Legacy (13 page)

By the end of the third episode, Corinne looked up to find that Wes had tipped over and was sleeping with his head on the opposite armrest. Knowing how stubborn he was, Corinne decided against waking him and trying to send him to bed again, so she curled against the armrest behind her and turned the volume down as the opening trumpets played.

When the feds busted poor Lucas Goodwin, Wes rolled onto his back and stretched his legs across the cushions against hers.

Corinne held her breath.

Lean and warm, his legs pressed into her skin. His own skin was as smooth as hers. He’d finally explained that shaving his arms and legs helped him to get in and out of a wetsuit during a triathlon without plucking himself. Corinne had to admit that his hairlessness didn’t seem so stupid anymore.

Positioned head to toe as they were, Corinne could feel the heavy muscle of his right thigh against her right foot and the cording of his calf on her knee. Every inch of him was warm.

It felt nice.

Despite her certainty that she’d lie awake the whole night, Corinne slept like that until morning. She awoke with the sun in her eyes as something brushed her thigh. Looking down, she saw Wes’s legs tangled with hers and his hand on her knee. His eyes were still closed, but with her stirring, they blinked open, and Corinne saw the mixture of surprise and confusion as he took her in.

Then his gaze fell between them, and Wes’s eyes rounded in alarm. Corinne followed his look and caught the unmistakable shape that stretched his cotton shorts just as Wes leapt off the couch.

“Shit, I’m late,” Wes muttered as he sped to the bathroom.

Too stunned to reply, Corinne stared at the bathroom door he’d closed behind him. It wasn’t the morning wood that shocked her; it was Wes’s obvious embarrassment. The man made more boner jokes than a seventh grade boy. At least, he had with Michael. Had this changed about him, too? Or was it her? Did she embarrass him?

She shook the thought from her mind and got up to feed Buck. Wes had been right about running late. It was 7:19, and she still needed to pack her things for the gym.

At the health club, Wes had just enough time to point her toward the yoga studio before meeting his next client, promising to be back for her when her class ended. The studio was full, but Corinne was able to find a spot for her mat close to the back. Although she’d taken her fair share of yoga classes, she’d never been to Wes’ club, and she had to admit that it was by far the nicest health club she’d ever seen. Not posh or intimidating, but aesthetic, well lit, and roomy.

The instructor was a tall, wiry man in his early 40s whom Corinne liked immediately. His voice was compassionate, but not hokey, and as the group sat in lotus and the wind chime soundtrack played, he instructed them to focus on their breath and dedicate the class to something important.

Corinne immediately thought about Michael.

But then the instructor added more.

“Dedicate the class to something that you know you need—not want, but need—that you have not let yourself attain,” Simon, the yoga instructor intoned. “It may be peace; it may be patience; it may be healing.”

What about all three?
Corinne wanted to ask aloud, but instead, she chose healing. If she had healing, she reasoned, she would also have peace, and if she had healing, she probably wouldn’t need so much patience.

And when Simon told them to close their eyes and envision what their dedicated practice would honor, Michael was there. He simply was there. But he wasn’t Michael, her lover, in his biking shorts or wrapped in a towel. He wasn’t dream Michael, teasing her with memories from their life. He was Michael, the love: the love that she knew transcended pain, outlasted loss. And in her mind’s eye, he drew closer to her with a radiance that she could both see and feel, and the feeling was like a warming that would fill her center. It would stop the pain.

“Now open your eyes,” Simon instructed. “And slowly, slowly come to standing at the front of your mats.”

The moment was over too soon. Corinne was not at all surprised to find her lashes wet with tears, but she didn’t feel the need to slam shut her eyes and recapture the sensation. In fact, the feeling of that energy still held, and so she focused on it through each sun salutation, each warrior, each downward-facing dog.

The hour passed in an instant, and as she lay on her mat in shavasana, Corinne felt suffused with ease. It was better than ZzzQuil by about a million times. She had no doubt that she would come back tomorrow.

Chapter 16

A
rms spread out at her sides, Corinne lay on the mat closest to the door and draped one bent leg over the other. Watching from the glass panel next to the entrance, Wes swallowed, thinking that those were the same legs that had been tangled with his only hours before.

He backed away from the door before anyone noticed him ogling. Before Corinne noticed. The class would be over any minute, and he definitely didn’t want Corinne to see him staring at her—especially after waking up next to her with a stiffy. If she could have read his mind, she’d have known that it wasn’t just an innocent, REM-sleep boner. Not for the first time—he had to admit—Corinne had been the subject of his dream. His fingers were travelling up her thigh when he’d awoken.

It was one thing to lust after your chick roommate, but it was something else when she was your best friend’s girl.

I’m such an asshole.

They hadn’t even been living together for a whole month, and Wes was already in trouble. The night on the couch had made that clear, even though it had been coming on for weeks. Catching himself looking at her, always eager to be with her, thinking up ways to make her smile. This was not what Michael had in mind when he’d asked his best friend to watch over her.

