Stud Finder (1001 Dark Nights) by Lauren Blakely

Author:Lauren Blakely [Blakely, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Stud Finder, contemporary, Lauren Blakely, 1001 Dark Nights, romance, New York City
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
Published: 2017-09-25T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Dylan

The banging on the door can only mean my sister is here. Nobody else can bang that loudly.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

I stride across the hardwood floors and unlock the door to my loft apartment. “How does one person pack so much punch into her fist?”

“I’m mighty,” she shouts as she marches in.

“And you’re here.” I point to the floor since I wasn’t expecting her.

“Of course I’m here. Because of your text.” She waves her phone at me, as if it’s been naughty. “Seriously? You don’t know what to wear to yoga?”

I heave a sigh. “I sent you a text message. You don’t need to arrive like the cavalry.”

“Oh, I do. I very much do.” She marches past me into my bedroom.

“Hello? Bedroom. Respect privacy much?”

Her eyes shoot laser beams at me. “Is that a real question? My whole career is predicated on both respecting and disrespecting privacy.”

“True.”

She reaches my bureau and parks her hands on her hips. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“Olivia, all I want to know is if I have to get a pair of fucking yoga pants.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t take a chance of you messing this up. If you think you’re wearing yoga pants to a yoga class, I know you’ll show up dressed like Richard Simmons, like the time you wore too short shorts to a roller-skating party.”

“Do you really have to remind me of that?” I cringe, remembering the height of my dorkitude in middle school, when I was invited to a party at the roller rink and showed up in an outfit that should have been banned a decade prior. In my defense, there was nothing in HTML or C++ code about the proper attire for a roller-skating party, and I’d had my face in front of a screen when I was twelve.

And when I was sixteen. And twenty, and so on.

“I do. I do have to remind you of that,” Olivia says as she loops her brown hair into a bun. “Because you can’t go to yoga wearing yoga pants. Cool guys don’t wear yoga pants to yoga class.”

“No worries there since I’m not cool.”

“You’re cool enough.”

“What do I wear then?”

“Basketball shorts and a gray T-shirt.”

“That’s weirdly specific.”

She looks to the window, speaking softly. “It’s what Herb wears when he goes to spin classes.”

“Herb does spin classes?” I ask as I open the drawer containing my gym shorts.

She snaps her gaze back to me. “He does, and he looks hot.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “You want me to look hot like your soon-to-be husband?”

She grabs a pair of shorts from the open drawer and launches them at me, like a missile. I grab them before they flutter to the floor.

“No. I just want to save you from yourself.”

“So noble. And all you had to do was text me to tell me to wear basketball shorts and a T-shirt.”

“I know, but even by text you’d think it meant something else.”

“Duly noted. But, um, why not yoga pants or yoga shorts?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

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