Losing the love of my life taught me that inactions have consequences. My new bookkeeping job teaches me that numbers don't lie, but people do.
Sharing yoga with others is my refuge from the darkness pulling me to stay home. A ginormous pro footbal...
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A/N: Mature content.
"So..." I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue. "I think for our second to last session, we should change into barrels with suspender straps and sumo wrestle, in a kiddie pool filled with red Jell-O."
Sam's cloudy gaze was a million miles away. "Huh."
Three weeks since I last saw him and another two weeks before our expiration date, he wasn't here. He fumbled over his own feet. I assumed his head was full of charity mop up duty distractions, which dominated both the media and his time spent outside of training with Jer.
Ashley the black widow spun his defense, the truth being the venom she sank into the stories. Marcus Benning and his brother Amos, the manager who skimmed across Sam's charities were fired and awaited the legal wrath of Simone's team. Sam was portrayed as a victim of the data being buried, proven by two Midfield employees who were released after discovering the coverup.
Amir relished his twenty minutes of fame and beamed during interviews. I ran into the darkest corner of nonexistence that I could find. It was for the best, because Michael told me, in nice words, to stay the fuck away from Sam. The press and the public lapped up every word that Sam's team, him, and Amir put out. Not that I expected Sam to celebrate the magnified attention, but he should've been happy with the glowing support.
Instead, the manchild pouted on his mat.
I pushed down my fluttery heart's reaction to his simple text.
Sam: I need you.
I needed twenty minutes to convince myself he only meant for his shoulder, but I knew within one vinyasa that Sam's shoulder had recovered. Fatigue was his second skin, and I didn't like the raccoon eye look on him, but he no longer grimaced during restrictive positions. Looser muscles stretched deeper. His meditation, although still a work in progress, was quiet.
None of that progress was present. Sam half-assed his movements, a sluggish breath behind that he never caught up. And he wouldn't stop staring at me. A slight upward arch curved his eyes and their intensity pierced through me. His gaze prickled goosebumps over me like a light brush of skin. I sweated more in my armpits and lower back than I did from our yoga practice. What was he thinking?
Finally, I quit trying to lead him through his last shoulder moves and sat facing him. "Sam?" croaked out my dry throat. "I think we should... call it... over?"
He braced his palms on his mat and shifted his hips closer until our knees bumped. Darkened with the intensity of stubborn determination, his eyes never left mine.
"No."
I conjured up a sarcastic invasion of personal space comment when he leaned over and swept his lips over mine. A gentle, whispered press caressed my upper lip and took more than it gave. Soft hairs on his chin brushed the divot under my lower lip.
