Page 14 of The Hookup Situation (Billionaire Situation #5)

NICK

I ’m awake at five fifteen a.m., staring at the ceiling of the Riverside cabin, wondering what possessed me to suggest sunrise yoga.

The truth is, I haven’t felt this alive in years.

Yesterday, walking through a grocery store with Julie, letting her teach me about the foods that brought her joy, was the most normal and extraordinary thing I’d done in decades.

I felt like a real person instead of the hollow corporate ghost I’d become in Manhattan.

My phone dings on the nightstand.

Asher

You’re up early. Even for you.

Nick

How did you know I was awake?

Asher

You’re active on Instagram. When did you start liking posts about pumpkin recipes ?

I check my activity.

Shit. I’ve been subconsciously liking every post from Cozy Coffee’s account for the past twenty minutes.

Nick

Research.

Asher

Sure. How’s the girlfriend?

Nick

Fake girlfriend.

Asher

The fact that you felt the need to correct me says everything.

I don’t respond because he’s not wrong. Nothing about yesterday felt fake.

I put on some athletic wear, grab my keys, and head into town. The streets are empty, except for a few early morning runners. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the sky is starting to lighten at the edges, painting the mountains in shades of purple and pink.

The town square is already set up with yoga mats in neat rows. A woman with long gray hair in elaborate braids is arranging blocks and straps at each station. This must be the instructor, Jessie.

“Good morning, Nick,” she says without looking up.

“How’d you know?”

“Never seen you here before. Think you can handle it?” Jessie looks up, studying me with kind eyes.

“I hope,” I say with a laugh.

“You look like you can,” she says.

“I played professional hockey. I think I can manage some stretching.”

Jessie’s laugh is knowing. “Oh, sweetie. This isn’t stretching . It’s a spiritual journey through physical torment. But don’t worry; I have a one hundred percent survival rate. Tomorrow might suck. ”

Before I can respond, I spot Julie walking across the square. She’s wearing purple leggings with strategic cutouts that make her legs look impossibly long and a sports bra that leaves very little to the imagination. Her red hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and she’s carrying two coffee cups.

“Close your mouth, dear,” Jessie says. “You’ll catch flies.”

Julie hands me one of the cups. “Figured you’d need a little pre-workout caffeine.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” I take a sip, and she made it exactly how I like it—strong. “Ready to do this?”

“Oh, I’m ready to do a lot of things.”

The way she says it, with that little smirk, makes me lose my train of thought.

Other couples start arriving; most are in their thirties and forties.

“Nicolas Banks!” Mrs. Henderson calls out. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you.” Julie narrows her eyes. “You realize this is partner yoga?”

“Well, that’s why I asked Mrs. P to join me,” she says.

They’re both too cheery—and only here to do recon.

Julie chuckles. “Hope you two have fun.”

Jessie claps her hands. “All right, everyone! Let’s begin with partner poses.”

“Partner poses?” I whisper to Julie.

She’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry; I’ll be gentle.”

“Liar.”

The first pose involves sitting back-to-back, arms linked, trying to stand up together. It requires complete trust and coordination. Julie and I fail spectacularly the first time, both of us laughing as we tumble sideways.

“You’re supposed to push back,” she says.

“You’re supposed to communicate,” I counter.

“I’m communicating with my back pressure. ”

“That’s not a thing.”

Jessie appears above us. “Less talking, more breathing together. Feel one another. Quit fighting it.”

We try again. This time, I focus on matching Julie’s breathing, feeling the rise and fall of her back against mine. We stand smoothly, perfectly synchronized.

“Better,” Jessie says. “Now hold the tree pose while maintaining contact.”

The next hour is a special kind of torture.

Not because the poses are challenging, but because every move requires me to touch Julie.

Her hands are on my waist for balance. My palms press against hers for warrior pose.

The warmth of her skin when we move through flowing sequences does something to me.

At one point, she’s in downward dog, and I’m supposed to place my hands on her hips to help deepen the stretch. The position is innocent, therapeutic even, but the way she looks back at me with those green eyes makes it feel like foreplay.

“Breathe, Nick,” she whispers, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

“Trying,” I manage.

Jerry—an older guy who’s partnered with his girlfriend, Margaret—chuckles from the next mat. As Julie walks away to grab some water for us, he chats with me.

“Jessie’s classes have saved more relationships than counseling in this town.”

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“Forces you to pay attention to each other,” Margaret says. “Can’t fake connection when you’re trying not to fall over.”

