“But not right now?” she says, the hope in her voice fading.

“If I’m going to make it to that class, I’ve got to go meet Emery.” Glancing at the clock, I see it’s already almost six.

“Fine. Dinner Tuesday night?”

“Of course. Will you make those little crab roll-up things with the sweet chili sauce?” I ask in the kindest voice I can muster.

“No one likes those but you,” she says with a sigh. She sounds tired, and hell, I would be too after chasing around two mini humans all day, hell-bent on destroying everything in their wake. Damn, I shudder just thinking about it.

“No, you don’t have to bother, then. Forget I asked, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Have fun at yoga,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Despite the caffeine coursing through my veins, I don’t feel any better than I did when I woke up this morning, grumpy and hung-the-fuck-over.

Heading into my bedroom, I step inside the walk-in closet, trying to figure out what one wears to do yoga. I settle on a pair of loose-fitting navy athletic shorts and a gray T-shirt. After brushing my teeth, I grab my wallet, keys, and cell phone where they’re resting on the kitchen island, and head out into the bright sunshine of yet another perfect day in LA.

I grunt the whole way down the stairs, wondering why in the fuck I agreed to this—hell, I practically insisted on it. I’m grumpy. I’m pissed off. And as I knock on Emery’s door, I stand there seething and silently cursing at myself.

When it opens, Emery’s waiting there, looking delicious in a formfitting pair of black leggings and a pink tank top, and I remember exactly why I invited her out today. Hello there, inappropriate boner. Nice timing, dickhead.

“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice thankfully sounding calm in a way that doesn’t match the way I feel when she’s near.

“You actually showed.” She treats me to a smile. Her lips are full and natural, without any gloss or lipstick, and her teeth are straight and white.

“Of course I did.” Placing one hand against the door frame, I lean in close. I catch notes of citrus and something floral on her skin. She smells freshly showered, and good enough to eat. “I’m a man of my word. You may have heard some unsavory stories about me, but don’t you think you should decide for yourself?”

She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze head-on. “I always decide for myself.” Then she bends down to pick up what I assume is a yoga mat—it’s rolled into a neat cylinder—and a bottle of water, before closing and locking her door.

“Let’s go. I have just the place.” I help Emery into my BMW while she shoots me curious glances.

She buckles her seatbelt and tucks her hands in her lap before turning to face me. “Why are you doing this?”

As the engine roars to life, all 445 turbocharged horses, I say, “Just relax, okay. I’m not going to try and get into your panties, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You’re not?” She sounds almost offended, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Not unless you ask very, very nicely.” And that’s the honest-to-God truth. For me to betray Hudson like that, she’d have to be literally begging for it. I don’t think I could stop myself if that were the case.

“It’s good to know the option’s there.” She smirks back at me, and I can’t tell if she’s joking or serious. She’s unlike any lawyer I’ve ever met before, and I like that.

“What kind of law do you practice?” I ask as I drive.

“M&A,” she says, staring straight ahead as though she’s trying to take in every detail of the palm-tree-lined boulevard we’re cruising down.

I give her a blank stare as my fuzzy brain tries and fails to make meaning of those two letters.

“Mergers and acquisitions,” she says, helping me out.

“Ah. The good ole M&A. What do you enjoy about it?”

She thinks for a moment, those wide blue eyes never straying over to mine as she watches the landscape change when the Santa Monica Mountains come into view. “I like the challenge of getting the best deal I can for my client. Mostly I like the fun of negotiating and winning. I’ve never been very good at sharing—I was an only child—and I think it’s served me well in this field so far. I work hard and I play to win.” She smiles, and I want to kiss that grin right off her face.

“You said you’re just an intern this summer . . . ,” I say, encouraging her to tell me more. For some reason, I like hearing her talk. With most women, I’d be happy to sit in peaceful silence without having to listen to their incessant chatter.

Emery’s not like that at all. When she speaks, it’s because she has something to contribute. I’ve always liked that Gandhi quote: “Speak only if it improves upon the silence.” And in this moment, I understand what he’s saying. Hearing her talk, learning about her and what makes her tick, it’s fascinating. It most definitely improves on the silence.

“Yes, it’s not uncommon for the top students in law school to be offered positions before they’ve passed the bar. I take my exams later this summer.”

“So basically, you have to pass a test to keep your job?”

She nods. “It’s three days of tests, and yeah. No pressure, right?”

Suddenly I admire her even more. She’s set a lofty goal for herself, moved across the country, and has to prove herself to just keep her job.

“Are you from around here?” she asks, turning the topic away from herself.

“Born and raised. My parents live up north now, but I have an older sister who lives in the valley, and a younger sister who lives downtown. I attended UCLA, and after graduating, I saw no point in moving from a state with near-perfect weather and plenty of opportunity. Plus it’s great working every day with my best friend, Hudson.”

She nods. “It sounds perfect.”

I chuckle. “It’s not. Trust me. But I enjoy it, and like you, I work hard, and play even harder.”

She turns toward me, treating me to a warm smile just as we reach our destination.

I like how things are already so comfortable between us. It’s unexpected, and while she keeps me guessing about what will come out of her mouth next, I’m certainly not bored.

“You ready to get your yoga on?” I ask, parking the car near the studio’s entrance.

Emery steals glances over at the unimposing building. “Deep Connections,” she says, reading the sign hanging above the door. “I’m ready if you are.”

I shrug. I’m game for an adventure. How difficult can yoga be? Isn’t it just breathing and stretching?

I soon find out no, no it is not. Fuck, I’m going to kill my sister. After we paid our fee and enter the studio, I find out that we’ve signed up for Advanced Hatha Techniques III.

The instructor asks the class if everyone has completed the level-two course, and there are nods all around the room, while Emery and I share an apprehensive look. I’m about to try to talk her into leaving with me. A big plate of eggs and pancakes and a cup of coffee sounds way better than doing god-knows-what for the next sixty minutes. But she unrolls her mat and looks ready to do this.

Around the room there are more than a dozen people, but they’re all women—believe me, I checked. There are twenty-four boobs in this room, plus the female instructor, so that makes twenty-six and only one cock. Usually that would be like unleashing a kid in a candy store, but instead I feel like a fish out of water.

The instructor begins in a warm, almost saccharine tone. “Raise your arms above your head, lengthen your spine, and allow your body to prepare for this beautiful journey we’ll take together this morning.”

Seriously?

I look over at Emery, and her eyes are closed. She’s standing tall, her bare feet on the yoga mat and a small smile gracing her lips. I think I’ve just discovered her happy place.

As we begin, I push my body into the warrior pose, sun salutations, and downward dog. There should be a special place in hell reserved for the person in charge of coming up with these names. For instance—the plow pose—that’s nothing like what I would have assumed it would be. At the very least, it should be done with a partner.