Dirty Secrets by Regina Kyle

Author:Regina Kyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-28T19:21:03+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Brie

“WHY DID I let you convince me to take this class?” I grumble to Ainsley as we climb off our stationary bikes. Her more gracefully than me. She looks like she stepped straight out of the pages of Women’s Health. Her hair is still securely fastened in a tight ponytail, and if she’s sweating at all, it’s more of a healthy glow than a full-on drenching. What’s that old saying? A lady doesn’t sweat, she perspires.

I, in contrast, am clearly no lady. I feel like I’m about to drown. Rivers of sweat are running down my face, my T-shirt is plastered to my skin, and there’s not a muscle in my body that doesn’t ache. I don’t dare look in any of the full-length mirrors we pass on our way to the locker room, but I’m pretty sure if I did, I’d see something that looks more like the Creature from the Black Lagoon than a fitness model.

Ainsley takes the towel from around her neck and dabs at a non-existent pool of perspiration at her throat. “Because we haven’t seen each other in weeks, and you miss me.”

She’s right. We haven’t. And I do miss her. She may be my brother’s fiancée, but she was my friend first.

We reach the locker room, and I pull the door open. All the muscles from my wrist to my shoulder scream in protest. “I hate this instructor. I swear, he’s Satan. Who uses dumbbells in a spin class?”

“Are you kidding? Karl is one of the most popular instructors here. His classes are always full. We were lucky to get in.”

“You call it luck. I call it masochism.” I used to be a regular at RPM—Ainsley and I met in a spin class—but my schedule’s been so swamped I haven’t been to the studio in weeks. Jumping back in with one of Karl’s torture sessions was definitely not one of my smartest decisions. “Couldn’t we have met for coffee or something? Drinks at Tammany Hall?”

Since Ainsley and her friend Mia introduced me to it, the tacky, unassuming dive bar in the heart of Greenwich Village has become one of my favorite places to grab a drink or watch a ballgame. Not that I’ve had time to do much of either since I started filming.

“We could head over there now,” she suggests. We’re at our lockers. She spins the dial on her combination lock, opens the door, and takes a sip from her water bottle before putting it inside. “It’s still happy hour for another hour and a half. Unless you’ve got someone to run home to.”

I swat her with the towel I’ve just taken from my locker. “Shut up. You know I’m living with Connor.”

“My point exactly. Wasn’t that supposed to be temporary? It’s been—what? Three months?”

“Two,” I correct her.

“Still sounds more than temporary to me.”

“It’s hard to find affordable housing in this town.”

Even harder when you’ve all but stopped looking. It’s not something Connor and I actually discussed. It just sort of happened.

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