Softer Than Steel (A Love & Steel Novel) Read Online Free

her silky head.
    “So,” Liz said. “Where were we? Oh yeah. Floggers.” She snuck a bite of the bagel from Sidra’s plate.
    “I’m serious. Male yoga teachers probably don’t have to put up with this shit.”
    After five years of teaching every type of yoga across three different boroughs, Sidra thought she had heard every pickup line, from
Hey, I’ve got a yoga mat built for two
, to
Gee, I bet you could bounce a quarter off that asana!
Frowning, she stabbed her straw at the fat black pearls of tapioca at the bottom of her bubble tea. “Let’s just say this guy thought getting in touch with his inner self gave him license to touch me.”
    “That’s not a dog, that’s a fucking pig.” Finally, Liz was appropriately outraged. “It’s not you. And it’s not yoga. It’s Manhattan. What do we expect, living on an island two miles wide and thirteen miles long?”
    “Is that why you’re dating a guy who lives twenty-eight hundred miles away?” Sidra teased.
    “As if.” Liz gave a snort. “Hardly ideal.” She sighed, folding the thin wrapper and squeezing it between her thumb and forefinger like a tiny paper accordion. “I’m telling you, this borough’s run dry. All the good guys here are spoken for. Or gay. Time to import some new ones.”
    Sidra chewed on a boba thoughtfully. Liz made it sound easy, like heading down the Jersey Turnpike to IKEA. Sidra didn’t want to settle for quick, cheap, and some assembly required. She wanted a drama-free relationship that would stand the test of time, with a solid, decent guy. Was that so wrong?
    Yeah, but would you even recognize him if he came along?
    The last time Sidra went to IKEA for something practical, like a rug, she ended up coming home with a single bar stool and a string of lights shaped like margarita glasses. Hardly sensible. Hell, she couldn’t even choose between the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.
    “Could we at least export a few of the bad ones,” Sidra joked, “and even out the dating pool?”
    Bells above the bagel shop’s door clanged, grabbing both women’s attentions.
    “Anyway, like I’m one to talk.” Liz stood and brushed invisible crumbs off her apron-covered miniskirt. “Kevin’s true love is his restaurant. He’s been talking about moving back east for four years already. I’m beginning to think he only bothers to enter my zip code when his favorite band comes to town. It’s starting to give me a complex.”
    Now it was Sidra’s turn to snort. At least Liz’s zip code was seeing some occasional action. Ever since Sidra had kicked Charlie out, the only action she got in her zip code was self-addressed, so to speak.
    “Be thankful he’s just a fan of the band and not in it. Talk about being married to the job,” Sidra grumbled. The road had been Charlie’s bride for years, and she had had to settle for being mistress muse. “Musicians are the worst.”
    Liz ducked back behind the counter. “I’m hardly the authority,” she began, wielding her huge serrated knife, “but I’d like to think that chivalry isn’t quite yet dead.” With that, she lopped an everything bagel in half and anointed it with a schmear of cream cheese.
    “Oh, sh—” Liz bit her lip, censoring herself in the customers’ presence. “Seamus!” She groaned at the sight of the lumpy brown bag still sitting on the counter. “Your flaky brother forgot to take half the order!”
    “No worries, I’ll take them,” Sidra offered.
    “Seriously? That would help tremendously. I’m down a guy. I would take them myself, but . . .” She jotted down the address on an order pad and thrust it at Sidra. “I owe you a solid, big-time.”
    “Well, I owed
you
for my last ten bagels. So we’re even.” She smiled.
    “You sure you have time? It’s a bit of a maze in there. Huge medical complex.”
    “I’m sure. My beginners class downtown isn’t till five.” Sidra grabbed her yoga bag and the warm order of fresh bagels.
    “Still rocking