The Broken Hearts' Society of Suite 17C Page 14

  She glanced back at Arielle when she was almost to the door. Arielle spread her hands, palms up. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

  “What’s the problem? This is the same Lauren you told us about from class, right?” Damn her, that little small town church girl was perceptive. And just sent Arielle a wicked wink over her shoulder.

  With Lauren standing right there, listening for her answer, maybe even caring whether she wanted to stay or go…there was no way she could say no.

  Did she want to take a kickboxing class, and have Lauren watch her sweat and stumble all over herself? Absolutely freaking not. Did she want to make Lauren think she wasn’t interested in spending time with her? Nope on that front, too. Did she want to have the conversation with Lauren about how conflicted she was, and why? Hell no. There was really nothing to be done. She had to stay.

  She sighed.

  “Everything okay?” Lauren asked, genuine concern on her face.

  “Yeah…I mean, no…I mean…geez, it’s like I can’t even talk whenever you’re here.” Had she seriously just said that? It was like she was admitting to Lauren’s face that she couldn’t think straight around her. Arielle took a deep breath. Get it together, Ari. “I just…I’ve always been pretty unsuccessful at exercise.”

  “Okay …”

  “I mean... I’ve tried ballet, swimming, spinning, running, pilates, yoga. I usually end up falling or hurting myself somehow, and ending up worse off than I started. I’m a disaster. I mean, you should see my legs. They’re full of bruises. I can’t even walk without injuring myself.”

  “Well,” Lauren said, her eyes sparkling with quiet amusement, “luckily, we mostly stay in place in this class. Hardly any foot movements required.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Dead serious. Stay, okay? I really want you to stay.”

  Oh God, Lauren’s hand was on her back now. Brushing down the strap of her sad excuse for a sports bra.

  “If you’re horrible, you don’t have to come back. And I’ll personally make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

  Arielle was absolutely mesmerized by the way Lauren’s lips moved when she said those last words. “Okay. Just this one class.”

  “Okay,” Lauren smiled, then crossed the mat, where a whole row of girls was busy stretching. They bent over and flattened their palms to the ground, then stood and pulled their heels to their butts, then crouched into deep squats, making all of it look effortless, even relaxing. Any one of those movements would make Arielle tip over like a drunk elephant.

  Lauren motioned for Arielle to join them, then said in her ear. “Just follow their lead. You’ll be great.”

  Then, as she moved away, Lauren’s voice morphed from her soft, patient one into that of a drill sergeant after three cups of coffee. “Okay ladies, warm up is on the wall! Let’s get it done!” The mat wasn’t large, but when the girls started jogging laps around it, Arielle suppressed a groan. She fell into line and copied their movements. By the time they’d jogged around the mat twice, side shuffled up one side and down the other, done the same with lunges, and finished 20 jumping jacks, Arielle had broken a sweat and badly needed a drink of water. All the other girls looked ready to start punching something.

  Lauren was literally the only reason she was still standing there. And as she thought that, Arielle was surprised to find that the idea didn’t bother her that much.

  “Now find your bag!” Lauren tossed a pair of boxing gloves to Arielle, and she fumbled to get them on her hands like everyone else in the class. Each of the girls took their place in front of a big punching bag, bouncing on their toes and holding their gloves up to their faces. Lauren clapped and let out a loud whoop.

  “Okay girls, we’re gonna kill it today, am I right?” Lauren’s voice was solid, strong, and commanding. Energy vibrated off of her, seemingly transferring to every other girl in the room. They kept bouncing, and one or two glared at their bags.

  “Imagine your person or thing, okay? We’re gonna kick the shit out of it today and make it wish it never messed with you. Hands up, ladies! Our first combination is jab, jab cross. Nice and easy to start out. And…go!”

  ‘Person or thing?’ What in the …? But all Arielle had to do was glance around the room to figure out what Lauren meant. Each of the girls was furiously whaling on their punching bag with looks ranging from rage to determined hatred. This was the same as tossing darts at a photo of your ex, but with far more practical application. This was actually teaching them to fight, if they ever felt like they had to. Making them stronger.

