Chapter 24
Jamison
Ihad made a terrible mistake and realized too late. Forty minutes into my first and likely last yoga class, I was bent forward trying to touch my toes without looking like a complete idiot.
Spoiler alert: I was failing badly.
"Great job, class," Julie said from the front of the studio. "Hold the position."
She was demonstrating a pose called uttanasana... ucanabana... something or other. Whatever the name, it was a standing forward bend, and she did it with the ease of someone whose spine and joints were made of jelly.
"Let your head hang heavy, relax your neck, and breathe into the stretch," she continued in her soothing voice.
Breathe into the stretch. Right.
With my head dangling upside down, I looked around the room and was impressed by the form of the other students.
Tallulah was folded in half, the ends of her ponytail brushing her yoga mat.
I couldn't see her face, but she seemed comfortable and completely at home in her body.
Most of the others wore serene expressions with their hands flat on the floor, an impressive feat.
The woman to my left had gone into an advanced version of the pose by wrapping her arms between and behind her legs.
Meanwhile, I could barely get the tips of my fingers to touch the mat.
My competitive spirit kicked in.
I went to the gym regularly. I was physically fit and not on any prescription medication. I refused to allow a simple forward bend to defeat me.
I sucked in my belly and moved deeper into the stretch. My hamstrings protested the unfamiliar position, but I ignored the warning. Each week I ran five miles on the treadmill. I had played soccer on a rec team in college. No way was a simple forward bend going to break me.
"Remember," Julie said, walking between the mats. "Don't compare yourself to anyone else."
Too late.
"Stay in your comfort zone and breathe."
I wasn't sure where my comfort zone was located, and breathing proved difficult as I tried not to grunt like a bear lifting weights in the forest.
I challenged myself to go deeper, and that's when a sharp, painful tug lanced through my left hamstring.
"Ah!" The sound escaped before I could stop it. Part gasp, part cry. Definitely a sound that didn't belong in the calm tranquility of a yoga studio.
Heads turned in my direction.
I jerked upright, immediately regretting the move as pain cut through the muscles in the back of my thigh.
"Are you okay?" Julie appeared at my side with amazing quickness, probably no stranger to dealing with overzealous beginners.
"Fine," I said in a pained voice. "I might have stretched a little too far."
"You should probably sit down." Her voice was kind but firm.
Tallulah watched me with concern in her eyes, and I saw the exact moment she understood what had happened. She rushed over to me.
"What did you hurt?" she asked.
"Hamstring. Left side." I tried to lower myself gracefully to the mat but failed, dropping to the floor with the elegance of a felled tree.
"Try extending your leg," Julie suggested.
I did as she asked, but another sharp pain lanced through my thigh, and I winced in agony, gritting my teeth to keep from crying out again. "Not a good idea," I said.
"We need to put ice on the muscle. I'll help you up, and then you can lean on me to walk, okay?" Tallulah said.
"I can walk," I insisted, though I wasn't one hundred percent certain. All I knew was I'd crawl out of there on my hands and knees before I leaned my weight on her.
Both she and Julie helped me to my feet.
"Lean on me," Tallulah said, positioning herself under my arm.
"No."
"Jamison—"
"I'm fine," I insisted.
Some of the students were sneaking glances at us.
"Let me help," she hissed.
"Go. I'll follow."
We had a staring contest.
"I'm so sorry this happened," Julie said.
I had forgotten she was standing nearby.
"I'm sorry for disrupting your class."
She shot me a sympathetic smile. "These things can happen when you push too far. As Tallulah said, ice the muscle and take some ibuprofen. Next time, don't force the stretch."
She actually thought there would be a next time. Cute.
I followed Tallulah out of the room, limping the entire way but determined not to put my weight on her. Our progress toward the front of the center was slow but not entirely bad. I had the pleasure of watching her firm bottom as she walked ahead of me. The color green never looked so good.
Tallulah led me into her small office behind the counter, a room the size of a closet, with a desk and two chairs crammed inside.
Different colored sticky notes littered the wall above the desk with reminders and affirmations scribbled on them in her terrible handwriting.
Without a word, she pointed at the chair closest to me, her stony silence a clear indication she was upset with me for not accepting her help.
I grunted as I dropped into the chair.
She disappeared and then returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water and a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a thin cloth.
"Where did you get the peas?" I asked.
She knelt beside the chair. "The Asian market next door. Lift your leg as much as you can."
I did and groaned at the painful pull of my muscles. She placed the peas under my thigh. The cold was shocking but also provided relief.
"Keep the bag there for twenty minutes."
"Thank you."
"I hope you didn't do serious damage."
She leaned against the desk. In the small space, I was inches away from her.
My eyes traveled over the curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts in the tight tank, then traveled higher to the ropelike hairs hanging over her shoulder.
I itched to touch them again, winding them around my hand as I had during the time she spent in my bed.
She crossed her arms. "Was this your first yoga class?"
"Actually, no. It was my last yoga class."