The thing that addled him was that he’d known Corinne for almost
two years.
He’d known her and—truth be told—resented her for most of that time. Because she clearly hadn’t liked him. And other than thinking that she was Michael’s hot, but bitchy girlfriend, she’d never crossed his mind.

But now, that opinion seemed like it belonged to another life, and so did Corinne’s disdain. She was someone else entirely now. And he knew that it wasn’t just because losing Michael had changed her. He sensed that he’d just never seen everything, and living with her guaranteed that he did. She could still be feisty as hell, but she was also vulnerable, grateful, and easy to be with. He
liked
being with her. He liked
her.

But that was as far as it could go. She didn’t need to know that she had taken up residence in his mind just as much as he’d taken up residence in her house. She didn’t need to know, and he wouldn’t act on it. And with any luck—like every other crush he’d had—the feeling would dissipate eventually.

This seemed like a sound plan until Corinne walked out of the studio. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, approaching her in confusion. His confusion only mounted when she crashed into his arms and hugged him tightly.

“That was...amazing!” She sobbed against his chest. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

In spite of himself, Wes closed his arms around her, breathing her in as time seemed to halt. In the span of about two seconds, he learned all number of things: 1) Her hair, which was as soft as it looked, smelled like honeysuckles; 2) The places where his body met hers—arms, chest, thighs—hummed with an electric current; 3) Her gratitude was like an achievement unlocked; 4) He wanted to keep holding her.

She pulled back, wiping her eyes, and he released her at once.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, but still smiling. “That was just really powerful…I had no idea…”

“Must have been some class,” Wes said, trying to recover from her embrace—and the loss of it.

Corinne nodded, breathing deeply and trying to compose herself.

“Yeah…” she sighed. “I think I need a minute.”

“How about some breakfast? We both had to get out of the house pretty fast this morning.”

“Sure,” she said, nodding again. “Lead the way.”

It took everything in his power not to take her by the hand, but Wes managed to lead her to the snack bar without touching her. Corinne wore her hair in a high ponytail, making her look vibrant and carefree. With her arms bare in her purple tank top and her charcoal yoga pants hugging her hips and thighs, Wes had to force his gaze away from her.

“What’s ‘Bullet-Proof Coffee’?” she asked, staring up at the wall menu.

“It’s awesome in a cup,” Wes declared. “High quality coffee made with either butter or coconut oil. It boosts performance, revs up your metabolism, and keeps you full. Some say it kicks up your immune system and is full of antioxidants, but I don’t really know about that. Wanna try it?”

Corinne raised her eyebrows at his enthusiasm.

“And how many cups have
you
had today?”

She was teasing him, and Wes had to concentrate on not letting her see how much he enjoyed it. If she had been any other girl, he would have tickled her at the waist with a pinch and then caught her by the wrist as she jumped away. She’d be in his arms again before she knew what happened.

But she wasn’t any other girl. She was Corinne. Michael’s Corinne. So he ignored her taunt and asked her again.

“Coffee or no?”

“Please. With coconut oil.”

Louis Elway stood at the register waiting to take their order, and Wes fought the urge to step in front of Corinne and shield her from his sight. Wes had partied with Elway—100 percent manslut—more than once, and taking in the way the guy devoured Corinne with his eyes, Wes instantly regretted every encounter. The one that now made him shudder involved a hot tub and a girl named Hallie they’d met at NiteTown.

“Well, well, well, Clarkson, who’s
this?”
Elway crooned, tossing his sandy blond hair out of his eyes with a whip of his head.

Wes bristled at Elway’s leering, but he should have known that Corinne would be immune to the pretty boy charm.

“
Eww,”
she muttered. It was quiet, so quiet he was sure she’d meant only him to hear. A grin stole his mouth, and he had to pretend to study the menu before facing Elway again, but beneath his amusement and relief at her response was a buzz of unease.

“She’s off-limits, Elway,” Wes began, eyeing his co-worker with a keep-your-mouth-shut expression. “Let’s have two tall Coconut Bullets and two baked sweet potatoes, no butter.”

“
Off-limits?”
Elway echoed in mock-disbelief, raking Corinne up and down with his gaze. “You mean you don’t want to sh—”

“Elway! I mean it, man. Lay off,” Wes snarled, sliding his membership card across the counter and giving Elway a murderous stare.

“Touchy! Touchy!” Elway teased, enjoying Wes’s suffering, but he must have sensed how close he was skating to mortal danger because he swiped the card and gave Wes their ticket without another word.

The unease Wes had felt a moment before ballooned into dread. He was aware of Corinne stepping in by his side as he moved down the counter, but he was afraid to look at her. How much had she inferred from Elway’s remark? If she found Elway repugnant and sleazy, how was he any better?

The fact that she already knew about many of his less-than honorable moments made him cringe now. It occurred to him that he would have liked to make many of the truths in his past untrue.

“You okay?” Corinne had moved around to face him. Her expression was one of confused curiosity.

Wes didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t want to tell her the truth, either.