By the time class ends, I’m sweating, and Julie’s face is flushed pink. We’re lying in final savasana, side by side on our mats, pinkies touching. The sunrise has painted the sky in brilliant oranges and golds, and I can’t remember the last time I felt at peace.

“That concludes class,” Jessie says, then dismisses us with a series of breathing techniques .

“That wasn’t so bad,” Julie says as we roll up our mats.

“I had a good time,” I admit.

As we help pick up the accessories we were using, Mrs. Caldwell approaches us with her phone out. “You two are just adorable. Mind if I get a picture? For the book club newsletter.”

“The book club has a newsletter?” I ask.

“Oh, honey, the book club has everything,” she says, already snapping photos.

“The Fairy Godmothers need to stop.” Julie grabs my hand and leads me away.

“That will never happen,” Mrs. Caldwell says with a laugh.

“Breakfast after that intense session?” Julie asks.

“I’d love to,” I admit, not wanting our day to end so quickly.

“I think your plan is working,” she says, then seems to catch herself. “I mean, people are definitely buying that we’re together.”

“That’s the point.”

She steers us across the street so we don’t pass the windows of Cozy Coffee. “Come on. We’re going to Cozy Diner. Best food in town, and I need real food after that workout.”

“Is there a reason why you’re avoiding the coffee shop?” I ask.

“Blaire will interrogate me for an hour if we show up sweaty from couples yoga. Plus, the diner has the best pancakes in Colorado.”

When we enter Cozy Diner, it’s exactly what I expect. It has red vinyl booths, a black-and-white checkered floor, and walls covered in vintage signs. It smells like bacon and strong coffee. Heads turn to watch us.

“Julie!” an older woman with silver hair piled high calls out from behind the counter. “Some booths by the window are open, honey. Any one you want.”

“Thanks, Marge!”

We slide into the booth, facing each other, the morning sun streaming through the windows. The menus are laminated and sticky, with pictures of enormous portions that would horrify my nutritionist back in Manhattan.

“Everything here is amazing.” Julie doesn’t even glance at her menu. “But the blueberry pancakes are life-changing.”

“Sold.”

Marge appears with a coffeepot, filling two mugs without asking. “Who’s this handsome stranger?”

“This is Nick, my boyfriend .” The word rolls off Julie’s tongue so easily now.

“Well, aren’t you two adorable together?” Marge winks at us. “First meal’s on the house for new couples. It’s tradition.”

“Marge, no—” Julie starts.

“Don’t argue with me, young lady. I’ve known you since you were stealing candy from the pie counter.”

“I never stole anything!”

“Sure, honey.” Marge winks at me. “She was a little thief. Luckily, she turned out so well. What’ll you have?”

We order blueberry pancakes, extra bacon for me, and fruit salad for Julie.

As Marge walks away, Julie shakes her head.

“She tells everyone I was a childhood criminal.”

“Were you?”

She peeks up at me. “Maybe once. It was a Snickers bar, and I was seven.”

“Hardened criminal.”

“The hardest .”

Our food arrives so fast that I barely had a chance to drink half of my coffee. The pancakes are the size of dinner plates, and we drown them in syrup and butter. Julie immediately steals a piece of my bacon.

“Boundaries,” I say, moving my plate away.

“What’s yours is mine. Dating rules.”

“I don’t remember that in my PowerPoint.”

“Slide nine, section two. Look it up. ”

She takes another piece of bacon, grinning when I don’t stop her. Being with her is everything I didn’t know I was missing.

“So, what’s Phase Two?” Julie asks, adding even more syrup to her pancakes.

“Haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Really?”

“Still to be determined.” I tilt my head, admiring how pretty she is. “Truthfully, you make me want to be more spontaneous.”

She pauses, looking at me with those green eyes that see too much. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, I mean it.” She sets down her fork. “Most people think I’m too impulsive. You’re the first person who makes spontaneity seem like a good thing.”

She makes me feel alive. I haven’t randomly done anything since I stopped playing hockey and locked myself in my corporate castle.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask.

“Not much. I switched shifts so I could do yoga with you. I have to be at work at two.”

“That gives us six hours.”

She grins wide. “What do you have in mind?”

“No idea.”

“Sold.”

We demolish our pancakes while the diner fills up around us. Every few minutes, someone stops by our booth to congratulate us or make small talk. Julie handles it all with grace, introducing me, making everyone feel important. She belongs here in a way I’ve never belonged anywhere.

“You’re good at that,” I tell her after the fifth interruption.

“At what?”

“Making people feel like they’re not a burden.”