Page 32 of All Twerk, No Play

Thedusklightthroughthe windows cast long shadows over the abandoned mannequins and clothing racks as I unlocked the door again, letting Mallory lead the way. Kate meandered, running fingertips along dusty walls. Connor quietly explored the changing rooms and storage area.

I lingered in the reception area, expecting Mallory to flick on the lights, but she surprised me.

She removed her shoes, padding to the center of the proposed studio space. Planting her feet, her lids dropped closed. On a deep breath, her arms rose overhead, then her palms lowered in front of her chest on an exhale.

She stood almost motionless, aside from the rhythmic rise of her chest and the wiggle of her toes. Her face softened, lips parted and jaw relaxed. After a minute of slow breathing, her arms rose. She bent to press her palms to the floor, moving through a sun salutation. Her movements were graceful and smooth, unbothered by her small audience.

That’s when I realized: I’d underestimated Mallory Clarke.

She’d been seventeen at my law school graduation. I’d been living with Alexander for two years, and Nick had stayed with us during summer break, so I’d heard endless complaints about their immature, boy-crazy teenage sister. She’d shown up with a pink glitter sign at commencement pointing out his second-place rank, intended to piss him off.

But that was a decade ago.

This woman was confident and steady. She’d outgrown those teen behaviors, her sparkly fingernails the only hint of that past. She’d been in business for four years, meaning she started it when she was 23—more successful than I’d been at that age, starting over with nothing but a shattered heart and fierce determination.

She stood before me as a self-assured yoga teacher, ready to spread her wings, even if she didn’t see how far she’d come—or how high she could fly.

When she finished her sequence and her eyelids fluttered open, I straightened from my perch against the wall. “Do you know what I thought when I walked into your studio last December?”

Mallory broke out of her reverie. “Why the fuck is Alex in a yoga studio?”

I couldn’t hide my grin. Her smile widened with the pride of getting me to crack. “Yeah, that was out of character. Plus I’d flown for eight hours to come pick his ass up because he wouldn’t answer his phone.”

“Asshole,” she muttered. Connor laughed, returning from the back storage room.

“Even though I was so angry I could barely see straight, worried his mistakes would cost us both our promotions … I couldn’t ignore the studio’s obvious potential.”

There was a lot I couldn’t ignore, like the charismatic self-defense instructor demonstrating a bear hug escape. The lick of arousal across my skin as his biceps flexed, his body in complete control.

“The class was full on Sunday afternoon, a notoriously hard time to fill. I was surprised you weren’t there, but that was a point in your favor, too,” I explained. “Plenty of small businesses are reliant on the owner—without them, the whole operation falls apart. The class running without you is an indicator of smart hiring decisions and brand loyalty.”

“Really?” she said, her eyes brightening.

“I made your brother drive my rental car down to the City that night so I could research your studio,” I shared, intentionally omitting that I’d given him the silent treatment while scanning the website for the missing name and photo of the self-defense teacher.

“Do you know what the reviews said?” I asked, and she bit her lip nervously. “Almost all five stars, with two recurring complaints. One: You have to arrive early because classes sell out. Two: On-street parking is a nightmare.”

She winced, shoulders drawing up. My hand flinched, wanting to comfort her, but instead I ran my fingertips along the hem of my skirt.

“Before I decided to buy this building—before I even saw the third-floor offices—I imagined your studio here. I could picture the polished hardwoods, the soft lighting, the warm reception desk, the airy studios …”

“A sanctuary,” she murmured. Her word choice made my breath catch in my throat, fumbling for a reply and coming up empty.

Kate broke the silence. “You remember the current studio’s Grand Opening?”

Mallory smirked. “I taught four straight classes, each with 108 sun salutations.”

“You could barely lift your arms,” Kate laughed, her socks making almost no noise crossing the wood floor.

“You manned the front desk all day,” Mallory said.

Kate shrugged. “Better than waiting tables.”

“Didn’t pay as well,” Mallory said, leaning into her friend’s shoulder.

“We drank so much champagne—”

“I was so dehydrated, I accidentally got wasted,” Mallory grinned.

---