"Thanks for coming." Hesitation rose behind Michael's confident gaze. "Hopefully, we can find a compromise–"
"Compromise?" I jerked my thumb at the wall of resistance on my left. "She doesn't know the meaning of the word."
"Compromise!? Can he even spell it?" Mia's glare burned the side of my face.
I clenched my teeth, fixing my gaze on Michael. Despite a week of heated aches, swelling, and pain living rent-free in my shoulder, I refused to look at Mia. Otherwise, I would've been distracted by the tops of her perfect tits sitting in her white, V-neck wrap shirt, the curve of her hips hugged by her gray skirt, and inches of exposed, smooth thighs from one long, bare leg crossed over the other.
Nope, didn't notice any of that.
The temptation to look burned the corners of my eyes, straining them to bulge. "C-o-m-p-r-o-m-i-s-e," I spat out each letter.
With a flick of her fingers, she swept a black strand behind her shoulder. "C-a-c-t-u-s d-i-c-k."
Cactus-what the fuck? I let out a humorless laugh. "Did you call me a–"
"Cactus dick." Her shrug bounced her chest with tiny jiggles of skin. Again, didn't notice. Peripheral vision blur. "When Michael asked me to come, I told him I preferred if you took a long walk in the desert, got lost, stumbled around until you fell over from dehydration, and landed in a ditch, stomach-down, on a cactus so it rammed into your–"
"I get it." Equally impressed and afraid of her level of detail, I pinched the space between my eyes and willed my balls back down from where they retreated into my pelvis.
The only response I had was a loud, drawn-out sigh. This walking contradiction was impossible to read. Her sinfully curved body moved with the grace of flowing water, entering with long steps that ended with her flopping down in a chair with a heavy grunt. Fuck, the way she bent that body with yoga poses was sinful. Trying not to remember that inspired another form of heated throbs and swelling.
In a straight-spine, seated posture, she tucked her elbows in her ribs, pushing up those flawless tits. Light makeup highlighted her round eyes, thick lashes, and pouty lips with a subtle, graceful beauty. But her voice cut glass, and her choice of insults? It took me ten minutes to figure out what she meant by ostrich ass.
I had a headache.
Her hair was insanely different, with loose curls falling to her lower back. How the fuck did she stuff it all into her buns? A black curtain slipped over her shoulders when she shifted in her seat. Framing her breasts, it was as shiny as glass, except for the jagged, split ends.
Even Mia's hair was a contradiction.
She clutched her knee above that twitching foot. Her nails were ragged triangles, stripped down to the cuticles, and the whites chewed or picked off. Hopefully, she was as aggravated as I was. Her polished boots, gray with white flower stitching and black soles, were coated in dust. Cute, except for her flicking the steel toe at my shin.
Fuck, her signals were so conflicting. Polite manners with a 'back the fuck off' vibe tore me between annoyed and intrigued. I shifted my hips in my seat and threaded my fingers over my lap.
My range of emotions after I left the studio was laughable. Initial anger festered inside my stomach, fed by my swollen shoulder. I drove one-handed the rest of my way home and iced it for two days. Subjected to much friction rubbing and yoga-pose squeezing, my balls were as sensitive as my ego.
While recovering, my mood soured. I 'how dare she?' cursed her with every word. I thought about her so much, burned by how she set me up for failure until my head pounded like a hangover. Her haughty smile and heated glares crept into a dream. I woke up with my cock jutting across my pelvis, and my balls caught in an underwear net.
She tucked a large, gray leather bag into her side. "Nice bag...Is that where you keep all the souls you snack on?"
"Aww..." She hummed, opened the bag, and handed me a granola bar. Another contradiction. "Your face is still unpleasant to look at. How's your shoulder?"
"Fine," I lied through gritted teeth and pushed the bar in her lap. Big mistake. The tips of my fingers brushed over warm, smooth skin. Fuck, her thighs were buttery silk. Movement twitched between my legs. Back the fuck down, buddy. "Despite your best efforts."