  Arielle stepped up to the bag and held her gloves up in front of her face, trying to mimic what she’d seen Lauren do. The obvious face to imagine plastered on that bag was Rachel’s. Rachel, who had so seriously screwed her over, who had ruined her life, who had gotten her stuck here at a school where she couldn’t possibly find a place to fit in, where she didn’t really belong. Who had blinded her to any self-interest other than the one that involved a future with Rachel, together. Forever.

  In the second it took for her to think all that, she knew she was angry—no, royally pissed off—at herself. For being so stupid, for being so…in love. She’d thought it a million times, but hadn’t really felt the implication. She was rapidly falling in love with someone with no proof that she was actually out of the closet. She’d banked her entire future on someone who wasn’t comfortable enough with herself to envision her own future.

  Rachel had loved her—she was sure of it. But she hadn’t loved Arielle enough to risk her own future to be with her—or what she saw as risk, anyway. And Arielle hadn’t respected herself enough to find that out about Rachel before she’d gone all in.

  Yep. There was only one person Arielle was royally pissed off at, disappointed in, maybe even hated—herself.

  The anger bubbled up as pure hot energy, shooting through her body and exploding out through her gloved hands. The horrible stew of pain, grief, regret, self-realization, and blame had simmered for too long, and started to boil over—and the bag was the perfect target.

  Her fist shot out and slammed against the bag. She winced, expecting pain, but all she got was the solid thud of her glove against the firm column, which gave a little when she pushed. Oh, damn. That felt good. She couldn’t imagine Rachel’s face there, and she certainly couldn’t imagine her own—even she didn’t hate herself that much—but instead, the bag held a list of every stupid decision she’d made, every immature presumption she’d held about who she was and who she wanted to be. Then, every indecision—she was such a dumbass for not knowing what she actually wanted to do with her life when she came here, for counting on one single person to shape her entire future. Sure, she’d made excuses and reasoned—her mom and dad met in high school and married pretty much right after college. Why shouldn’t she and Rachel have been the same?

  “Aaaand, stop!” Lauren’s voice broke her train of thought, and as all the girls stepped back from their bags, Arielle did too. She was surprised to find herself out of breath, with burning arms and belly muscles, her chest already breaking out in a thin sheen of sweat.

  “Your next combination is jab, cross, hook, hook.”

  When Lauren called for everyone to go, the girls started to bob and dance around their bags, their fists flashing around and to the side, their feet pivoting so fast Arielle couldn’t catch the movement.

  “Looking awesome!” Lauren called as she walked down the mat, right up to Arielle. Lauren hovered behind her, and that light flowered scent of hers made it almost impossible for Arielle to focus on hitting the bag.

  Once again, Lauren’s fingertips brushed lightly on her shoulders, almost making her forget where she was. “Pause for a minute. You want to use your torso to twist and propel your shoulders around. Then your arm can punch forward instead of twisting in that weird way. Otherwise you could end up pulling something. Let me see you try again,” Lauren said, stepping back and watching.

  “I told you I’m
hopeless. I have no idea what you were talking about with the jabs or whatever.”

  “I kind of figured that from watching you on the first round, but you looked so into it I really didn’t want to kill your mojo. Looked like you had some steam to blow off.” There it was again, that sparkle in her eyes that was so gorgeous, yet maddening, because it told Arielle there was more behind her words. Maybe the kind of “more” she was hoping for.

  Do not do this to yourself again, Arielle. Don’t move too soon, too fast. Don’t make one girl your everything, without even making sure this is what she wants.

  But that was damn hard to keep thinking when those cool, delicate hands rested so lightly on her shoulders again, sending the kind of electricity down her shoulders that would make someone swoon and beg for more.

  “Let me help you out,” Lauren said. Arielle could swear her voice was lower, softer. More careful. “Think strong arms, okay? You want that bicep to be focused, strong. Not flopping around like a fish out of water.”

