Charitable Contributions

13: Expiration Date

"For what it's worth?" I scratched the underside of my chin. "I think it's an improvement. You wanted to keep the rust?"

A whine parted her lips. Her damp lashes closed, spilling more tears. "It's his truck," she whispered with more breath than volume.

"Hey." I circled her wrists and depressed my thumbs into the rapid pulse beats. Her breaths were too shallow, so I pinned her trembling hands to my chest with one hand. "Breathe."

Taking a slow breath, I pressed my palm over her chest. Her heart pumped fire-hot and frenetic beats. Resting my thumb in the divot between her collarbones, the strained cords tightened with each gasp. "Breathe, Mia." I sucked in a loud, sharp breath through my nose and pushed it out. Struggle widened her eyes, and her cheeks were as white as paper. "Breathe."

With one hitch, her chest locked up, skyrocketing my heart rate. Her face was too pale, and the strain in her eyes was too much, silently screaming. Insistence fused with my spine, and concern rushed electricity through my veins. Focusing on her breathing, only tunnel vision let me ignore the sense of helplessness creeping in.

"Darlin', I need you to breathe for me."

Awareness opened her eyes, rounding her pupils. One whispered word at a time, we breathed until she gasped. Rivers of tears flowed out of her eyes, and congestion ran from her nose. Not caring about smearing my shirt, I pulled her head to my chest and cupped her damp cheek. "I got you."

I wasn't sure at what point I sat down in Abe's dusty lot, my heart beating in my ears. My skin burned from the inside, hotter than the searing sun overhead. Mia sat across my lap, her head on my chest and my palm splayed across her back. Beneath the pronounced ridges of her spinal column, her breaths smoothed into rounded expansions. She trembled through the exhaled contractions.

The more she calmed, the more I shifted into hyperawareness. Stray black hairs tickled my ear. Her forehead pressed against the side of my neck. Shivers bumped her shoulder into my chest. My brain dizzied into fragmented thoughts. Warm, smooth ass on my lap. The inward curve of her thighs. Soft and pliant body. Trembling hands under mine.

Not the time.

In the aftermath of Mia's panic attack, embarrassment tore its claws through her. Heat colored her pale cheeks, and she shot up at cannonball speed. Her eyes averted, and she whispered an apology, a thank you, and a promise of repayment. Almost cartoonish, two dust sprays shot out from behind her tires as she peeled out and left Abe and me fanning the air.

"I don't get it." He coughed.

"Me neither, Abe." Standing up, I palmed my hips. "Me neither."

***

Three days since the fixed truck fiasco. Friday, I walked into some guy with a man bun and enough incense sticks to burn the studio down set up in her spot. Texting her with hopes that she was okay was a black hole. Michael explained that she wasn't feeling well. My employer side was pissed off. The other side of me was pissed off.

Mia or no Mia, ironically nineteen–correction: eighteen, excluding Delores–women in her classes practically dropping their panties on their mats had no effect. My polite indulgence in their attention was to avoid being rude, but I liked the effects on Mia. Even when she wasn't looking, I captured her awareness with her short huffs. Except she wasn't there.

The closer I got to her, physically because her emotional prison was impenetrable, the more her unknown familiarity grated on my nerves. My body was a lit-up carnival ride when she sat in my lap. I wanted more of that presence. Touching her was worse than watching her bend and twist with the grace of a swan and ease of breathing.