Etienne gave her a solid pat on the back and walked into the half bathroom to change.
“So how far do youtypically run?” asked Etienne as he stretched his quads.
“Three to five miles. Just depends.”
“All right. Let’s stick with three tonight.”
The night was cool and humid, and streetlamps lit their wayalong Carrollton Ave. The pair started off at a slow, comfortable pace. Ophelia had never run with another person, or without music, or at night, so she wasn’t confident that this particular run would help center her. But she focused on Etienne’s breathing. It was easier to listen tohisbreath. Listening to her own breath caused her to critique herself. His breathing had a nice cadence.
About a mile in, she was lost in the pounding rhythm of their feet on pavement and the musicality of Etienne’s breath. It was so freeing to be lost like that. Present.
They ran up the levee, pumping their arms till they reached the top and doubled over, gasping for breath.
“Oh my gosh,” said Ophelia.
“Feels good, huh?”
She laughed. “Yeah. I know you want me to admit that you were right, but I’m not quite ready to do that.”
“Take your time, O. I’ll wait.” Etienne smiled at her, and Ophelia couldn’t breathe. His smile could kill her. When Etienne smiled, it was like witnessing a natural phenomenon. His typical stoic face transformed into dimples, white teeth, full lips stretched wide, light wrinkles around his eyes, and warmth exuding from his brown irises.
“Ready to keep going?” he asked. She nodded in response, and they set off again.
Once they were back at her house, Ophelia poured them both giant glasses of cold water from the fridge and grabbed two hand towels to wipe off their sweat. Downing his water quickly, Etienne turned to Ophelia. “All right. Treat my old man neck now.” Ophelia looked at him with caution. “Come on,” he said. “Now is the time before you get too in your head. Stay in the present.”
“Fine,” she said, placing her glass in the kitchen sink. “Turn around.” Etienne did as he was told. Ophelia looked at his muscular neck, which was now framed by wet curls. “Umm…Actually, you’re too tall for me to do this here. Go sit on the couch again.”
“O, I’m filthy and sweaty. I’m not going to stink up your couch. Sit on the counter if you need to.”
Ophelia hopped up on her kitchen island as Etienne turned his back to her. “Okay, this is better.” She reached for his shoulders and pulled him closer toward her. She realized how intimate the position was as she stared at her tan, bare legs framing the back of his torso. She felt a familiar flutter but forced it back down and started to center herself.
His neck muscles were slightly looser from the run, but still tense. She ran her thumbs over the muscle, stroking the tension out of his neck. His skin was damp with sweat, so she didn’t need the oil anymore. She lost herself in the motion and let her mind go to that long-lost space. She was clear-headed and open to his pain, sensing it mainly on the upper right side of his neck. Breathing in and out, she pulled on that internal, invisible string, and her body tingled all over with a type of release that was almost spiritual as she felt the tension dissolve from his neck.
She opened her eyes and slowly removed her hands from his neck, audibly sighing as she felt her magic course freely through her body.
Etienne turned around to face her, which meant she was now straddling him, physically closer than they had ever been. Etienne’s face looked conflicted, like he was trying to read Ophelia’s reaction to the moment.
She broke the silence first. “Does it feel better?”
Etienne’s lip curved into a half smile. “It does. You did it.”
“Thank you for helping me,” she said barely above a whisper. She felt exhausted and weepy.
“You’re welcome. But the real question is, do you feel better?”
Ophelia steeled herself. “I feel a little lighter. The weight on my chest is less, and I’m not itchy anymore, so that’s good.”
Etienne stepped out of her space. “Good. Let me know if you want to practice more. You’ll be back at it in no time.”
She jumped off the counter. “Actually, do you want to meet again? Maybe regular lessons until I get my practice up? I alsowant to talk to you about how you do things. I feel like there is still so much to learn.”
“Sure. Wednesday nights are probably the best for me. Does that work for you?”
Ophelia smiled, pleased with her plan. “It does.”
“Cool. Well, it’s getting late, and I have an early shift, so I’d better get going.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