Framed by berry red lipstick that my deprived dick volunteered to be an easel for, her toothy, viciously sweet smile appeared. Sparkles glimmered in her warm brown eyes before she blinked them slowly, deliberately. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Bullshit. My nostrils flared. "You dropped me on my head!"
"You dropped yourself on your head." Her foot twitched, drawing my eyes to the swell of her toned calf. Fuck, her legs were killing me. How were they slender, curvy, and carved with deep muscle definition? I needed to stop not-looking at them.
"Doubt you felt it."
I didn't need to see her smirk. Hearing it was enough. Clenching my teeth, I glared at Mike. "Do you see this!? She's–"
"Spirited," he said, chuckling as he held his chin.
"–impossible." Sparks of inner fire simmered behind Mia's closed-off vibe, but I hadn't expected them to be explosive.
"You should know better than to mess with a Texas girl, Sam Pearson."
Candace hooked my ego with those words. Her ass plopped on my lap, sealing my dick's agreement. I was a puppy with a new owner, my heart trailing her sweet, sassy spirit. Mia, however, wasn't flirty or suggestive. Sourced in raw, pure hatred, her insults made her feelings blatantly clear.
"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, stupid, or both to listen to me."
"...You're beyond help."
Six days since this vindictive yoga vixen tried to turn me into a human pretzel, my shoulder still throbbed with aftershocks if wrenched in the wrong direction. I halted my shoulder sessions with Jer, focusing on my lower body, but Mia's class unlocked a new level of torturous rehab.
I should sue her for malpractice.
I also should've written her off as a vindictive bitch and moved forward rehabbing with Jer. Attraction was superficial; she was a beautiful woman with a shit attitude. Why? Why did she feel so strongly against me? What the fuck had I done to her? These burning questions burrowed into my brain, outweighing my usual indifferent response.
That was why I sat in Mike's office, ten minutes from Houston's stadium and team offices. My presence had nothing to do with wanting to find a compromise with yoga, and certainly not a week of thinking about Mia...whatever her last name was.
"Sam..." Michael folded his hands over his desk. "What happened?"
A deep-toned chuckle sounded on my right. "Can't wait to hear this."
I glared at the ripped, dark-skinned man stuffed in his chair. With Mia sucking the life out of the room, I forgot he was present. The lights gleamed on his bald head and sinewed forearms. They crossed over his broad chest nightclub bouncer-style. I shifted my glare between Jer and Michael. "I did what you told me, showed up at the studio. It was a disaster. Mike, I'm revoking your recommendations because they're absolute bullshit."
"Unannounced?" Jer's eyebrows shot up, and he grinned.
"Unannounced." Smug Mia returned, parting her lips with a pink flick of her tongue between the seam. "It was...obscene."
Guilt lodged a lump in my throat, which I swallowed back. Michael wasn't aware of our parking lot encounter, not from my end. I deserved that.
"Sam, you shouldn't have just shown up," Michael started in his diplomatic tone. Before now, he used it to work in my favor, and I squirmed at it directed at me. "But we can't change that. I've heard Mia's side–"
"Mia's side!?" My eyes drifted to her chair, tempted by a desire to outline her profile. Instead, I grunted, crossing one ankle over the other and clasping my knee. "Where did you find her, Mike? She's the most unprofessional fitness instructor I've ever met."
"She's–"
One of Jer's large hands raised in a 'stop' gesture. "I gotta hear this." His full lips grinned with a flash of white teeth. "Proceed, Sam."
"She's-argh!" Squeezing my knee made the veins protrude on my forearms. "I don't know where to fucking start, other than she's cold, bitchy, stick up her ass–"
"I'm right here," she muttered.
"I know," I bit back. "Plotting how you can harm me next. Shoving me in front of a bus when we leave here?"
"You deserve it, insufferable Earl of Asshattery."
Fucking fresh hell, she made me want to–"But how was the class?" At Jer's question, Michael poised a pen over his notepad. "Was she late to start? Ran over? Disorganized in between?"