  Arielle grimaced. A fish out of water was exactly what she was, and this class was a spectacular example. It was hard to stay pissed off at Amy for dragging here here, though, when her little puppy-love-induced oversight had resulted in Lauren running her hands over Arielle’s bare shoulders. Stop it, you bitch hormones.

  “Try again,” Lauren said, a bit firmer. “Twist from here.” Lauren’s hands moved down to her waist, and Arielle had two choices—focus on the bag, or say to hell with it and turn around to kiss Lauren. Arielle darted an arm out, keeping tension in her muscles, and was rewarded with a much more satisfying smack.

  “Good. Now do the same with the back foot.”

  “The what?”

  “When you do this,” Lauren said, moving a quarter turn further behind her and moving her hands so quickly and smoothly that Arielle barely saw it coming. But, oh dear Lord, Lauren’s hands were now firmly gripping her hips. Just like they’d be if she was about to…no. There was no way she could think of that. Not here.

  With firm hands, Lauren twisted her hips to the side, making Arielle’s knees twist awkwardly. A sharp pain stabbed through the top of her shin.

  “Okay,” Lauren laughed. “You are definitely going to have to loosen up.” Lauren’s hands slid down the outside of Arielle’s thighs, past her knees, over her calves. Arielle wondered if Lauren could feel them turning to wobbly jelly right beneath her fingers. Lauren’s fingers wrapped around her ankles, cool and sure. Why hadn’t anyone ever told her the ankles were erogenous zones? How had she never realized that someone gripping her ankles could send her into a tailspin of a sex-crazed stupor?

  Before she knew it, Lauren had twisted her feet to line up with her hips, and Lauren was saying something about strong arms and hooking around the bag like a bear hug. Arielle nodded like she was taking it all in, but Lauren’s touch had managed to bewitch her so intensely, that she didn’t even really care that she had to exercise to get it.

  Arielle wanted more.

  Well, at least there were—Arielle glanced at the huge clock on the wall and groaned inwardly—thirty minutes of this class left. With her arms burning and her legs starting to feel like rubber, Arielle wondered what more these girls could possibly handle. But they did.

  Every time Lauren called, “Break!” the girls stepped back from their bags, but no more than thirty seconds later, she barked “Lunges!” or “Sit ups!” and the girls fell into whatever activity she called at such a frantic, automatic pace that Arielle would have sworn they were cyborgs. Especially because she moved at about a third the pace as they did, and with so much difficulty that she seriously couldn’t understand how they did a squat more than once. In their lives.

  But at least, between the excruciating rounds of crunches, lunges, leg lifts, pushups, wall sits, and some horribly torturous thing Lauren called burpees, there were more kickboxing rounds. And the way Lauren laughed and smiled every time she had to grab Arielle’s hips and wrench them back into position, or circle her wrist with one hand and grab the elbow with the other, those amazing shivers went through her whole body.

  Better yet, even though the combinations that Arielle was attempting to do well only involved three or four moves at a time—jab, side kick, knee, or elbow, roundhouse, front kick—the movements were so far from natural for her that it was all she could do to keep up the pattern consistently. Repeating the names of the moves over and over took so much mental energy that everything else was blocked out—that is, until Lauren touched her.

  So, even though every second of physical activity was excruciating, the rhythm of the absence of all the anxious thoughts that had consumed her for the past four weeks, then the all-consuming sensation of Lauren’s hands on her body, was almost intoxicating. It was like she’d stepped into a dream world where the only things that mattered were physically discharging her frustrations, and being aware of just one other person.

  Finally, Lauren called, “Aaaand, you’re done! Strong work, ladies! I’ll see you in two days!”

  Arielle looked down at her shirt, which she’d had to repeatedly tug down throughout the session as it crept up her hips. She made a face at the wet half-oval of sweat that had formed at the collar and arched down to her boobs. She wondered if there were stripes of sweat on her back or—oh, God—on her inner thighs. These were cotton yoga pants, looser and floppier than the tight capris the other girls wore. And her toenail polish…chipped to oblivion. She was such a mess.

  And yet, as the other girls called their thanks and goodbyes to Lauren, Lauren was quietly watching Arielle.

