Every Single Thing About You: A “Tuck Yes” Love Story - Book 3 by Hopkins, Faleena (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

“Like that guy. I wasn’t having any fun, and I lost myself.” Cutting the air with her flattened hand she says, “I never found myself, that’s a more accurate way of describing it. I was so busy that I couldn’t find my heart. Yoga gave me that, and I get to give it to other people.” She jogs her thumb at me. “You had something to do with it.”

My voice is deepened by interest in more things than this. “I did? How?”

“You started that charity and stopped modeling. Remember when you said that you’re helping kids understand basic personal financing in order to have more power over their future? Don’t let this go to your huge ego, but I was really impressed by that. There you were, making money off of your pretty face, and you decided you wanted to help other people make money instead. Teenagers don’t understand money.”

Locking eyes with her I agree and add, “Or how the whole system works. They don’t teach it in high school. If you don’t have get a chance to go to college — or you’re not drawn to college for whatever reason — and your parents aren’t good with money — which few people are — and they pass down to you what little they know, it’s throwing chum to sharks.” Touching Tempest’s lower back for a hot second, I move us out of the way of an approaching group of tourists. “You’re in debt for life. You start thinking money is evil. When really, money gives you freedom. It makes you more of who you are, whether you have it or you don’t. If you’re an evil bastard and you have freedom, yes, you’ll hurt people. But if you have a lot of money, and you’re a good person, you can help more people.” Glancing to a tattoo parlor we pass I take note of two customers in chairs getting inked under florescent lights, the artists' backs to us. “You have any tats?”

“Not yet, but I’m going to.”

My eyebrows lift. “What’re you gonna get?”

“That’s my personal business.”

“Is it going to be visible?”

“Sometimes.”

I stop walking. “Like when your clothes are off sometimes?”

Tempest eyeballs me, a smile tugging. “Like when my hair is up sometimes.” She points to the back of her neck. “Right here.”

“Ah.” I continue walking.

“Be careful, Josh, I might think you’re flirting.”

“Definitely not flirting.”

Rolling her eyes, she laughs, “Oh believe me, I know! I was kidding.”

We turn left on 6th Avenue with Soho to our left. Tribeca, where I live, is up ahead. Where is she going that we’re heading in the same direction for this long. There are a lot of restaurants between here and home. Bars, too. The thought of it has my blood on fire.

She didn’t change after class, but a date at a dive bar wouldn’t matter since she looks great, and it’s a warm night out. Coming from a yoga class — one that she owns — would be considered hot to whoever is waiting for her, if he had half a brain. “Meeting your brother?”

“No.”

A fist tightens around my groin, but I have to ask, “A date?”

Tote swinging slightly, Tempest glances to the sidewalk. “No.”

“Chris is with Bennett tonight. Nax is at my place watching a movie with Zia and the boys.”

“Why are you so curious?” She gazes at me from the corner of eyes I’ve tried many times not to look at.

“Just asking.”

“I do have other friends.”

“Where are you guys eating tonight?”

“In a living room.”

My steps slow. “You’re going to…someone’s apartment?”

“Yes.”

I change the mat to my other arm. “But it’s not a date?”

“If it were?”

“Just asking.”

“I already answered.”

“So it’s not a date.”

“No.”

“No, it is one?”

“Josh!” Tempest laughs, “It’s not a date. And I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but quit it.”

We walk in silence to the corner of Canal where the A, C, E train stops. For eleven blocks I’ve waited for her to veer off and say goodbye, when it hits me what’s really happened. “Zia invited you to my place for a movie!”

Tempest walks sideways on Canal Street as the light stops traffic for us and thirty-plus other New Yorkers heading in both directions. “Josh…what about my cousin reading you the riot act makes you believe she’d invite me to your apartment for a fun night of rudeness and popcorn?”

Ignoring the rudeness comment I step onto the sidewalk with her and explain, “They brought you over last time. It could happen.”

She cries out, “When?! When did they bring me…” and her face goes dead, eyes darting to me, incredulous as it dawns on her what happened that night.

As the smell of old french fry grease permeates our nostrils from the garbage behind Black Burger, I solve the mystery for Tempest Tuck. “Yeah, you and I never got in a cab that night. I was sound asleep when they woke me, and not Bennett. But I would have liked to have seen you dancing on the bar. Hard to imagine that.”

Appalled, Tempest stops in front of a bus stop ad with the model’s face scratched out. “Are you telling me that my cousin dropped me off at your apartment like a sack of potatoes?!”

“Drunk potatoes.”

“I’m going to kill her!”

“Eh, it was months ago.”

“Not for me! I just found out right now!”

Tempest stews in anger and embarrassment as we pass Nancy Whiskey Pub. “Isn’t this the least grammatically correct pub title you’ve ever seen?” When I get no smile, I offer, “Okay, is it worse that she did that, or that you lied about knowing how you ended up there?”

“No!”

“But you admit you did lie.”

She stammers, “I was in a very uncomfortable position,” looking very cute while grasping for dignity, “I had no idea where I was, which is a very precarious place for a woman to be. I’m not sure if you can understand that, to be awoken by you when I thought I was in my own bed!”

Sucking in air through my teeth I switch the yoga mat