KICK IT | JENLISA

10

Jennie

The traffic light for the strip mall entrance hung as a last obstruction from the studio in the back corner, windows glowing with a soft light. So close.

"Finally!" As I cheered at the green light, my truck coughed as I depressed the accelerator. A shiny, black car slipped across my lane and made me slam my foot. What the fuck!? Again? Constriction from the seatbelt gripped my throat. My passenger seat items slammed to the floor as I blew my horn. "Fuck!"

Muttering strings of curse words, I squeezed my eyes closed. A glug sound drew them to where my yoga journal lay in a puddle. "Perfect."

I legit growled when the black Maserati took the jammed lot's last spot. Palming my wheel, I groaned at how many higher power signs I needed before either breaking down in tears or nursing my sorrows in a bathtub and an assembly line of boxed wine. Or better, both.

Two giant feet stepped out in white and red athletic shoes. Long, muscular calves exited second, followed by black mesh shorts and a skin-tight shirt stretched over - "What the fuck of all fucks!?"

Ms. Busted Can of Muscle Biscuits turned sideways to fit between the cars, her broad back flexing as she straightened. Even worse than the hair clogs I left in the shower drain, my brain circled her presence. She was here? Today? Now? "Whyyyyyy!?" I screamed to the roof. "Jackson, if you had anything to do with this, you'd better enjoy your last day on Earth."

The same silver sunglasses sat on the bridge of Lisa's nose, but she didn't look in my direction. Highlights from the late morning sun landed on her dark hair, stuck in haphazard angles. She looked a bit scraggly. She looked torn up.

Don't know, don't care.

The weight of this shitastic day, and now Lisa, brought tears to my eyes. I parked in the side lot and threw a meditation towel over the floor puddle. Grunting, I grabbed my bag, half-filled bottle, and sopping journal and bolted my ass to the studio first. Dry heat burned in my lungs, and my bag bounced against my ass. Sweat popped up on my forehead. I couldn't think straight. Reflected behind the random strands of hair flying out of my bun, Lisa weaved between cars. I prayed that she aimed to buy cigarettes and guns at the next-door liquor store.

A blast of air-conditioning pricked goose bumps on my heated arms and shoulders. I shut the door with a jangle of chimes. The shoulder tension knots returned, and the usual respite the light green walls offered was nowhere to be found. Swirls from an incense stick rose from behind the front counter's LED cherry blossom bonsai tree. Cinnamon spice tingled my nose.

Murmured admissions and squeals drew my eyes to four girls near the desk. Lanky and toned, their skin-tight sports bras and leggings blurred under my indifference. "Jennie!" A petite blonde, whose giant knockers stretched her black sports bra in what I assumed was an intentionally desperate look, flicked her eyes at me. "I'm coming to your class. Did you hear..."

"Hey." I removed my sunglasses and forced a smile at the oestrogen herd. "I'm don't know. I don't follow rumours."

Ignoring Diana's eye roll, my purple Crocs squeaked on the carpet. I accepted the key Margie outstretched to me. The short, curvy instructor stepped behind the desk in grey leggings and a purple shirt. We both had jet-black hair, hers in a long braid. Her smooth, bronzed skin made mine a sheet of paper. Her big, round eyes blinked up at my face. "What happened?"

"Nightmare." I grumbled as Abominable Dickhead's shadow cast behind me.

Lisa's entrance triggered another jangle of chimes. I was surprised the incense stick wasn't snuffed out with the number of gasps drawn. I was not looking at her drinking in the fan-girling. Water. I needed water.

Constriction squeezed my dry throat, and I shivered, curling my fingers around my bag strap and retreating past the desk. Lisa's fangirls whispered in awe.

"Fuck, she's hot!"

"She's so tall."

"I need a cold shower."

Let them get her autograph. I wrenched my mouth into a scowl. Tucking my bag to my stomach, I blended into the herd of ponytails and mats moving through class transitions. Maybe Lisa was in Margie's Ashtanga class. I stopped at a drinking fountain.

My retreat was futile. A low, and deep voice called out. Her voice. "You again."

Her tree-sized body commanded the studio's attentiveness. Simi's yogis smiled and parted around her. I rolled my eyes at Diana's shameless eye fucking at Lisa. Standing outside my studio room and biting her lip, her head swivelled on an invisible string attached to Lisa. Surprisingly, she didn't smash her tits on the wall.

The dim lighting darkened her ebony locks, which fluffed around where she placed her sunglasses. A slight puffiness sat under her eyes, etched with fine red lines at the corners.

Had I cared, I would've wondered if her week was as shitty as mine. But I didn't.