I dropped my gaze to the white skin stretching over my knuckles. Circling my ankle, the bones popped with a small crack. Tightness squeezed my chest as I dipped my chin down. "No. She was...organized."
Mia's nasal exhale was impossible to read. So was Mike humming as he jotted notes. "Did she present herself professionally? Stop glaring, Mia. It's a valid question."
I grinned at him scolding her. "Yeah."
"And the workout level?" Jer made no attempts to hide his smugness. I practically smelled it oozing from me.
"Yes, did you feel anything?" Mike's eyes met mine.
"Other than pain?"
"Maybe I picked the wrong class?" He frowned at his phone. "No, I did. Beginner Vinyasa Flow, right?"
"Vinyasa for gassy seniors," I corrected with a scowl.
Michael's lips rolled inward, and his eyes darted to Mia.
"Who do you think is mostly available at ten am on a Friday?" She now doodled in her notebook, strategically angled away from my line of vision.
"You put me next to a gas bomb," I reminded her.
Her eyes slanted into narrow slits, and a slight flare expanded her nostrils. "Perhaps you should ask Delores about that before judging her situation."
Wasn't that the fucking pot calling the kettle black?
"Contrary to...whatever this is." Mike's pen pointed between us. "Was Mia professional in class?"
Salty Sally taught the entire class from her head. I knew nothing about yoga, but the physical moves transitioned from one to the other. The next day, my body was more limber and tired. Palming my shoulder, I offered the truth. "Fucking nightmare. She planned the entire thing to injure me."
"How?" Mike's eyebrows drew together. "Did she not engage with the class?"
"No..." With each admission that Mia knew her shit, metaphorically, her boot kicked me in the balls. "Never stopped moving to help people."
"Including you?"
Heat crept up the sides of my neck. Her soft but firm nudges and corrections were professional-level. One more 'yes' answer was too much, so I nodded. The admission clenched my stomach.
"I see." The end of his pen tapped on his notes. "So, she taught an organized, engaging, challenging class where you felt something, gave you options to work around your shoulder, and–"
"And he didn't listen," Jer chimed in his opinion.
"Sam." Mike dropped his pen on his notes, brown eyes warm with sympathy. "I know Mia's a little difficult–"
"Difficult? She's a fucking bitch, Mike. I don't know what the fuck I did to piss her off, but she came in with a laser scope aimed at me, glared at me the whole time, embarrassed the fuck out of me, and threw me out after."
"Tell me how you really feel, Sam," the chill in Mia's voice trickled down the back of my neck. "Finish your mantrum. Can't wait for my turn, you uppity, single-brain cell–"
"Mia, enough," Mike warned her, before registering her words with a frown. "Mantrum?"
"Mantrum." She grunted. "Giant man tantrum."
"I am not–"
Jer interrupted with a low whistle. "I'd throw you out too, if you crashed in, unannounced, and didn't listen to my instructions."
I groaned when he raised his hand behind my back, and Mia slapped a high five. Nice to know whose team he was on.
"Let's finish Sam's class assessment before jumping to opinions." Michael held his impassive face, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a cloth. "Did Mia give options to reduce the load on your shoulder?"
The truth burned a hole through my chest. "Yes."
"Thank you, Sam." Michael's eyes shifted to the she-devil next to me. "Mia, a short synopsis, please."
Slender fingers lifted with each phrase. "He barged in, unannounced, created major distractions during class, and didn't listen to my instructions to help his shoulder. Sam set himself up for further injury and potentially cost me my job. This is after his previous asinine, sexist behavior. He deserved–"
She stopped, but my vision turned red. Heat surged up my neck, and I clenched my hands and molars. "I deserved to get injured!?"
"No..." Pink rose in her cheeks. "Your, umm, not your shoulder."
I scratched my jawline, the hairs tickling under my nails. She meant– "My car. That was you!? You fucking keyed my car!"
"I need popcorn," Jer muttered.
"Mia," Michael's voice was soaked with disappointment. Good.
