoga at some point. But it’s different with Orion. I turned off my teaching brain and didn’t worry what he was doing. I practiced next to him and shared the moment with him.

I unlock my exterior office door so he can enter from the side of the house closest to him. I connect my headphones and press play on the voicemail as I wait for him.

“Carina, I got lunch with Hamilton today. I shared your most recent proposal. The one about manufacturing in the U.S. He thought it shows potential but needs work. He’s agreed to give it a punch-up if you call him back. Do that today.” I clench my teeth, but the message is only half over. “Also, we discussed your most recent posts on social media. He agrees with me that you shouldn’t be posting pictures in swimsuits. It diminishes you inthe eyes of investors. You want them to take you seriously, don’t you? Call me back.”

I rip the headphones out of my ears and throw them across the room.

That happens to be the second Orion walks into my office.

“What’s—” But he doesn’t finish the sentence.

He crosses the room and gathers me into his arms. I don’t know what it was exactly—the message where my father thinks my ex-boyfriend has better ideas than I do and not so subtly conspiring to get us back together, or that they both thought they could control what I wear or post on the internet.

Then I wondered if they were right.

I attempt to hold back a sob, but I’m with Orion and my good intentions fall away.

He kisses the top of my head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I wipe my tears. “It’s nothing. I’m overreacting.”

“I highly doubt that.” My phone is still lit up. He takes it from me.

The voicemail app is open and has provided a full transcription of the message along with the name of the caller, Jeffrey Webb. I watch his eyes move across the screen.

“Those investor calls you have? The ones that piss you off every time?”

“Yes, it’s my dad. The Webb Group is my biggest funder.”

“And the protégé who’s gaslighting you…”

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