Page 2 of All Twerk, No Play

He didn’t come back.

That was three years ago.

We focused on our careers, committed to 80+ hour weeks to earn our promotions, with the implied expectation that once we both had ‘Partner’ under our name, we would reunite.

Now that we had the title, he ruined my carefully laid plans by falling in love. He was willing to throw away his career—and my future—for her.

I swallowed the bile in my throat and waved a dismissive hand. “We’re business partners, he can do what he wants.”

Because I knew Alexander.

On the first day of law school ten years ago, I’d recognized my ambition reflected in his eyes. Other girls fawned over his good looks and charm, but I’d been the only one who outperformed him … and he hated coming in second.

Any minute now, he would blink as if waking from a dream, look around this boring upstate city and say, ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

But we wouldn’t return to San Francisco. I needed a fresh start, so I re-imagined our legal empire where I was born: New York City.

Mark my words: Within six months, we would be back in Manhattan, where I belonged.

“You don’t have to agree to this,” Mallory flicked the thick business card with her glittery pink fingernail. “Alex dragged you here to pitch you then put you on the spot. Total asshole move.”

She thought I needed rescuing. Cute. Had I ever been that naive?

Scanning my mental rolodex, I remembered Alexander’s complaints about her being flighty and feminist. I decided to reassure her by acting like I was letting her in on a juicy secret. I forced my shoulders to loosen into a casual pose, elbows leaning on the porch railing with a sighed confession.

“I’ve spent 20 years working in corporate offices, pounding against that glass ceiling, and all I got was broken nails.” I flicked my wrist to display my classic French tips, then hitched a thumb over my shoulder. “During that pitch, I realized something while your brother was rambling about poaching clients for revenge,” I said dryly, earning a bigger smile by disparaging his know-it-all tendencies.

I leaned in closer. “I’m tired of punching up to take a man’s spot. The only definitive way to come out on top is to build something from the ground up.”

The concern in her eyes was replaced by admiration. Good. I’d just become the founding partner of a newly minted firm and planned to grow it into a prestigious empire. I didn’t need anybody’s pity.

“Could you help me do that too?” Mallory asked, her big blue eyes brimming with a mix of doubt and hope. I’d visited her yoga studio last month, when Alexander’s little crush derailed a merger negotiation. As I’d stormed through her lobby to retrieve him, I couldn’t turn off my brain’s calculations to improve her sales.

“Send me the details,” I said to placate her.

I glanced over my shoulder at Alexander and his beautiful soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, then opened my mouth to tell my future sister-in-law that I was exactly where I needed to be.

We were interrupted by a baritone singing lyrics about throwing a wish in a well. Was everybody here hopelessly optimistic?

I straightened from my casual pose as a muscular man sprinted towards us, golden skin peeking out from the unlabeled brim of his winter hat. It was an unseasonably warm January night and he wore Nike compression pants that clung to his strong legs.

I knew almost nobody in this one-horse town, but I recognized the too-friendly teacher from the self-defense class I’d crashed last month when Alexander stopped returning my calls. His inhuman pace slowed, jogging in place as Mallory batted her lashes with a flirtatious wave. “Hey Cruz.”

Cruise? What the hell kind of ridiculous nickname was that?

Cruz nodded politely, immune to Mallory’s coy charm. Then his gaze flickered to me and his tongue darted over his bottom lip, showcasing a painfully bright smile. His voice dropped from baritone to bass. “HeyCobrita.”

I dipped my chin, urging him to move along. As he continued his effortless run, I tore my eyes away from those tight pants clinging to his firm ass.

“What did he call you?Cobrita?” Mallory asked.

Growing up, I learned rudimentary Spanish from my family’s housekeeper to catch all the household gossip. Most guys saw my strawberry blonde hair and defaulted to ‘Ginger’ or ‘Red,’ but he’d called me ‘Little Copper.’

Surprisingly, I didn’t hate it.

“I have no idea what it means,” I lied, covertly admiring his departing form.

He twisted without breaking stride, winking as he sang loudly about missing me before he met me, which was complete nonsense … but annoyingly catchy.

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