Charitable Contributions

11: Fix It

Fresh air. I needed fresh air.

"She's dating Elijah Shepherd," Mike provided info I didn't realize I didn't want to know until he already told me. Not a sledgehammer. Pile driver hits kept coming.

At my silence, Mike filled in, "Dallas'– "

"I know who he is." I squeezed my free hand into a fist. My knuckles needed to impale something, preferably Elijah Shepherd-shaped. The attention-grabbing, lightning-fast wide receiver for Dallas. Two years younger, his ego was ten times bigger than mine. As another native Texan, he was confirmed for the event...Which had a partners theme this year.

I pounded my fist into my forehead, closing my eyes and huffing out a sigh. With shoulder rehab, this yoga shit, and Mia's...Mia-ness, I'd completely forgotten.

"Ashley thinks you should issue a statement..."

Of what? Enjoy the breasts I paid for?

"...She's already drafted one if you want–"

"Fine." I tipped my chin at Delores' parting smile.

"For the charity event, do you have someone you can bring?" Mike's voice buzzed in my ear. The bathroom door stayed closed. No Mia. "Remember, it'll be highly publicized. No drinking, no public displays of..."

A high-pitched giggle rang out, followed by a pouty smile and wave from Alyssa. Her attending every class I did, fluttering her eyelashes and sending me heated looks from one mat space over, was no coincidence. I frowned and scratched at my beard. Today's class had more younger girls than Friday's grannies.

"I'm sure I can find someone."

Alyssa gazed at me like her lunch option, but the opening bathroom door had my attention. Chin tucked in and sunglasses hiding her eyes, Mia's bag bounced at her side. She passed right by where I stood, as if I was wall paint. A strange tightness pulled into my chest. It coiled tighter when she was no longer alone.

After three weeks of Mia's insults, her silence made me miss them. She was polite but distant, cold, and disconnected. The rest of the class sang praises for her revised class routines. Delores wanted to adopt her. Sure, I appreciated her changing around her class for my shoulder's benefit swelled in my chest. The initial tugs of tightness hadn't returned. I still couldn't relax my mind worth shit but I tried to follow what she said, calming my body into a corpse. My mind refused to follow.

Practicing at home before bed was more difficult. It was her fault. Visualizing coating my mind in indigo paint as she suggested, her open-mouthed smile flashing her dimples surfaced. Sunlight streaked her hair and glimmered her eyes with golden highlights. When I took slow, deep breaths, palming my stomach, her hands were on mine and her laugh echoed in my mind. Pathetic was an understatement of my current state of existence, exhibited by the way my dick rose at every reminder of her stripped down in her sports bra and leggings.

Fuck, I shouldn't think of her in that way. It's not that I barely knew her, I don't know her at all. Mia's secrets were more closely guarded than Fort Simmons, the nearby Army base, which only prodded my curiosity further.

She interacted with several guys at the studio. Until today, her morning classes were all sweet old ladies, after which men approached her. Muscular with buzz cuts and thick necks, the broken toys gazed at her begging to be fixed. Nope, don't like it.

On my way out, I asked the Indian lady behind the desk, "Does Mia have another class now?"

"No, she's done until tomorrow night." She smiled and offered me a gold nugget of information. "Good to see you again, Mr. Pearson."