Sam was a fucking nightmare. And he was probably going to cost me my second job today.
Margie humored me about guys whose egos directed their practice, but I had no firsthand experience. A newfound appreciation for my therapy class's humility swelled during the meditation silence.
For fifty minutes, Sam was distracting, silently argumentative, and defiant. His stubbornness could have torn his rotator and scapula. The most painful part to witness was the asshole smirking through his pain. Was he always an idiot or showed it off when I was around?
Although I had never encountered a cocky ego in my class, I fought it with my best efforts. He brought out the worst instructor in me. I pushed higher-level balance poses. Half my class couldn't touch their toes, forget while standing on one leg. It was Beginner Flow. They would've enjoyed my and Sam's petty stubborn showdown had they not gasped for breath.
That's why I showed options for restrictions or limitations. And Sam ignored every fucking one.
Introducing crow pose was a test, baiting his ego, and he fucking failed. His shoulder was in no shape to support his weight. That's why he grimaced through the pose and fell on his face. The fact I enjoyed it? Completely unprofessional.
And Delores? Poor Delores suffered from IBS, giving her gas, bloating, and constipation challenges. Was I happy to help offer her some relief? Of course. Did I need to throw in every possible gas-relieving twist and tummy-pressure pose housed in my yoga brain for Sam's detriment? Yep, I was petty as fuck.
Relaxation usually took over me by the end of class. Not tonight. After Sam's dangerous display of asshattery, my muscles wrenched tighter than during traffic. My shoulders curled and crept up to my ears. Holding my journal in all ten fingers, the words I normally drew inspiration from blurred into nothingness.
At one point, I palmed my heated face, a rarity during meditation. Spilling over the edges of his mat, Sam's eyes fluttered, and his fingers twitched. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, the lavender face cloth I offered discarded to the side.
He was not relaxing. Big surprise. An occasional cough interrupted the 'music' I selected. Instead of my go-to soothing relaxation cues and soft piano music, at the expense of the entire class, I sat in silence and issued one last punishment for Sam.
Seven uninterrupted minutes of birds chirping and babbling brooks should do it. Mother Nature's sounds were soothing, but the gurgling water was a recipe to drive my class straight to the bathroom.
The audacity of Sam's presence was a violation of personal space. What started as another mindless, insomnia-driven click, one taste of yoga online swallowed me whole. It was the tether that pulled me out of life-crippling darkness, the tool I needed to refocus my mind, and got my ass out of bed.
Yoga wasn't exercise. It wasn't a mind-and-body connection that resulted in my toned abdominals and glutes. It was so precious, the only way I knew to honor its worth was by sharing it with others. Others with an open mindset.
A man like Sam could never understand what he couldn't see, and I wasn't the person to rewrite his brain. His concern was a means to an end.
One minute left, a few bodies wiggled. They shot up when I drew their attention. "Using a deep breath, take your time to sit up. Gently, slowly... alright." My hands prayed at my heart, and I dipped my chin to the seated class. "Thanks for sharing your time and practice with me. In peace and loving kindness, Jai Bhagwan. Namaste." (May the divine in you be victorious. I bow to you.)
A fast chorus of 'Namaste' rang out, followed by scuttled movements as girls grabbed their shit and packed up. I sighed at the fire drill line bolting to the bathroom. I deserved that.
A warm hand clasped my shoulder, guiding me to Delores' smile. "Thank you, Mia," she gushed in a muted voice, palming her stomach. Appreciation beaming in her eyes melted my guilt for gassing her at Sam. "This was amazing. I can't tell you how much better I feel. It's like unplugging an invisible stopper."
"I'm so glad." I smiled, relaxing the tension pinching my cheeks and cupping her elbow. "Have a wonderful night."
Another participant wasn't as impressed. Alyssa approached me with flounced steps that jiggled her breasts. Pursing her lips, a pout protruded them as she applied gloss. "Mia, that was...different."
"Always good to try something different." I rolled up my mat and slipped my feet into my rubber comforts.
"True..." she murmured with a pucker and smack of her lips. Her eyes flicked in Sam's direction, who leaned against the back wall with his arms crossed. He bent one knee, resting his bare foot on the wall. At first glance, he was smug as fuck, but a closer look revealed a red flush on his cheeks and forehead. Ego high-five for me. The air warmed at how intense he stared at me, the same defiance teasing from a distance. His focused attention crawled under my skin.
"Mia?"
I returned Alyssa's prompt with a blank look. "Huh?"
