I begin to lay my mat down directly in front of the instructor, but Hardin grabs my arm to stop me. “No way, we’re sitting in the back,” he says, and I see the instructor’s face alight with a slight smile at his words.
“What? Sitting in the back of the class for yoga? No, I always sit in the front.”
“Exactly. We’re sitting in the back,” he repeats and takes my mat from my hands to head to the back of the room.
“If you are going to be grumpy, you shouldn’t stay,” I whisper to him.
“I’m not grumpy.”
The instructor waves and introduces herself to us as Marla when we take a seat on our mats, and afterward Hardin claims with certainty that she’s high, which makes me giggle. This is going to be a fun class.
However, as the room fills with girls in tight yoga pants and tiny tank tops who all seem to glance or stare at Hardin, I get steadily less Zen. Of course he’s the only male. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice the heaps of female attention he’s receiving. Either that, or he’s just very used to it—that has to be it. He gets attention like this all of the time. It’s not like I blame the girls, but he’s my boyfriend and they need to look elsewhere. I know some of the girls are looking at him because of his tattoos and piercings; they must be wondering why the heck he’s taking a yoga class.
“Okay, everyone! Let’s get started!” the instructor calls through the room.
She introduces herself as Marla to everyone else and gives a short speech about why and how she got into teaching yoga.
“She’s never going to shut up, is she?” Hardin groans after a few minutes.
“Eager to pose, are you?” I raise my brow.
“Pose what?” he asks.
“First we’ll begin with a few stretches,” Marla says just then.
Hardin sits still on the floor while everyone else mimics her actions. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
“You are supposed to be stretching,” I scold him, and he shrugs but doesn’t move.
Then, in a singsong voice, Marla calls Hardin out. “You in the back, join us.”
“Erm . . . sure,” he mumbles and uncrosses his long legs and stretches them in front and attempts to reach his toes.
I force myself to look toward the front of the room and away from Hardin to prevent the laughter that is fighting to surface.
“You’re supposed to touch your toes,” the blond girl next to Hardin says.
“Trying,” he says with an overly saccharine smile.
Why did he even respond to her—and why am I so jealous? She giggles at him while the image of me slamming her head against the wall plays on repeat in my mind. I always lecture Hardin about his temper, but here I am planning this whore’s murder . . . and calling her a whore even though I don’t know her.
“I can’t really see clearly, I’m going to move up,” I tell Hardin.
He looks surprised as he speaks. “Why? I wasn’t—”
“It’s nothing, I just want to be able to see and hear what’s going on,” I explain and drag my mat a few feet, stopping directly in front of Hardin.
I sit down and finish stretching with the group. I don’t have to turn around to see the look on Hardin’s face.
“Tess,” he hisses, trying to get my attention, but I don’t turn around. “Tessa.”
“Let’s begin with the downward-dog pose—it’s very simple and a basic one,” Marla says.
I bend down, place my palms against the mat, and look at Hardin through the space between my stomach and the floor. He’s standing still with his mouth open.
Once more Marla notices Hardin’s lack of movement. “Hey, man, you thinking of joining us in yoga?” she asks jokingly. If she does it again, I won’t be surprised if he curses her out in front of the entire class. I close my eyes and shift my hips so I’m bending over completely.
“Tessa,” I hear him say again. “The-reeee-sa.”
“What, Hardin? I’m trying to concentrate,” I say, looking at him again.
He’s now leaning over, attempting to do the pose, but his long body is bent at an awkward angle and I can’t help but burst into laughter.
“Shut up, would you!” he snaps, and I laugh louder.
“You are terrible at this,” I tease.
“You are distracting me,” he says through his teeth.
“I am? How?” I love having the upper hand with Hardin, because it doesn’t happen often.
“You know how, minx,” he whispers. I know the girl next to him can hear us, but I don’t care, I hope she does.
“Move your mat, then.” I purposely stand up to stretch and bend back down into the pose.
“You move . . . you’re the one toying with me.”
“Teasing,” I correct him, using his words from minutes ago against him.
“Okay, let’s move into a halfway lift,” Marla says.
I stand again then bend at my waist, putting my hands flat on my knees and making sure my back is at a ninety-degree angle.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hardin groans at the sight of my bottom practically right in front of his face. I turn around to look at him and see that he isn’t remotely doing the pose correctly; he has his hands on his knees but his back is almost straight.
“Okay! Now for the forward fold,” our instructor calls, and I bend down, folding my body.
“It’s really like she wants me to fuck you right in front of everyone,” he says, and I snap my head up to make sure no one heard him.