Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I was unpacking and happened to look out my window,” she countered. “Not my fault you were shirtless playing in the dirt.”
“I was pulling weeds,” I corrected. “Sorry if my abs were distracting.”
Another roll of those beautiful eyes.
“Should I wear a shirt from now on?”
“Do whatever you want,” she said, and then she checked the time on her watch and pointed to the ball for me to start again.
“I don’t know if anyone’s told you about the Snake Pit,” I said as I tossed the ball. “But we’re kind of an open house. If you ever need a night out or anything.”
Julep gave me a look that told me I was a fool for even suggesting.
I shrugged. “Everyone needs to cut loose sometimes.”
“Did you not heed my dad’s warning?”
Her question struck any humor in our conversation down like a lightning strike, and I caught the medicine ball before turning to face her.
“I’m off limits.”
“I’m just talking to you. I’m not allowed to talk to you?”
“You’re flirting with me. There’s a difference.”
“Someone’s full of themself.”
Her little mouth popped open, brows furrowing as she took a step into my space. That one step narrowed all my attention to her slight frame, her bust, her lips as she pursed them and folded her arms over her chest.
“It’s never going to happen, QB.”
“Hey, I’m just as off limits as you are,” I quipped back, testing that delicate space between us. “So maybe you should take a step back and avoid looking out your window if me being shirtless is a temptation.”
As if she just realized how close she was to me, her gaze dropped to my bare chest.
I flexed my pec, and she scoffed, taking a giant step backward.
“You really think you’re something, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “Quarterback syndrome. Seems like you might have some of that in you, too.”
“Trust me — you and I are nothing alike.”
“Oh, I have a feeling you might be wrong about that, Julep Lee.”
Her full name shot out of me in an attempt to be cute, or maybe in an attempt to rile her up even more now that I knew how fun it was to ruffle her feathers. But instead, it was like a bucket of ice water on a fire, dousing her flame and sobering her expression.
“You’re free to go,” she said without emotion, and then she turned on her heels and left me standing there wondering who the hell I’d just stepped out of the ring with.
Julep
The muscles along my rib cage ached as I stretched around the pole, hanging by one leg as I fought to reach back for the opposite foot. I spun slow and seductively to the melodic voice of H.E.R., inhaling deep and exhaling the same as I tried to match my movements to the beat.
Holding the inverted shape for a count of eight, I carefully released my foot, reaching up between my thighs for the chrome apparatus only to pull my chest up and re-center. I arched, letting my hair flow behind me, reveling in the full-body and mind escape only this could afford me.
It was shortly after Abby’s death that I attended my first pole class. I’d signed up mostly because I thought it matched my rebellious attitude at the time. It was one more way I could disappoint my family, one more way I could act out and be the screw up they all assumed I was.
But what I found inside that pole studio ended up being my saving grace.
It was a community of women empowering themselves, taking back what had been taken from them and re-inventing their souls from the inside out. These women were young, and they were old. They were all shapes, sizes, and colors. They were every corner of the feminine energy.
They were survivors.
It was the most supportive environment I’d ever been in, and more than that — it was the most physically and mentally challenging endeavor I’d ever taken on in my life.
When I was flowing, I couldn’t think about anything other than my breath, my points of contact with the pole, or my next move. There was no space in my brain for thinking about my sister, about the men who took her life and remained free, about my family’s demise once she was gone.
About how it was all my fault.
I knew nothing would change — not for the rest of my life. I would always be haunted by that one party, by that one seemingly innocent bit of peer pressure to con my sister into doing drugs with me. It was supposed to be a fun night, one we would laugh about as we grew older, one we’d tell our kids about when they teased us about not being any fun.
Back in our day…
Instead, it was the night she took her last breath.