Page 65 of Fox
Me: Spending the night with Ren. She’s fine, bad date. Tell Winston I love him and miss him.
I go to turn off my phone, but Fox replies instantly.
Fox: Just Winston?
Me: Who else would I love or miss? As per our previous discussion, NO ONE should be missing anyone.
Fox: Let me call you.
Me: Night
I don’t wait for his response as I power my phone down and head to the bedroom with Ren and Bruno.
“Lauren,”I whine while staring at the dance studio floor and the large metal poles fixed to the floor and ceiling. “I thought you said dance class.”
“I did.” Ren shrugs as she walks up to a pole. “This is dancing.”
“This is a stripper class!” I hiss as I feel the redness creeping up my face.
“Pole Dancing, actually.” I jump at the buttery-soft feminine southern accent from behind me. I turn, and holy lady boners. This woman is gorgeous. She stands tall and straight, toned, with lean muscles everywhere. Her silvery-white hair is expertly braided and flipped over her shoulder, resting on her small, toned chest, the ends tinted a bright turquoise. Her skin is a light tan, freckles over just the tops of her cheeks and slender nose. I have to admit that I’m jealous. She has the perfect number of freckles. The freckle pattern that everyone is drawing on their faces or using filters to create. Not like me, who is covered in them from head to toe.
Her honey-color eyes glitter under the lights in the dance room. A smile graces her full lips, nearly weakening my knees. I don’t know whether to hate her or if I want to fuck her.
“Hey Sunday!” Ren’s voice pulls me out of my trance. I watch as Ren pulls the beauty into an embrace.
“Janie, this is Sunday Sutton. She runs this dance studio. Sunday, this is Janie Pierce.” Her eyes widen, and her smile falls the slightest bit.
“Pierce? As in Tony Pierce?” God, I could listen to her read the ingredients in a shampoo bottle. I wonder where she is originally from.
“He’s my dad. W-Was my dad.” I still am not sure how to respond. Wouldn’t he always be my dad?
Sunday gives me a soft smile. “I’m sorry for your loss; Tony was such a character.”
I raised a brow. “How did you know him?” I probably said that with a bit more hostility than I meant, but I’m beginning to fear that this beauty may be one of my dad’s old flames.
Sunday turns and removes her white crop T-shirt to reveal her strappy blue sports bra and a massive black and gray dragon tattoo that takes up her entire back with pink cherry blossoms scattered around. It is a beautiful piece, but not one that my dad did. It looks more like Ash’s work.
“Ash Johnson?” I ask, and when she gives me a slight nod, I can’t help the pride I feel in myself for being able to differentiate between my guys' work.
“Yes, ma’am, I spent a little while in that shop. Your dad was amazing. Now, I’m so excited you came with Ren! I’ve been trying to get her to come for, at the very least, a private class for a year now.”
I scratch the back of my head nervously. “Well, I’m here for moral support, but that’s all I’m good for. I have zero upper body strength. There’s no way I can jump on that pole without busting my ass.”
“Oh, you’ll bust your ass,” Sunday says while tossing her shirt off to the side and walking to the front of the class where the front pole is. “Can’t learn to walk without falling a couple of times. Falling is important.”
I raise my brow and look from Ren to Sunday. “And why on earth would I want to fall? I would much rather do things the right way the first time.”
Sunday swung lazily around the pole until she was looking at me. “How do you know what the right way is unless you experience the wrong way? Falling teaches you what not to do.”
Ninety minutes has never felt solong or been so brutal. This dance session has left me weak and gasping for air as I lay on the floor next to Ren. A disgusting amount of sweat rolls off both of us. Seriously, I may be a raisin before I leave this place. Sunday, the pole dancing queen, is near the top of her pole in a pose that I’ve learned is called theRemi Hold. She told us this after we, okay, mostly me, failed at the much easier version called thePole Sit.
Ren is excellent, and I told her she was never allowed to doubt herself again. She has an impressive amount of strength and had very little trouble holding herself on the pole, unlike my weak ass.
“You ladies ready to shower and go out for drinks?” Sunday moves down, and off the pole with a grace I will forever be envious of and squats in front of us.
“Better idea,” I pant, still unable to breathe correctly or move. “We go shower and then eat pizza and drink at home.” Ren weakly slaps her hands together in agreement, and Sunday laughs.
“Alright, well, are you two going to be able to get yourselves home?” I roll my head to look at Ren, who gives the same painful look that I am sure is on my bright red face.