"He deserved it." She grunted, then flicked her lashes up and looked up at me. "He...Go on. Share with the class, Samuel."
Her use of my full name, using an inward rolling of her lips around the 'm,' surged another rash of heat through me. Sweat tickled my armpits. Tightness pulled at my groin, and I clenched my stomach again. This meeting was going to give me IBS.
Shame burned the tips of my ears. "Uhh, yeah. We had a...previous encounter."
"Oh, hell no!" Mia jolted, standing up out of her seat.
All three of us froze. A Texan woman's 'Oh, hay-ull no' meant an incoming bomb detonation. She looked ready to explode. Pink spread across her cheeks, and her breaths shortened, pitching the swell of those incredible tits. She held her notebook with a death grip, probably wanting to hit me. "Mister President of his own fan club cut me off, stole my parking spot twice, flashed me a lewd gesture, assumed I was a fangirl fingering myself over his autograph, and got me fucking fired!"
"Why am I not recording this?" Jer whispered.
"Wait." My eyebrows squeezed together as I turned to Mia, fully turned. Her lower back arched, lifting her chest and jutting out her ass, but my hand found her forearm. She spewed a lot to process, but one part caused concern to subdue the irritation buzzing in my veins. "You got fired?"
"Never mind." She yanked her arm away. A flash of pain filled her eyes before she averted them, and a husk strained in her voice. "I...didn't mean to say that."
"Calm down." Motioning for Mia to sit, Michael cleared his throat. "Moving forward, taking both your in-person presence here as an act of good faith, I'm proposing a solution that I think will benefit both sides."
I leaned my elbows on my knees, threading my fingers together. In my peripheral vision, Mia flicked her boot. The silence was progress for her, but why didn't she want to tell me she got fired? Was it because of me?
"First." Michael's eyes focused on Mia. "A truce on the jabs. Insults only hinder or impede progress, and I'm not babysitting hurt feelings from name-calling. Fair enough?"
"Fair," I mumbled while Mia nodded.
"Second, Sam will continue to take Mia's classes at the studio..." Michael looked at Jer, who offered a thumbs up.
Why was I being punished? I scrunched my eyebrows. "So she can single me out and embarrass me in public? No thanks."
"Quiet, Sam," Mia whispered. "The adults are talking."
I dragged a hand down my face, cursing this pistol loaded, cocked, and aimed at my ego.
"Mia, you'll provide class routines to Jeremiah. He'll verify that nothing is detrimental to Sam's shoulder." With no protest from her, Michael looked at me. "And Sam, you'll follow all of Mia's suggested modifications when necessary."
"I'll need access to his medical records." Mia paused when Mike's wide eyes mirrored mine and crinkled her nose. "Only the shoulder ones. Jeremiah can keep the disgusting STD results."
Jer's chuckle was the only affirmation I needed. After four years of being monogamous, I was clean. With nothing to hide, I shrugged. "Fair. But I don't want to be lying down or singled out."
Her chest rising, Mia sucked in a sharp breath. "No. In my class, I have the right to assess anyone at risk of injury."
"How many classes do you recommend for Sam?" Mike asked.
Her eyes flicked to me, and her lips rolled inward. My skin tingled where her gaze outlined my shoulder. Surprisingly, instead of driving me over a cliff, she offered, "Three to four times per week."
"I can't go to the studio that much." I groaned.
"How about Houston's gym facilities? There's room–"
"No," Mia and I answered in unison.
Jer offered the most ridiculous suggestion. No fucking way I wanted my teammates catching me doing yoga. Or worse, hit on her. His jaw almost snapped off at the sight of Mia, stumbling over his handshake and biting his lagging tongue.
"Let's do it at my house."
I sucked in a breath, blinking at the shocked silence. Fuck, why did I suggest that? I was too nice. Dryness coated my throat, which I cleared when Mia's eyes rounded. "I have a personal gym. I'll...uhh, buy whatever shit you need."
"That could work?" Michael prompted her with raised eyebrows.
