Yogasm: A Romantic Comedy

Chapter 1

Sam

“Yogasm.”

Madison looks at me and blinks, before she snorts in the most unladylike fashion, while Allie cringes like I just found out her chickenless nuggets were subjected to cross-contamination.

“Yogasm?” Allie says, still cringing.

“Don’t you get it?” I say, swiveling around in my computer chair to meet her gaze fully. “Yoga. Plus our initials. Allie.” I point at her. “Sam.” I point at me. “And Madison!” I point at Madison.

“So the sexual innuendo is purely coincidental?” Allie asks, still doing that thing where her brows draw together. She tugs on her ponytail, then twirls the golden hair around her finger thoughtfully.

“Not accidental. Genius,” Madison says warmly. She pulls a chocolate lollipop out of her bag and pops the cellophane wrapper off. “Want one?”

“Gimme,” I say, making grabby hands, because I’ve been dying for a good chocolate fix and haven’t gotten over the carob-infused monstrosity Allie tried to trick me into eating earlier. Don’t ever let anyone tell you carob and chocolate are synonymous. They lie.

Madison grins, handing me what looks like a…

“Babe, did you get… smooshed… manhood pops? Were these, like, bachelorette party rejects?”

Allie rolls her eyes. “Manhood? Big girls say penis, Sam. My God, you and your euphemisms.”

I flip her off then tear the wrapper off my pop.

Madison nearly chokes. “Big girls say cock, Allie, not penis, unless you’re wearing a white coat and giving someone a prostate exam. And babe… they do not look like manhoods or penises or cocks. You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” she asks in the same tone one might say, you really are an orphan, aren’t you? She sighs. “This pop’s an irregular lobster.”

“Same thing,” I mutter, popping the chocolate in my mouth and immediately moaning. My God, it’s good, none of that cheap stuff. Creamy and rich and decadent, coating my mouth in all the delightful ways high-quality chocolate should.

“They were in the half-off bin at a little chocolate shop in town,” Madison says. “And they look mutilated after a good suck anyway, so I bought ‘em.”

“Are we talking about penises or pops?” Allie says, shaking her head. “And can we please go back to the shop name?”

Madison twirls the pop in her mouth and shoots me a wink, a lock of her thick, chestnut waves falling across her forehead, giving her the appearance of a movie star. She’s got light blue eyes framed with stunning lashes, high cheekbones a fetching shade of pink, and full red lips currently wrapped around the lollipop mutation. She’s everything I’m not—voluptuous and feminine, with T & A for days, and she models for a full-figure clothing line. Her long, tapered nails, recently manicured of course, tap on the end table beside her.

“It’s brilliant,” Madison says, her eyes warm on me. “Seriously, Sam. No one will ever suspect we’re just a front.”

And that right there is the crux of it all.

Our storefront will only be that—a front. We don’t have a place yet, but our real jobs will be hidden from the eyes of everyday citizens. To the general public, we’ll be that place selling smoothies and cookies and yoga—in other words, a chick hangout like none other.

Only certain clients will know what our real jobs are. Only people who have been referred to us. Our best jobs will come from word of mouth. Not from advertising, and definitely not from any storefront.

A year ago, we decided it was time to combine our mutual talents and do freelance detective work. Ok, I use the word “decided” pretty loosely. We never intended on being detectives, but goddamn if we’re not good at it.

“Yogasm,” Allie mutters again. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, and Madison and I share a quick look.

“Asking the chakras?” Madison quips.

I bite my lip.

Allie doesn’t even bother opening her eyes. “Mock all you want, sister. The chakras don’t communicate, but our intuition does.”

Keeping her eyes closed, she clasps her necklace and tugs on it. It slides into her palm and I watch, mesmerized, as she opens up the little bobble on the front of it and takes out a smooth white crystal. All without opening her eyes.

“I think you need your eyes open to read crystal balls, babe.”

Allie ignores me, inhales deeply, then opens her eyes and grins.

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “It’s growing on me. Yogasm. I like it.” She gets to her feet. “And I found the perfect location, girls, you’re going to love it.” Her eyes dance, and for one brief moment I hope that I do love it. We give her a lot of shit but she’s more sensitive than other people, and I don’t want to really hurt her.

“Did you?” Madison asks, polishing off her pop. She licks the chocolate off her lips.

Allie plops onto the couch cross-legged and pulls out her phone. She’s a tiny little thing, so we easily squeeze in on either side of her.