Duckface's lips pursed, and irritation clipped her voice, "I asked how you know him."
"Wish I didn't."
"Right," she drawled. Shifting movements drew my eyes to her adjusting her sports bra. I rolled my lips inward as she hitched her breasts up like bootstraps. "I hope we see more of him."
Not if I had anything to say about it. Sam's bulky, stacked muscular form reminded me of a bull. Even with light corrections, strength surged behind his large, tensed muscles. Power combined with irresponsible recklessness had no place in my class. Neither did shiny, loose shorts that spotlight his...assets. Why had I picked warrior two tonight?
A look back at Sam dropped my stomach. His giant frame stood next to the short, thin woman who held my job in her delicate hands. Beyond being the owner, Shanti was a visionary instructor. She studied Ashtanga twice per year at home in Rishikesh, Uttarakhand in Northern India. In addition to running Houston's most successful yoga wellness center with her husband Beau, a retired Army dietician, she worked the appropriate grant angles to keep my niche class open.
She was also the most striking woman. High cheekbones showcased her blemish-free brown skin. Even under dim lighting, her skin cast a warm glow. Thick, black lashes framed her large, dark brown eyes. Two full, heart-shaped lips captured her husband's heart with one smile.
My heart pounded as I approached, pressing the tip of my index finger into my thumb's cuticle.
"Why do you wear those ridiculous rubber shoes?" A sparkle dotted her eyes.
"Comfort over style," I shot back with a shaky smile, uneasiness tugging at my stomach. "Don't insult the Crocs."
"I stopped by to see if you could cover Margie's meditation tomorrow, but the mass exodus drew my curiosity." Her eyes lifted to Sam. "Mister Pearson was telling me about your class."
I was so fired. Again. The thought crushed my chest. Yoga was all I had left. A thickness choked my throat. I swallowed it, which offered no cotton-mouth relief, and forced a smile. "He was?"
Sam's eyebrows raised, which rocketed my defenses. They pricked up with the hairs on the nape of my neck. My hands coiled at my sides. "Listen–"
"Yes." Shanti's toothy smile did nothing to appease my elevated pulse. "He was telling me that he's never had a workout like this before."
I rolled my lips in to contain the snort that threatened to make its presence known. Maybe I should have appreciated Sam's version of an endorsement, but rising anger took over. If I was a cartoon, then my head would have mushroomed and exploded. His opinion weighing any ounce into Shanti's opinion burned through me. I clenched my teeth so hard, my molars ground. "I'm glad he felt it." Curling my lips up, I offered my fakest, full-teeth smile. Sam's eyes narrowed as they did when I flashed him that smile in class.
Before he responded, Alyssa slithered herself right into the conversation. "I think you were very impressive, Sam." Her lashes batted so much, I was surprised I didn't feel a bullshit-scented breeze. "And I'd be open to helping you improve your balance and flexibility."
I threw up in my mouth at the part of her I assumed was open. Three sets of eyes shifted to my gagging, so I replaced it with coughs. He didn't need balance and flexibility. He needed a shovel to the face.
Sam's chin tipped, and while he spoke to Alyssa, his words seemed directed at me, "Thank you. It's so nice to be appreciated for your efforts."
If he wanted appreciation, my foot would appreciate kicking his–
"Wonderful." Shanti's eyes volleyed between us and settled on me. "So, tomorrow, Mia? I know you don't work weekends, but–"
"Of course." Not wanting to indulge the curiosity in Sam's eyes, my fake smile reappeared. Thanks to his shit charity, I could use as many extra hours as possible.
"Thank you. I'll let you close." Her eyes flicked up to Sam. "Pleasure to have you tonight, Mister Pearson. I'll turn you over to Mia for any questions on which one of our programs is a good fit. Alyssa, good to see you."
The only 'program option' I could offer Sam was one where I opened the exit door and kicked his ass out of it.
"It was...eye-opening, Ma'am." Sam cleared his throat, shaking her extended hand. "Thanks."
As soon as Shanti's feet carried her out of the room, his smile turned sinister. "You're welcome, Mia."
I rolled my eyes. Alyssa could deal with him, but I grunted at her giving him her number and squeezing his bicep. Busying myself, I grabbed the pile of used facecloths with my phone and notebook. Thankfully, Alyssa was also a member of the bladder brigade and excused herself with one more flirty smile at Sam.
One of many in the class. "You should go too," I grumbled as he approached. "Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."
My obvious insinuation hung between us and thickened the air. Or maybe that was his stale breath.