"No, it won't." The stubborn mule frowned. A defensive response swelled in my chest, but Michael flashed his palm at me. "My classes..." Mia's eyes averted, and her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. "I can't, Michael."
"Thought you were fired." I snorted, earning a glare from Michael and a smack in the arm from Jer.
Any softness that edged her face hardened. Her eyebrows drew together, wrinkled the space between them, and her mouth pulled down. Ice coated each word she spat, "Not the studio one."
I blinked at what she implied. She was fired from Midfield? Why? Explained why she wasn't listed in their directory. I thought it was because I didn't look under Satan's Mistress.
"Beyond the point." Michael coughed. "Here's a compromise. Sam attends two of Mia's studio classes, blending in, and Mia avoids shoulder-wrenching positions. Once per week, Mia comes to Sam's for a one-on-one focus, addressing whatever he needs...without the creative swear words Sam inspires in her."
"I can make that work." I ran my hand over my beard. "She has to sign an NDA."
"Whatever he needs?" Mia's eyes narrowed. "I should be looking for a new job, and sure as fuck am not doing this for the pleasure of Pencil Dick's company."
Despite another hurled insult, her unhappiness shot satisfaction through me. About time it was reciprocated.
"For Mia's commitment and discretion, Sam will pay Mia's Midfield salary." Michael doused my satisfaction, sounding more like Mia's agent than mine. A whole week's salary for three hours' worth of work was excessive. "Hold up," I said when his hand sliced over his throat, and his glare cut me off. Mike never challenged me, instead bending over backward too much to indulge my requests. So, I shut up.
Mia shifted in her seat. Her eyes dropped to where she picked on her index finger's cuticle. It was ripped off, and her nail stub was lined red. After a few moments of silence, her lips pursed. "Fine."
"Sam?" Michael gave me a 'take the deal, idiot' look.
"Deal."
"Good. Simone will draft the contract agreement for your signatures by the end of the day." He pulled out his phone.
Jer sat up straight at the mention of my lawyer. Man crushed hard, with zero chance given the messy divorce Simone battled through.
"We'll talk tonight." Michael's words caught my attention, but he looked at Mia. "Jer, get Mia what she needs and see her out. Sam, a word, please."
"I have one more condition." The smug undertones in Mia's voice raised my suspicions.
"Fucking hell." I squeezed my hands into fists. "You're getting my money. What more do you want? An autograph?"
"Sam," Mike cut in.
Drawing her shoulders down and lifting her chin, she returned to my chair. Hovering taller than me, she palmed my armrest, leaning over. Her V-neck top dipped. Don't look. I looked. My peripheral view was phenomenal. Saliva pooling below my tongue, I forced my eyes on hers. They flamed with equal parts heat and attitude. "Sam has to admit he needs me."
"What?" I barked out a laugh. "For a small studio yoga teacher, you've got–"
"Finite patience," she interrupted and pulled upright. Her hip curved a mouth-watering line that jutted out. She rested her hand there, fingers tapping. "I'm waiting, Sam."
A side look at Michael showed an open-handed gesture. Swallowing the room's worth of humility, I grunted out the words she wanted to hear. They left a horrible taste. "I need you, Mia."
Her sugary sweet smile returned, and the softness from her palm patted my cheek. "Good boy."
Escorting her out, Jer suffocated from not laughing. His broad shoulders pitched, and a vein popped on his neck. Silence followed them until Jer shut the door. I unlocked my clenched jaw the second the door clicked. Jumping up, I stomped back and forth. How was I the one fucked over here? Swinging tight fists, I couldn't believe it. "Mike, what the fuck did you convince me of? I don't need yoga, and I sure as fuck don't need her!"
He leaned back and sighed. "Then why did you–"
"Why the fuck are you so close to this bitch?" I threw my hands up, wanting to smash them into his office furniture until it was sawdust. "Now I'm paying her!? Mia is–"
"Breathe, Sam. Sit down. And don't call her a bitch," Mike warned in a low, smooth tone. "She's my sister."
On a scale of 1 to 10, how likely are these two going to work peacefully together?