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A new day. Afternoon. A silver Volkswagen Jetta glided into the West Side.
The streets had gone from chaotic to clean, the roadside trees trimmed into neat, manicured lines.
Shane sat in the passenger seat, thumbs flying across his phone screen.
A photo loaded up—a mirror selfie from the side. Tight yoga pants hugged every curve of the owner's full, peach-shaped ass.
"Coach Shane, sometimes when I do downward dog I feel this crazy tightness in the back of my thighs. Am I pushing off the wrong point?"
Before he could type a reply, Karen's voice cut in.
"Caroline again?"
She kept one eye on the road and the other on his phone.
"All those thirsty bitches sliding into your DMs trying to fuck you—I handled every single one. Why is this old lady the only one you're answering yourself? Her ass made of diamonds or something?"
"Because she's one of the co-chairs of the Skinner West Elementary PTA, Karen."
Shane fired off a quick, professional reply about proper hip folding, then locked the screen.
"She's got the contact list for at least a couple dozen full-time West Side housewives. Basically the queen bee of the whole neighborhood. Lock her down and I've got the keys to every rich family on this side of town. Their kids' training fees are mine."
"Really?" Karen's laugh was pure ice. "Looks to me like she just wants you to personally show her how to stretch those yoga pants wide open."
"Business, Karen. Strictly business."
Shane shot her a look.
"Pack away the South Side attitude. Out here we sell professionalism. We're here to open a new market, not start a war."
Karen snorted but stayed quiet.
A few minutes later, after the guard at the elementary school gate cleared their appointment, Karen pulled into the parking lot.
They climbed out and headed for the main building.
For today's "grand opening" they'd both dressed the part.
Shane wore a cropped black leather jacket over a gray cotton tee, dark straight-leg jeans, and heavy work boots. The outfit showed off his broad shoulders and narrow waist while giving him the exact look of a high-end private trainer—professional, aggressive, dripping with masculine authority.
Karen had gone with a cropped wool coat over a turtleneck, tight pants, and knee-high boots. She was trying her best to look like a proper city girl. This was her first time stepping foot in the West Side; she refused to lose to any of those "old women" on wardrobe alone.
At the front doors, Caroline was already waiting.
She wore a cream cashmere cardigan that looked expensive as hell, a delicate Cartier Tank watch on her wrist.
Shane walked up with Karen at his side.
"Oh my God."
Caroline's eyes dragged slowly over him—chest muscles straining the leather jacket, the cut of his hips, even a quick glance at the way his jeans hugged his crotch. Shane's Twitter account had been circulating through their little circle for days. She'd pulled every string she had to get him here alone.
Shane stopped in front of her.
"You look exactly like you do in the videos—impressive."
She didn't offer her hand right away. She let her gaze travel up and down one more time before finally extending it.
"Welcome to the West Side, Coach Shane. I'm Caroline."
"Pleasure, Ms. Caroline. Thank you for the opportunity."
He took her hand.
After the usual pleasantries, Caroline led them inside.
"Let's take a look around. It's not huge, but it's plenty for the kids."
She guided them through the bright, clean hallways with polished wood floors.
"There's an unused activity room on this floor," she said casually. "I already emailed the principal. If we call it a community health-promotion program, we can use it for free. Heating and everything gets billed to the district's community budget."
Shane raised an eyebrow. Back in the South Side you couldn't get a heated room like this without jumping through ten hoops. Here? One email and a little influence.
They reached the room. Caroline slipped off her cashmere cardigan. Underneath she wore the exact yoga set she'd been posting in her pictures—tight, revealing, showing off the soft, mature curves she carried so well. Not as hard-bodied as Karen, but there was something undeniably sexy about the way she moved.
She glanced at Karen, whose expression had gone visibly stormy, then smiled sweetly.
"Oh, Coach Shane, since we're going to be using the space, we're a little short on supplies. There's a wonderful organic market just a couple blocks away that carries this amazing electrolyte water—perfect for the kids after class. Maybe your assistant could run out and grab a few cases? I'd love to go over the preliminary schedule and safety details with you alone. Parents can be so particular about those things."
She put extra weight on the word "alone," eyes locked on Shane like she'd been starving for days.
Shane understood the play perfectly. She was clearing the room.
He could handle it.
He cleared his throat and turned to Karen.
"K, go ahead. Two cases of water and some disposable towels. Our clients expect the best."
His tone was calm, reassuring. I've got this.
Karen's jaw tightened. She looked from Caroline to Shane, then back.
"OK~."
She spun on her heel and slammed the heavy fire door behind her.
Bang!
The second it shut, the air in the room changed—thicker, warmer, charged.
Caroline waited until the echo faded, then dropped the polite PTA-chair act completely.
She stepped right up to Shane.
"You know how picky West Side parents are, Coach Shane."
One hand braced on a nearby cabinet, she leaned forward, deliberately showing off her curves, eyes never leaving his face.
"They've all seen your videos. Half of them are convinced you're on steroids. Because that body… it's just too perfect. Too perfect to be real."
She reached out without hesitation, fingers sliding over his arm, squeezing the hard muscle through the leather.
"So, as head of the PTA, it's my job to inspect the merchandise for everyone. Verify the product."
She looked up at him, voice low and testing. "Do you mind?"
Shane looked down at the still-beautiful older woman, felt her hand stroking his bicep, and smiled.
"Of course not. Client satisfaction is always my number-one priority."
He flexed the arm she was touching, letting the muscle swell and shift under the jacket.
Caroline's breath hitched.
"God… it's really that hard."
She murmured it like a prayer, then closed the last few inches between them, pressing her full chest against his torso.
"You know, my house is only two blocks from here. The coffee machine at school is garbage. If you're interested, I can take you home. I've got the best Blue Mountain beans… and my husband's on a business trip for the next two weeks."
Shane's eyebrows lifted.
Damn. That wasn't even a hint anymore. That was a straight-up invitation.
Thirty like a wolf, forty like a tiger. Guess the saying was true. Americans really didn't waste time.
Caroline saw the pause and added, voice dropping even lower,
"Or… we could just stay right here. If you want to help me fix my downward-dog form… I've been dying for someone to show me exactly where I'm going wrong."