“Yeah, I guess. Elway just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Really?” she asked, feigning surprise. “He seems like such a prince!”

Wes knew that she was going for humor, so he tried to smile, but her comment only made him feel worse. He’d known for years that he couldn’t be like Michael Roush, but he was just now realizing that he didn’t want to be like Louis Elway. The only problem with that was history. A lot of history.

When their order was ready, Wes grabbed their plates, and Corinne carried their coffees. They found a table in the dining area and sat across from each other. Corinne eyed her coffee, which was whipped to a light brown, and took a sip.

“Wow...That’s different,” she said, sipping again. “Mmm. I like it. Very full-bodied.”

Wes took a sip of his, glad that she enjoyed it.

“Yeah, it’s good. And you can feel it at work,” he said, balling up his fist. “It gives you...you know...mojo.”

“
Mojo?”
Corinne asked, arching a brow. Her look was so playful and light, Wes had to laugh. She was such a mystery, a puzzle of contradictions that one could spend ages trying to riddle out. She was funny; she was somber. She was terrifying; she was afraid. She was open; she was closed.

She was lost, but she made him feel found.

“And I have to say,” she continued, unaware that he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “I’ve never had sweet potatoes for breakfast. What’s up with that?”

Wes tried to contain his smile. Fitness and nutrition were his passions, and when she asked him questions like that, he could show Corinne how much he knew—that his job wasn’t just about making people look good—as she’d once accused—it was about making people feel good. Feel good and live well. And if she would let him, he’d help her to feel better, too.

“The sweet potato is a perfect food,” he said, slicing into his and watching the steam rise up. “It’s low on the glycemic index, so it’s a great carb. It’s full of protein and fiber and packed with vitamins and minerals. If you were stranded on a deserted island with only a life-time supply of sweet potatoes, you’d survive just fine.”

She’d listened intently to his dietetic lesson, all the while wearing an intrigued smile. He allowed himself to wonder what it meant but willed himself not to ask.

“I’m impressed,” she said, cutting open her potato. “That’s quite a resume for a humble little root vegetable.”

Wes shrugged.

“Lots of great things have humble beginnings,” he offered, thinking of his own past and allowing that it wasn’t so much humble as notorious. Was there a health food that had notorious beginnings? Something in nature that started out toxic but then turned out to be wholesome, good? He’d have to look.

His musings about toxic roots reminded him of his parents’ party that was coming up. He hadn’t asked Corinne to go with him—he doubted she’d accept anyway—but he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone on a Saturday night. If she came with him, at least that would be one less thing he had to worry about.

“There’s something I want to ask you,” he started in, though he thought that the matter was hopeless. “What do you think about political fundraisers?”

Corinne’s eyes bugged.

“Uh...I...don’t?” she stammered in confusion.

Wes, you idiot.

“I mean...would you be opposed to going to one? Next Saturday?” He tried again, thinking that if he made it sound more like a favor for him, she might be more willing. “My parents are hosting for one of my dad’s partners who’s running for judge—James Hargett—and I need to be there. I was hoping you might want to come with me.”

She blinked at him, a cautious look overtaking her eyes.

“They’re pretty boring, but there’s always good food, and there will be a band,” he floundered. “I’d be grateful if you could do me a solid and come.”

Wes watched her shoulders rise and fall with the deep breath she took. She was either thinking it over or preparing to give him hell.

“I don’t know...” she said, finally, frowning. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. It was a big deal just for me to come here today.”

Wes knew this was true. He winced at the thought that he might be pressuring her with too much, too soon, and his motives for asking her weren’t entirely altruistic. Yes, he’d be able to keep an eye on her and make sure she was okay for the night instead of sitting at home by herself, but he’d also be able to be with
her
, and it bothered him how much that desire inspired his request.

“I get it. Just think about it,” he encouraged with a shrug. “And if you want to just give it a try, we can go for a little while, and I can take you home as soon as you are ready.”

Corinne nodded.

“I’ll think about it.”

After finishing their breakfast, Wes took Corinne to the cross-training room on the second floor.

“When was the last time you worked out with weights?” he asked.

Corinne huffed a laugh.

“Like...freshman year?”

Whoa.

“Well,” Wes said, handing her a 20 lb. kettlebell. “I did say that you’d be tired tonight.”

And sore.

He grabbed a 35 lb. bell for himself, and he demonstrated how to do lunge walks. Then, side by side, they traversed the room, switching hands at each turn. At the end of the third lap, Corinne was gritting her teeth.

“Jesus,” she hissed.

It was the same routine he did with all of his female clients on the first day, but it was the first time that a client’s distress ever bothered him. It was that way with Corinne, he was learning. Her suffering made his chest tighten.

“Just one more round,” he soothed, saying it for himself as much as for her. When they reached the end of the row, Wes took the kettlebell from her hands, which shook.

“Good job,” he said, trying to regroup as he set down both weights and led her to the med balls. He gave her a 10-pounder and showed her how to spread her stance and hammer it into the wall above her head.