"I'm good." Those meaty arms crossed over his puffed-up chest, presenting tributary veins raised down his forearms into the back of his hands. As in class, I tried not to admire my weakness. "Nice try with the water sounds inspo, but I'm good. Didn't bring anything to drink."
Damn. Operation Bladder Assault failed. Wait...Was he suggesting he didn't sweat enough? His face was flushed, and his hair was damp. Perspiration dotted his upper lip during sun warrior, but the concave divot above his bowlike upper lip was dry as a bone. "Might need some. You look... thirsty." I should have stopped engaging further, but my inner bitch mode activated. "Then again, you didn't listen to a damn thing I suggested, so why start now?"
His jaw clenched, and burned ego flashed in his eyes. Good. It fueled me further. Stepping closer, I lifted my chin until my eyes glared three inches from his. Amusement died behind the warm browns, swirling with darker streaks as anger simmered in them. My hands were on my hips, my reflection distorted in his expanded pupils. A salty musk hung on his skin. It didn't bother me but permeated the air with testosterone. The thick silence sent my heartbeat into faster thumps.
A murmured, "No one tells Sam Pearson what to do," didn't reveal any new insight. The way his lips twitched, I doubted he realized he spoke. I also didn't expect a backpedaled, half-assed, non-apology. "Mia, look..." He dragged a hand down the back of his neck. "If you're upset about the parking lot thing, I get it."
My name, finally, with the deep timber of his voice wrapped around it, swelled heat in my belly. I clenched it in like a roller coaster rider who tried not to hurl their cotton candy and elephant ears. Get it. Not sorry for it. Don't react. Don't react. I blinked.
His hand lifted, offering the long, thick digits stacked in a handshake. "No hard feelings?"
"Yes, hard feelings." I exhaled out my nose and narrowed my eyes. "Save your apologies for when you mean them. If you're interested in shameless flirting and teasing, try Alyssa. She was the one staring at you with the leaking vagina."
Oh fuck. Why did I say that? His eyebrows shot up, a slight smirk preceding his tongue flicking out and wetting the seam between them. The obvious question burned in his eyes as his hand lingered, an offer of a truce. Tipping his head, he leaned closer. Our noses were an inch apart, warm breaths fanned over my lips. They parted open, dryness seeping into my mouth.
"And you?"
The fresh smell of his deodorant dizzied my brain when he invaded my personal space. My heart thumped, pulsing beats through my legs. Warmth pooled in my belly, among other reactions I chose to ignore. "Dry as a cactus snowman," I squeaked out as a traitorous drip of wetness seeped into my underwear. "You have that effect on me."
Weak Mia, but a start. Wait, I admitted he affected me. One of his eyebrows quirked up. "So you admit I affect you."
The traitorous leaking between my legs contrasted my desire to smash Sam's bloated ego with a morning star, but the best insults built up to the mic drop. "Yes."
Flattery rose in his eyes, mixing darker browns in the lighter backdrop. I stepped closer, pausing an inch from his sternum. Goosebumps rose on my chest from the heat he radiated. Shivers ran down the back of my neck, trickling through every vertebra. Under the confines of my sports bra, my nipples itched, but the anger broiling me beneath those reactions mattered most.
"You fill me with absolute, pure disgust. You're reckless, pig-headed, and put yourself in a position to get irreparably injured because you're either too proud, too stupid, or both to listen to me."
Sam sucked in a breath, but I dented his chest with my index finger, tapping the beats racing as fast as mine. "I don't know why you're here, Sam, but I can't help you." Chin lifting, my lips aligned a breath apart from his. "You're beyond help."
His fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Yogis are supposed to be chill, not ice cold."
I raised my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"Easier to practice yoga without a stick up your ass." His eyes narrowed and he brushed past me with a bump into my shoulder. "Maybe if you spent class guiding people instead of flexing your ego, trying to set me up to fail–"
Oh, hell no. "Me!?" My teeth clenched to keep my voice level down and I jabbed my finger in his chest again. I stabbed at a rock, flexing the tip back. "Let's get one thing straight, Pearson! The ego problem is you, ostrich-ass! If you would've fucking listened to me, then–"
"I'm wasting my breath," he muttered, turning and shaking his head. "You're impossible. Don't worry, I won't be back."
Searing my best eye daggers at the back of his head, I bit back the response that was probably best not echoing off the studio walls. The satisfaction of getting my way would suffice.
Good riddance.
Why do I like them arguing so much?
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