Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Bane and Max go way back. They were drafted the same year. They were top prospects in the league together—the best goalie in years, the best forward in years. They were rivals for media attention even though they played different positions.
While I knew about Lyra and Bane’s relationship, this is the first time Max has said out loud that his ex-girlfriend cheated on him with his longtime rival. I understand him more now. His retreat from the public eye makes even more sense than it did before, and pisses me off on his behalf too.
“That’s terrible,” I say, anger rising up in me over what must have happened.
Max doesn’t sound angry though. As he pulls up outside my building and cuts the engine, he sounds remarkably fine as he says, “It is but I’m over it. I learned my lesson though.”
And I’m pushing him to be public. Yes, I have to. Yes, he needs to be more accessible. But I can see now why he resists so hard. “I understand why you want to keep some things private. Most things, actually,” I say, but a thought tugs on my brain. “No one really knows she was unfaithful. Everyone thinks you were a jerk because of that song—‘Surprise Me.’ You never corrected that notion. Why?”
He shrugs, like what can you do. “The song came out three months after she cheated. I wasn’t going to get online and say, hey world, she banged another dude. There was no winning in that situation.”
I nod, my heart heavy. “I get that.” I set a hand on his arm. “I’ve got your back.”
He swallows roughly, nodding. “I know you do.”
Then his gaze drifts to my hand curled around his biceps, then back up to my face. He looks at my mouth, his breath ghosting across his lips, it seems. When he meets my eyes, something flickers across his.
Want.
Heat.
A wish.
Or maybe I’m the one wishing for things I can’t have. “I should go,” I say, and as I unlock the door and head inside I keep wondering if I should go on that date with Lucas next week.
Which means I really need girl time. Good thing tomorrow night, I’ve planned to go to pole class.
Not going to lie—when I first walked into a pole class a year and a half ago, it was hard. For a lot of reasons. First and foremost, I was supposed to have gone with Marie. We were five blocks away from the studio she’d picked out when that car hit us. It took me eighteen months and some serious therapy to decide to try again.
But I knew I had to give it a go.
That Post-it note from my best friend was branded not just on my brain, but in my heart.
Want to take a pole dance class? Say yes.
We never reached the studio and walked in together. The first time I walked into this studio alone, I had to practice one of my grounding exercises to get through the door. What are five things I see? The door, the name of the studio, the railing along the steps, the chrome poles in the studio, and the other women. What are four things I hear? The faint beat of music from inside, the rumble of the bus down the street, the click of shoes along the sidewalk as people walked by, and the creak of the door as someone exited the studio. I worked my way through three things I felt, two things I smelled, one thing I tasted, and with my heart beating in the next county, I found the guts to make it inside, then walked around a pole.
I didn’t fall in love with pole right away. But I kept going, and by the time I did my first front hook spin, I had one surprising thought—this is fun.
Then a second thought—I wasn’t meant to do this alone.
So I invited Josie, knowing deep down that pole was something I was supposed to do with my friends. The women I leaned on, and who leaned on me. Josie didn’t take too much convincing. She doesn’t come as often as I do—she’s here maybe once a week to my three—but she’s become a regular.
Soon she’ll probably be able to do moves that I can’t do.
Correction: won’t do.
The thing about pole I didn’t realize when I walked into Upside Down is that it’s not a sport for the body shy. Most of the advanced tricks require a whole lot of skin contact and, of all things, your armpit.
But I’ve always found workarounds in my life, in my job, and now in pole. There are so many tricks I can do that don’t require me to use my sides or my armpit to hold on. So many that don’t require me to show my back.