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“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I can almost hear the panic in my voice.
“What does it look like?” Julia squints at me like maybe I’m incredibly stupid. “I told you I was going to do yoga since you won’t let me go for a run.” She bends forward, her hands walking out to the end of the mat.
“Right there?” I’m trying to keep the alarm out of my voice but she presses her hips down into the mat, arching her spine. Jesus Christ.
“Where else would you like me to do it?” she asks. “Should I go use the private yoga studio in my imaginary basement? If we’re creating like, a dream workout space, can you just pop a smoothie bar in there too?”
“You’re such a smart ass,” I say, shaking my head as I force myself to focus on my reading app as she comes back to a standing position.
“I’m almost finished. If you don’t fucking like it, I’d be happy to tell you where to shove it,” she says in a saccharine sweet voice. I glance up and she bats her eyelashes at me, grabbing her long ponytail in two fists and pulling to tighten it.
Idofucking like it.
That’s the Goddamn problem.
I like it so much that now I can’t stand up without popping a tent in my pants. A five-star tent. A tent so sturdy, they would immortalize it in the camping hall of fame for its indestructibility.
Tuna sits a few feet away, her back paw in the air as she hunches over, licking her butt while staring me down with her resentful eyes. Apparently, she’s on boner patrol and this vulgar display is how she’s going to punish me for my lack of self-control. Eventually she gets up and decides to wind herself under and around Julia. I swear that cat is mocking me, highlighting all the ways she can touch Julia and I can’t. I’ve never truly had an arch nemesis before.
I try to focus on my phone, I really do. I try to ignore the way Julia stretches, arches, and twists. I try to ignore the slip of skin that peeks out the back of her tank top when she moves.
I want to track down the creator of the yoga pant and slap them in the mouth. Or shake their hand. I’m conflicted about that. But if I thought watching Julia wiggle on the floor yesterday as she tried to retrieve her cell phone was hard, this is the seventh circle of hell.
It’s particularly miserable to be turned on while trying to read an exposé on corruption in the oil and gas industry. In all of this world, could there be a more boner-killing topic?
No.
Not that it’s helping my situation one bit.
Each time she presses her hands into the mat, slowly lifting her torso off the floor, back arched, it takes a minute off of my life. I keep telling myself she has to be nearly done, but apparently yoga is a marathon, not a sprint.
“Your phone must have done something pretty shitty to deserve the look you’re giving it,” Julia says, exhaling and moving her arms through a pose that has her balancing on one foot, the sole of the other pressed to her inner thigh.
“Just a book.” I reply, unwilling to tell her I wasn’t scowling because of anything on the phone.
“Maybe you need a better book.” She grins at me as she walks her feet out, spreading her legs wide. She folds herself in half, pressing her hands into the mat. This level of torture should have been banned in the Geneva Convention.
Finally, mercifully, she wraps it up, rolling up the mat, and giving Tuna chin scratches before disappearing. I’m seriously contemplating sneaking off to the bathroom to rub one out. If I thought it would help for more than five seconds, I probably would.
Before I can decide, she reappears in the sweater and leggings she was wearing this morning and settles herself on the love seat with her Kindle. I try to keep my eyes on my phone but can’t focus on the words. I was already on edge, and now every sound coming from outside Julia’s house is grinding against my senses. I’m not the kind of guy who gets jittery or anxious, but I’m feeling pent up in more ways than one.
Julia loses herself in her book, tucking her feet underneath her on the little couch. Now and then I glance up to see her smirking at the e-reader or chuckling. I get through a couple chapters of my own book, though I certainly couldn’t write a book report on it.
The sun is setting, casting long golden shadows in the living room when Julia snaps the cover shut on the Kindle. Every muscle in my body twitches at the sharp sound.
“Done!” she announces, setting the reader aside. “I can cross book club prep off my list, and now I literally have nothing to do for the next four days.” She melts back into the couch, staring at the ceiling dramatically. I could think of a couple things I’d like to do with her… but I keep them to myself.
After a beat, she sits up, looking around the room and muttering something like, “Can’t sit around one more second.”
Julia stands up and stretches, crossing the room toward the kitchen. Just as she’s walking past me, there’s a loud bang just outside the front of the house. Without thinking, I lunge for her. Her eyes go wide and she shrieks as I wrap my arms around her, cradling her head as I pull her to the ground. I land hard on my knee and it screams in pain, but I do my best to cover her, anyway.
Tuna yowls and bolts from the room like the devil is on her heels as Julia’s body makes a thud against the floor, the air whooshing out of her, hard. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize I may have been too rough in my haste to get her down. She’s certainly nowhere near as big as my old sparring buddies.
Julia gasps for air beneath me, the wind knocked out of her. I shift my body weight to the side, angling my bulk to protect her from the front side of the house without crushing her. She smacks my shoulder, trying to shift me as I cover her head.
“You- you idi- idiot,” she pants against my neck. “My neighbor- car backfires.”
Oh… shit. I am an idiot. Iknowthe difference between a car backfiring and a gunshot. I’ve just been so on edge. Not that that’s an excuse for making stupid mistakes.