  Suddenly, Arielle felt shaky, but not because of the workout.

  She fumbled for her messenger bag, reflexively checking for her phone, her keys, her ID holder. Trying to give herself something to focus on while she waited to see what would happen. She wanted to talk to Lauren. Wanted to spend more time with her outside of class. Kickboxing class would be one way to do it—she should be grateful to Matt for the connection.

  But instead, she was acutely aware of how gross and smelly she was. How, if she was going to dream up a way to get closer to Lauren, this would have been at the bottom of her list of ideas.

  Arielle brought herself back to full height, and realized that the room was empty except for her and Lauren. Who was standing two steps away from her. Because she’d walked over, by herself. Because she’d wanted to.

  Arielle’s head spun even as she commanded herself to keep it on straight. Don’t say anything stupid. Maybe don’t say anything at all.

  Her mouth betrayed her, though. “Well that was—”

  But at the same time, Lauren blurted, “I’m really glad you—”

  “I’m sorry,” both girls said again, in unison. They laughed, even though Lauren’s gaze seemed dead serious.

  Arielle finally had a brilliant thought—drink water. Probably it was scientifically impossible to blurt out stupid shit in front of your crush when your mouth was full of water. Hopefully.

  “You’re gonna want to make sure you drink a lot of water today. It’ll take your body awhile to make up for all the hard work you did.”

  Arielle sighed. “Yeah. Eight cups a day, right?”

  “Even more for you, since you’re not used to this kind of thing.”

  “Hey, how do you know? Didn’t I look like a killer out there?” Arielle gave her a teasing smile.

  Lauren threw her head back and laughed, then reached up to pull out her ponytail, refastening it in a slightly more put-together looking bun. The length of her hair—halfway down her back—and the practiced movement of her fingers as they flicked around the elastic seriously took Arielle’s breath away. How could one girl be so smart, so funny, so sweet, so athletic, and so graceful? “You look good,” Lauren said. “Don’t get me wrong. Clearly you’re in shape.”

  Lauren’s eyes skirted down the curve of Arielle’s hip and she could have sworn they lingered on her butt. She was not in shape, but coming from Lauren, there was no way in hell she was
going to argue.

  Yeah, she had it bad.

  “Clearly I’m a disaster. Sorry you had to spend so much time, uh…you know. With your hands on me.”

  There were a million ways Arielle could have said that—‘helping me,’ ‘positioning me,’ ‘fixing my horrible form’—and instead she said it in the damn sexiest way she possibly could have.

  But her words seemed to bring out the sparkle in Lauren’s eye again. The one she had when she was amused, patient. Waiting for more. Could she …?

  “I didn’t mind.” Lauren’s slight smile stayed steady, her eyes focused on Arielle’s. Arielle waited for the followup—“It happens to lots of people,” or “Most people start out needing help,” or even “This stuff can be tough.” But there was nothing. Just Lauren’s waiting. Watching.

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about it again,” Arielle chuckled, pointing her eyes to the floor. “Clearly this was not my kind of class.” She started off toward the door, and Lauren quickened her steps to catch up.

  “Wait. What do you mean?”

  Arielle’s stomach flipped and she slowed to let Lauren fall in beside her.

  “You have to come back. The second time is easier for everyone.”

  Arielle raised an eyebrow. “If you can tell me that again and promise you’re being completely honest, I will.”

  Lauren’s eye contact dropped. She looked to the side and let out a breath with a telltale fall of her shoulders.

  Arielle grinned triumphantly. “I knew it! I knew I was a disaster!”

  “Well, I had to keep moving you around the whole time just so you wouldn’t hurt yourself,” Lauren admitted. “If you don’t stand the right way, pivot your hips enough, you can seriously get injured.”

  That just brought Arielle’s mind back to the memory of Lauren’s hands firm on her hips, and she swallowed. Keep talking.

  “Exactly. I’m a disaster, and I’m not going to do that to you again.” She started back toward the door. So close now. So few seconds for the direction of this whole thing, whatever it was, to remain static or change everything.