Page 62 of The Write Choice

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that with me,” his mom insists. She’s probably right. That woman is intimidating when she wants to be.

Brandon turns to me. “I think that’s it, then. You ready?”

I slide my purse over my shoulder as I muster up a friendly smile. “Thanks for watching the kids, Maria.”

“I’m happy to do it,” she says, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Patrick is so sad he can’t be here.” It’s the most genuine thing she’s ever done with me, and I’m sort of thrown off by it.

She turns to the kids, who have realized she’s here and rush up to her. Christine squeezes her legs, and Mason wraps his long arms around her waist.

“Okay, kids. Are you ready to have some real fun, now that Grandma’s here?”

And there it is. The implication that she’s better at everything than we are.

Brandon catches my eye, grins, and shrugs. “Let’s get out of here while they’re distracted.”

We sneak out the door and to the car. “I’m glad we escaped before Christine realized we were gone,” I say as Brandon rushes to open my door for me. I shoot him an amused glance. It’s been a while since he’s opened a door for me.

“Yeah, let Mom deal with that tantrum, since she’s the real fun adult.” Brandon rolls his eyes good naturedly.

For the first time today, I have a moment to take him in. His rusty hair is pulled back in a single loop behind his head. He’s wearing a green t-shirt that brings out the color of his eyes, and a puffy coat over it. My eyes trail down his body to his lower half. He’s wearing his favorite pair of gray sweatpants.

I bite the inside of my cheek. I haven’t seen these in a while. Which makes sense because he sleeps in boxers, and is home so late most days, he goes directly to bed without the need for loungewear.

But I do love them, that’s for sure. He knows it, too, because I’ve told him. I squeeze my inner thighs together, but it does nothing to relieve the pressure between my legs. I had put the idea for pole dancing lessons in the jar in a fit of anger before we picked. I figured dancing around a pole in leggings and a sports bra would taunt him a little. Looks like two can play at that game.

Well played, Conley. Well played.

When we arrive at the studio, the others are pulling up, as well. We all walk in together, Mac and I devolving into nervous fits of giggles. Jenny looks completely unfazed. The guys stroll ahead of us, bumping into each other jokingly.

Jenny laughs darkly. “Check out their pants.”

Mac and I direct our attention to the men walking in front of us and note that they’re all wearing gray sweatpants. Matching ones. Almost like they planned it.

“What are the odds they did this on purpose?” Mac’s eyes are practically bulging out of her head as she ogles Daniel’s ass. He’s also wearing his favorite gray cardigan, which makes him look like a bad mashup of work-from-home and workout. But I’m certainly not going to judge Mac if she’s into it.

Jenny tilts her head with a light smile playing at her lips, clearly doing some ogling of her own. “Who are we to over-analyze this gift from a higher power?” she breathes.

I watch them for another second, but they don’t take their eyes off their partners’ backsides. “Do you think we should be objectifying them like this?” I ask. But I can’t stop myself from raking my eyes over Brandon from behind, either. He’s not lean like Daniel or built like Ben, but he definitely fills out these sweatpants nicely.

Jenny nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re not immune,” she teases.

No, I most certainly am not.

When we enter the studio, two cheerful and impossibly thin women in tiny shorts and sports bras are waiting for us. They introduce themselves as Brittani and Chelsea, then show us where we can hang our coats and leave our shoes. Ben is the first to shed his outer layers, and he quickly walks right over to one of the poles in the center of the room. He reaches above his head, grabs it, and pulls himself up, then lowers himself a few times. Then, he takes a running start and twirls around it. He lands on his feet with a whoop.

Jenny slow claps. “Show-off,” she calls as she kicks off her shoes and joins him at the pole next to his. She reaches up and grabs her own pole, leaning into it seductively and resting her other hand on the waistband of her bright pink leggings. Ben licks his lips, and I look away to find Brandon looking at me, smiling widely. His gaze is heated, and I realize too late that he’s not looking at my face. He’s taking in my black sports bra and leggings.

“Hey. Eyes up here.” I cock an eyebrow at him. He shifts his gaze to my eyes, still smiling, then turns to take his place at a pole. I take the one next to him.

“You’ll all want to remove any bracelets or rings,” one of the instructors announces. Everyone but Ben fiddles with their wedding or engagement rings, twisting them off their fingers and slipping them into pockets or dropping them in their shoes for safekeeping.

“Soon,” Ben winks at Jenny and wiggles the fingers of his left hand. She does a giddy dance and kisses his cheek.

Daniel and Mac follow us painfully slowly to two other poles, and then we’re ready to get started. Brittani turns up the feel-good music, and Chelsea leads us in some stretches. Jenny teases Ben because, even though he’s jacked, he’s supremely inflexible. Daniel can’t take his eyes off Mac. She seems unaware of him staring at her, but her over-excellent form tells me there’s not much that escapes her notice.

I don’t know if it’s the sweatpants or the promise of pole dancing, but I’m feeling feisty tonight. I lean over one leg, close enough to Brandon to whisper, “Chelsea is hot.”

He hums and glances at her as she wiggles her butt to the beat of the music. When he looks back at me, the sharpness in his gaze suggests he’s done playing. “You can look all you want, Cat,” he whispers back, “but remember. You’re mine.”