Page 161 of Ecstasy
Castle Cardi Fitnessmight have a dumb name, Alex’s doing, but it’s the most popular gym on North Carolina’s coast.
We thought taking over Grove Community might not bode well for all the displaced congregants, but turns out, they love it.
And in the classroom at the very back, down a long hall past the bathrooms and change rooms and showers, I teach Stoicism to people every other night.
No, seriously. They come in droves, wanting to know how to get through fucking life.I thought it would be a joke. Alex kept pushing me to do it after I got my yoga certification and taught a few classes a week at night.
He kept telling me to use my philosophy degree, especially since I bought every book by Ryan Holiday and the fucking Stoics, too, and read through them every damn week, quoting shit at him to help him control his own temper.
“It isn’t manly to be enraged,” I’d tell him. “Marcus Aurelius said so.”
To which he would roll his eyes and slap my ass to show me just how manly he was.
It was fascinating how much I learned, after school. I mean, I got through college, earned my degree, but turns out, you learn a lot more when you’re not high as fuck, whether it’s on Adderall or not.
Now, we have addicts in recovery or wanting to be in recovery come for my talks. We have teenagers looking for ways to handle adult problems. We have couples who own big businesses come for tips on handling stress, the Stoic way.
It’s like a big NA meeting but we’re Stoics Anonymous.
And Alex? Alex is like a god to the kids he runs football drills with. He’s a godsend to the people he trains, and he runs a few of his own meetups to discuss personal and business growth.
He reads a lot of Robert Greene, which translates well in his talks on things like how to spot psychopaths and the best way to deal with them—drown them…okay, not really, but…kind of.
Right now, he looks like he wants to take me to the Olympic-sized pool we have in the very back of our facility where the baptismal pool used to be and fuck me on one of the towels.
But he’d never actually put me inthe pool.
I don’t swim anymore.
“Fuck Dwight. Fucker is off with the guys to Vegas this weekend.”
I cock my head, surprised. “Really?” I ask him as he pulls me closer and I wrap my arms around his neck. “You didn’t want to go?”
He wrinkles his nose, as if I’ve personally offended him. “Fuck no. I want to be with you.”
I glance at the closed door. “Alex,” I say, trying to keep my voice stern even as he kisses my forehead and smirks down at me. “We can’t keep the place closed. It’s bad for business. We’re a 24/7 facility and we agreed we wanted someone on staff at all times.” I glance at the clock on the wall beside the door. “The night girl isn’t going to be here for another hour.”
Alex laughs, boyish and loud and it makes my heart swell. “The ‘night girl’?” he repeats.
I glare at him. “Well, I might actually remember her name if she didn’t always look at you like she wanted to suck your dick.”
He rolls his eyes. “She does not want to suck my dick, princess. And even if she did, I wouldn’t let her. This dick is only for you.” He pulls me so far against him, I can feel said dick, and three years after we officially started dating, two years after we got married, I’m still amazed by just how damn big that dick is.
I reach for it and his hands slide down my back, cupping my ass through my yoga pants.
“Keep doing that, Za, and I’m going to fuck you right here in the lobby.” He shoves me up against the reception desk to prove his point, bending his head to kiss my neck.
I run my fingers through his thick, bronze hair and breathe in his dark, woodsy scent. “Aren’t we supposed to meet your mom for dinner?” I ask him as he bites my neck and I lurch against him, the hairs on the back of my arms standing on end. I’m in a sweaty sports bra, my hair hasn’t been washed in days and I really, really need a shower, but Alex does not give a fuck.
He trails his mouth lower, over my collarbone, tugging down my neon pink bra. His tongue licks my breast, his fingers on my back, and I know without seeing it that his thumb is brushing over the scar from the glass in my apartment that night.
The one Eli Addison gave me.
We don’t talk about Eli much.
But sometimes, when I see that scar in the mirror, when I get too close to the edge of a pool, I think about him.
Sometimes I wonder what if?
