“I guess it is hot yoga. How horrible can it be? I mean, it’s hot outside, so we’re already used to it, right?” I steal a moment to glance out the window at a manmade lake while mat space grows quickly scarce in the oversized studio.
“Serena”—Harley says my name tight while closing her eyes as if she’s reached the edge of the universe with me—“they heat the room to over a hundred degrees, and they keep the humidity up to forty percent!”
“So, in other words, it’s exactly like our dorm room in the summer. Come on, you little pansy, before I get you some cheese to go with that whine.”
“Fine”—she hisses as we tread in past the perfectly toned bodies—“but you owe me.”
“Name your price.” There’s always the off-chance she could ask for something completely reasonable. “I have zero problems making all of your dreams come true.” I never said I wasn’t above lying. There is a murder investigation in the balance, for Pete’s sake. One in whichIam the number one suspect! It wasn’t Shep who was tussling with Barry Larson, slapping him with my lips. It was me. If the suspect list were reversed, I’m sure Harley wouldn’t have a problem dispensing a tiny white lie.
“Great,” she whispers, rolling out her personal mat while I pick up one of the extra mats they have in a pile next to us. “We’ll do a double date. You and Shep with Tyson and me—The Sloppy Pelican and a movie.”
I choke on the flood of protest begging to dislodge from me all at once. “Shep and I don’t date,” I say it lower than a whisper. “We’re keeping things below deck for a while.” As in an eternity.
“Below deck?” Harley arches a devilish brow. “Sounds perfectly kinky,” she roars like the insane person she’s turning out to be. Honestly, if she keeps this up, I’ll have to sleep with one eye open. There is a murderer running loose, and for all I know it’s Harley. She was present the night of Barry Larson’s unfortunate demise. And by the way, if I thought I was pissed at Barry that night for getting in my way, I’m ten times more livid over the fact he got himself killed and managed to pin the blame on me.
“No double date.”
“You owe me. It’s non-negotiable. So tell me, Serena, does Shep like to venture below deck?” She glances down at my thighs for a brief, yet raunchy moment.
“Let’s just say West Virginia is his favorite state.”
She rolls her eyes. “I knew he was perfect.”
Oh, he is, but I’m still too stubborn to say it.
Belinda saunters into the room, and instantly the buzz dies down, and all eyes are feasted on her impeccable form. She’s fit and tan. Her brown hair clings tight in neat little ringlets that she quickly pulls back into a perfect bun without looking. She swoops into the first position and makes it look effortless—so does Harley, but when I attempt to parrot the contortion, I don’t even get halfway down before I begin to arch my back and groan like an eighty-year-old granny. And in defense of eighty-year-old grannies everywhere, there are about six of them in here handling these moves like the geriatric badasses they are.
The torment goes on for what feels like fifteen excruciating days in the ass-crack of hell. I’ve sweated out my body weight, and not one ounce was due to the extraneous maneuvers I refused to endure. After about the fourth pose—okay, second—I decided one of us in the room needed to live to tell the horrific tale, thus I’ve dubbed myself the necessary survivor.
Harley rolls up her mat, and all I can see from this angle are her tiny little pink toenails manicured into perfect squares like the Chiclets gum I used to shake at the end of the grocery store line to make my mother insane. Who knew that death rattle would eventually drive her thousands of miles away from her children?
“Hey”—Harley wags her bronzed foot in my face, and I’m quick to bat her away—“this place is clearing out. Don’t you have a bone to pick with someone?” She ticks her head toward Belinda. “I’ll meet you outside.”
I muster the strength to lift my soaking wet body off the mat of doom and somehow manage to shuffle my way to the front of the class where Belinda is singing softly to herself, hopping from one leg to the other while filling her gym bag with the superfluous props she brought to mock us in our misery. This will be the last time I do something akin to an alligator stretch with a stuffed green gator leering at me with his beady button eyes.
“Hey, Belinda”—it comes out breathless as if the next words out of my mouth were going to becall 911, and, my God, they might be—“just wanted to say hello.” I pull my lips north in some unnatural rendition of a psychotic smile. “Not sure if you remember me. I’m the—”
“Waitress.” She grins hard as if we had actually met under pleasant circumstances. “I’m glad you made it out here. Although, I can’t say I’m too surprised. The entire place is littered with Briggs girls trying to get into their best shape for the summer. Oh, who are we kidding? It’s for all of those frat boys running around loose.” She gives a cheeky wink. “Hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Oh, I did.” NOT. Hell to the no. This was abject, pure, medieval torture, and I willneversubject myself to it again. But telling the truth is beside the point at the moment. “I just wanted to thank you for all your hard work and let you know that I’m extremely impressed with how limber you are.”
She belts out a laugh with far too much energy after all the demonic aerobics that went on. “Thanks. I like to keep myself at the top of my game. My man appreciates it, too.” She hikes a shoulder at me flirtatiously. “There’s a reason he’s sticking around.”
“That’s nice. I bet he’s a real keeper.” For the life of me, I can’t figure out how to segue this conversation to her killer of a sister. “Has Hannah managed to move on? You know, after that whole bridal party debacle? I felt so bad, seeing her in that wedding dress knocking back one drink after another until she was almost blackout drunk.” I bet Craig Carter waited until she was good and wasted before he made her pull the trigger. He totally strikes me as the kind of a devil who would make a woman do his dirty work.
“Hannah?” Her upper lip curls in disgust, and I can’t quite figure out what that means. Is she disgusted by her sister?
“Let’s just say Hannah has sworn off men for the next millennium. She’s all about cats and needlepoint from here on out.” She averts her eyes. Her voice is curt with sarcasm.
Wait a minute…
“It sounds like you get along with your sister about as good as I do with mine!” Liar, liar, West Virginia on fire. Lex and I get along great now that I’m no longer lying to her about which university I attend and the fact I work at a bar. “Sisters.” I shake my head, trying to garner an ounce of camaraderie with her. “You can’t live with them. You can’t—”
“Oh, hon, I can live without ’em.” Belinda flings a towel over her shoulder and laughs. “Hannah and I have never been close.”
“You might think so, but I saw you right there by her side supporting her the night of her freedom-fest. It takes a real sister to dress like a bride and show up to a bar. You’re practically a hero in the sister hall of fame.”
Her expression sours while scooping up her gym bag. “I wasn’t exactly invited to that party. Hannah was so toasted by the time she arrived, I doubt she even realized I was there.”
