Page 32 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

The second I moved down her spine, she sucked in this sharp, startled breath. Her entire body tensed and then released in the most dramatic way.

She tensed back up after that and stayed that way through the rest of the session. When it ended, she barely looked at me. Hell, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I wish she’d stayed. I could have told her it happens sometimes, that there’s nothing to be ashamed about.

When she walked out that day, I thought I’d never see her again.

Then she showed up at the bar. And ended up in my bed.

Now she lives next door. And I have no idea what to do with any of it. Because she seems determined to pretend that none of this ever happened.

The night we spent together wasn’t just good. It wasfucking amazing. It didn’t feel like a one-night thing to me. I was fully prepared for it to be the start of something. But I woke up to find her gone and it left a gap I haven’t figured out how to fill.

I haven’t been with anyone since.

I could—easily. I just…haven’t. The truth is, I don’t want anyone else.

But I’m not the only one who wants her.

The strange fuck-off energy she was throwing at the BBQ wasn’t even fully directed at me. There’s something going on between her and Reid. Miles too. I don’t know where I fit.

I just know I’m not giving up.

So, I show up at her studio the next day.

She’s standing behind the desk when I walk in, her eyes on the tablet in her hand. She doesn’t seem to notice me, so I approach the desk. When she still doesn’t look up, I clear my throat and speak. “Thought I’d try a class. Heard the owner’s hot.”

Her head jerks up. The tablet almost slips from her fingers, and I watch her fumble to keep it upright.

“Jude—hi. Uh—what?” Her voice jumps up several octaves, and I bite back a grin.

“I was hoping you had an opening.”

She blinks again. Then clears her throat. “Right. Okay. Um…do you—have you done Pilates before?”

“Yoga, yes. Pilates, no,” I say. “Figured you could teach me how.”

She presses her lips together and turns toward the small bin of paperwork behind her. “Okay. You’ll need to fill out a waiver. And socks. Do you have grippy socks?”

I glance down at my feet. “Nope. I don’t even know what those are. Do I need some?”

She’s already reaching under the counter, pulling out a basket filled with mismatched socks in different colors. She holds out a pair. “You can borrow these. Please return them.”

I take them with a small nod. “Understood. Sock honor system.”

She doesn’t laugh but I can tell she finds me amusing.

Once I’ve changed and stashed my shoes, she introduces me to the group. There are four other women in the class, each already stretched out on a reformer. She points to an empty one near the window. “You’ll be there. Try not to fall off.”

“Is that a common risk?” I ask.

She ignores me and cues the start of class.

From the first movement, I can tell she’s distracted. Her voice is steady, but her rhythm is off. She cues too fast, then too slow. I take pride in the fact that I clearly make her nervous.

I follow her cues, match her timing, and do exactly what she says. For now, being here feels like enough. I just want her to stop pretending she doesn’t feel what’s between us.

But every second she avoids my eyes tells me she’s not going to budge.