But I’m not so easily moved.
Seeing Holt here has my mind swarming with heavy, clouded thoughts. The thoughts of last night come rolling back in, thick and heavy, stronger than they were moments only earlier. My stomach is still doing that stupid fluttering thing, and the memory of how he humiliated me last night echoes in my mind.
“Come on, Wallflower,” he whispers from the corner of his mouth. “I thought yoga was all about finding different ways to twist yourself into a pretzel, not people watch. Don’t tell me that’s why you come to these classes.”
I scoff, watching him in disbelief. Curling my hands into fists on top of my thighs, I inhale a deep breath and settle back into my tabletop pose, then roll my neck and squeeze my eyes shut. “So, what, are you, like, stalking me now?”
I have no idea if Holt is still following Alison’s instructions, but I don’t care.
He chuckles, and the sound shoots straight to those damn butterflies raging in my stomach. The sensation is so strong, I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him.
He’s sent me endless messages today, asking to talk, but I haven’t responded to any of them. Mostly because I haven’t been able to get a handle on the way I’m feeling about it just yet—another perk to therapy. Suddenly, you’re aware of every feeling and spend extra time analyzing and figuring out how to cope with them.
“What makes you think I’m stalking you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s start with you gatecrashing my yoga class in a ten-thousand-dollar suit for one.”
“Five thousand.”
“What?” I slip into the next pose, trying not break my concentration. I’m failing miserably. The scent of his aftershave drowns out the incense burning throughout the room.
“The suit was five thousand, not ten.”
“Whatever.” I rest my forearm on the floor while turning to the side. I engage my core, tightening as I reach my arm up into the air while breathing out.
Holt’s eyes never leave me. He isn’t even bothering to follow the moves the class is making. He’s simply lying on his side, propped up onto his elbow, watching me.
“Don’t tell me you came here just to eye me like a creep,” I whisper, tossing his words back at him as my arm starts to shake. I really need to get my arm strength up. This is pathetic.
The humor in Holt’s expression has faded. He doesn’t even care that Alison is launching daggers in his direction every few seconds.
“You haven’t been answering my texts.” He loosens his tie a little more. His sculpted collarbones peek out from the top of hisshirt with the first few buttons undone, and I have the sudden desire to drag my finger along them. Heat pools in my lower belly, and I hate it. At least I do in this moment.
“There’s a reason I was ignoring you,” I say in a low voice, going back to a tabletop position.
Holt still hasn’t moved.
I begin rolling my hips from one side to the other. I arch my back, then pull it back in, stretching my spine and legs, the muscles in my lower stomach and inner thighs contracting. My entire body warms under Holt’s searing gaze.
“You’re torturing me.” He clears his throat, his gaze moving up and down the length of my body, taking in my position.
“My silence is torturing you?” I ask, chuckling.
His blue eyes dart straight from my lower body to my face. He lifts his hand and drags his thumb slowly over his bottom lip. “Yes.”
I roll my eyes. “I doubt that.”
“Why is it so hard to believe?”
“We never talk much, Holt. We aren’t exactly friends.”
“I never said we were.”
I roll my eyes again. “You’re my best friend’s brother.”
“So, what, that means I’m not allowed to care whether you shut me out or not?”
“Oh, so this is about your ego?”
