Page 36 of Spinning Out Of Control

A newspaper is splayed open on the rich burgundy couch propped under the window. A tangle of white sheets and blankets are mussed on the king-sized bed, the pillows arranged as though he slept with two under his head and one in his arms. A nearly empty mug sits on the coffee table and a television mounted on the wall plays a morning talk show on mute. The bathroom door is open, fog still coating the mirror from his shower. It smells like sage and something warm, and I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to slip off my coat and slide into his bed.

“Hey, so I know we were planning to leave later tonight, but I managed to snag a breakfast meeting with the head of a wellness company–Lumina Salts?” Ugh.Stupid fucking nerves. My voice is high and whiny, and it sounds like I’m asking him a question, not informing him of something. But I soldier on. “They’re opening new operations on the west coast. I think I might be able to get them to supply some electrolytes and supplements to our studio in exchange for the advertising space. They’re a really cool company. Everything is all natural and organic and they donate a good portion of all their proceeds to climate relief efforts as well as feeding hungry children. So, I’m going to stay and catch a flight back tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sounds like a great opportunity. Do you mind if I tag along? I can call the charter company and have our reservations rearranged,” he says as he sips from the mug.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. You go home to San Francisco. I’ll make sure to write up a full report, whether we end up striking a deal or not.” I shake my head and wave a hand between us.

“I want to go, Kira. And it’s not because I feel the need to micromanage you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it yet, but I enjoy watching you work. Whether it’s in the studio, on the bike, post-production, or the more business-focused things like brand deals and talent scouting. You have a brilliant mind, and your passion for your work shines through in everything you do. I’ve been looking forward to today’s meeting all morning. I can’t wait to have a front row seat to watch you knock it out of the park.”

Warren’s earnest words and gentle praise wash over me, lighting something inside me that yearns to be told that I’m good. That I’m smart and capable and competent. And something happens to me that is so rare, I can’t remember the last time I experienced the phenomenon.

I’m stunned silent.

Warren flits about the room, pulling a pair of socks from a drawer and then leaning against the dresser as he slips them over his feet. What kind of person unpacks his clothes into the furniture when they arrive at a hotel? Why can’t he live out of his suitcase like the rest of us?

I watch him, fascinated by the way his forearms move and flex while performing such a mundane task. My mind travels back to the bridal suite, when Warren was on his knees in front of me and I’d been entranced by those same forearms as he gripped my thighs.

“Kira,” he snaps his fingers, breaking me out of my trance. He definitely caught me staring, and I feel heat spread across my chest as my skin flushes.

“What?”

“I asked if you think I’m going to be overdressed. You look lovely, of course, but a bit more casual than I’d expected.”

I look down at myself, taking in the charcoal grey cargo pants I’ve paired with a cropped white t-shirt, black puffer jacket and my favorite set of Gucci monogrammed dad sneakers. I let my hair air dry after myshower, so my natural curls are a little wild where they frame my face, and I only swiped on a bit of mascara and some lip gloss before leaving my room.

If we were headed to a meeting with a lawyer or someone equally as stuffy, I’d say that I was the one who was dressed inappropriately. But we’re going to lunch and then a gym. I think I’ve nailed the cool California, vibe I’m going for.

“You look nice. But I’d bring a change of clothes. You’ve got a whole pretty boy thing going on, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Jeslyn ropes us into taking a class with her. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared for anything. If you want to throw a pair of shorts and some sneakers in my bag, that would be fine.”

Warren tilts his head, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as his eyes stare into mine.

“You think I’m pretty?” He asks, his amusement clear. I roll my eyes. Of course that’s the one thing he takes from what I say.

“Forget it. Carry your own shit. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

I can hear Warren’s laughter ringing in my head long after the door to his room has closed.

True to my intuition,getting Jeslyn on board with joining us at Spin Sync was as easy as pie. I pitched her over pumpkin curry and non-alcoholic IPAs at a midtown vegetarian joint, emphasizing the freedom she’d have as one of our instructors. A loose non-compete clause would allow her to expand on her personal brand deals, and our flexible class and filming schedule means that she wouldn’t have to relocate permanently to San Francisco and could bounce back and forth to New York in her off time if she chose. I had her hook, line, and sinker before I even mentioned the generous salary.

We reached a verbal agreement and shook hands as we’d finished lunch, and a contract was in her inbox before we’d made it three blocks over to The Core Collective.

Warren had sat back and allowed me to work on Jeslyn myself, as I’d expected. Unlike recruitments of the past with Jonathan, Warren didn’t make me feel like he was there to watch over me and make sure I wasn’t spending too much of his money or making promises he didn’t intend to keep.

Instead, he’d listened intently as Jeslyn and I spoke and negotiated, only jumping in to assure that if Jeslyn joined our team, she would have paid time off when the Olympics came back around. And when all was said and done and Jeslyn turned to Warren to thank him for the opportunity, Warren placed a warm, proud hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t thank me, it wasn’t my opportunity to give. I’m just here to learn all I can from the woman in charge.”

Sure, the words had been placating. A bone thrown my way, an ‘atta boy’ I’d never gotten from his predecessor. I’m not the one in charge. Jonathan had made sure of that when he left, but that tiny bit of acknowledgement of my work and commitment to making Spin Sync the best fitness platform available from Warren…it left another crack in my armor. With each passing moment, he’s making it harder and harder to remember why hating him is so important.

As I predicted, Jeslyn invited Warren and I to join her afternoon shadow boxing class, and we happily accepted. Boxing is one of my favorite forms of cardio. There’s nothing like getting out your aggression with a few well-timed punches, even if your only opponent is a bag or the air in front of you.

The Core Collective’s locker room isn’t nearly as nice as the ones at Spin Sync, but it’s a clean place to get changed so I’m not complaining. After slipping out of my streetwear and into a long-sleeved pink crop top with a built-in sports bra, extra short, lemon-yellow shorts and a pair of white and silver Air Jordan’s, I pull my wild mess of curls into a bun on the top of my head and secure it with two hair ties. I check myself in the mirror, admiring the way my toned thighs and calves look extra tan against the bright yellow of my bottoms. Then I fill my water bottle at the filtered water station by the door and head back out of the locker room.

When I find the room where Jeslyn is holding class, I feel the Warren’s gaze on me like a brand. I don’t need to see him to know that he’s here in the room, watching me. But I search for him anyway, unable to keep myself away. Like an addict looking for her next fix I scan the room, something settling in my stomach when I find Warren leaning against a large punching bag, arms crossed against his chest.

The olive green fabric of his moisture-wicking tee clings to his pecs and the soft cotton of his joggers do little to hide what I know to be a very impressive and sparkly package between his legs. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his eyes roam over my body or the way his mouth falls open and his chest rises when they settle on my thighs. And I don’t bother lying to myself and pretending that the hungry look on his face wasn’t exactly what I wanted when I shoved my shortest shorts into my gym bag this morning.

Warren couldn’t get enough of my legs when we were together. I wore the evidence of his adoration in the form of hickeys and bite marks on my inner thighs for weeks afterwards.

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