She fought a smile and lost, the corners of her mouth tilting upward slightly. "Why were you in the class in the first place?"
I shifted in the chair to buy time. What should I say? "I was curious about yoga and figured it might be something I could incorporate into my schedule—assuming I liked it."
"Oh really?" She obviously didn't believe me. "Why did you pick this particular class? They teach yoga at the brand new, state-of-the-art gym where you have a membership."
"Do they?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm sure you know they do."
I met her gaze. "You're right, they have yoga. But they don't have you."
My bold statement changed the air, and I was immediately reminded of us dancing in my living room, of kissing her soft lips, of holding her in my arms, and the breathy sounds she made as I thrust into her.
"Are you trying to sweet talk me?"
"Maybe." I screwed the top off the bottle of water and took a swig. "I have a second reason for coming here. You didn't tell me how the presentation to Mr. Ochoa went."
Her expression clouded. "Do you want the bad news or the bad news?"
Oh no. "What happened?"
She sighed, perching on the edge of the desk. "We presented our case, which included listing the length of time long-term tenants had been there. We talked about the sense of community and shared testimonials from our customers."
"Let me guess, Ochoa didn't care."
"He listened and then said he appreciated our efforts, but sob stories don't pay the bills.
" For the first time since I'd known her, bitterness crept into Tallulah's voice.
"I asked him to give us one more shot to convince him, and he agreed we could return on Friday with a more convincing presentation, or the rent increases would go through.
We have no idea what to tell him to make our case, but we're working on collecting those extra signatures I told you about. "
I adjusted the peas under my leg. "Did your presentation include showing him how costly turnover would be?"
"You told me to include that type of information, and I discussed it with the team, but we didn't know how to convey that message to him." She seemed agitated.
"Emotion doesn't work on people like Ochoa," I said carefully. "They care about their bottom line, which is basically what he told you. But after being in banking for years, I will say most landlords don't consider the expense of tenant turnover."
"How expensive is it?"
"Depends, but they risk losing between six months to a year of rent. They might also have to pay improvement costs for the new occupant, along with broker fees and, in some cases, legal costs. If the new tenant doesn't work out and can't pay the rent, they have another set of problems."
"How do we prove what you said? Is there a report I can take to him? A study?"
An outline of the argument formed in my head. "You need to pull together vacancy rates in the area and other figures to show his potential revenue loss compared to the guaranteed income from retaining stable, long-term tenants."
"How do I do that?" she sounded exasperated.
"You don't have to. I will."
Tallulah looked at me with brief surprise. "I wasn't asking you to—"
"I know. I'm offering."
"You don't have to," Tallulah said quietly.
"I want to."
Those three words seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders.
"You have until Friday, which is only four days away, but I can pull together a solid presentation in a short amount of time. I'm meeting clients for dinner tomorrow night, but I'm free Wednesday night. We could work on the revised presentation then."
Appreciation shone in her eyes. "Why are you doing this?" she asked softly.
Because you're constantly on my mind. Because helping you feels like the right thing to do. Because I want you to turn to me when life gets hard.
None of those words left my mouth. Instead, I said, "I'm good at this kind of thing. Let me help."
Pursing her lips, she still appeared hesitant. "Okay, Wednesday. Where?"
"We can work at my place, in my home office."
"Your place." She said the words as if she remembered, like I did, all the ways we had driven each other wild the last time she stepped foot in my home. "Sounds good."
We tossed around a few ideas for the presentation, and then I checked my watch. More than twenty minutes had passed. I removed the cold bag and cautiously straightened my leg. The muscle still hurt, but less than before.
"Better?" Tallulah asked, eyeing my thigh.
"Yes."
"Ice it again when you get home, and take an ibuprofen."
"Yes, ma'am."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. Be careful or you'll be limping for weeks."
Standing slowly, I tested my weight on the leg. Tallulah pushed away from the desk and reached to help, but I waved her off.
"I'm good."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. The pain isn't as bad as before."
I had taken the side entrance to come into the class, but my car was parked out front, so she let me out the front door. I paused on my way out and reached for her, stroking her arm and enjoying the softness of her skin.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"FYI, I won't be back."
She laughed. "I know."
We gazed at each other, and then I inhaled the inviting scent of her vanilla and honey body cream—the same scent that had lingered in my sheets after she left my bed.
"I'll see you Wednesday. Come by after you close the store. I'll order dinner for us."
She looked up at me with her inviting brown eyes, her lips slightly parted. I leaned down and kissed her. I couldn't help myself.
She sighed softly as I withdrew.
"Wednesday," I said again.
"Wednesday," she whispered.
I stepped out into the cool night air and limped to my car. There was no graceful way to walk away from her, each painful step a reminder of how my ego had overridden common sense.
As I slid behind the wheel, I saw her standing in the doorway in her white tank, green skin-tight yoga pants, and her hair thrown over one shoulder.
Yes, I had suffered a minor injury tonight.
But it was worth it.