"Smooth subject change." I push myself up from the chair, already dreading what I'm about to do. "But yeah, I should probably figure out what people even wear to these things."
"Something that shows off your ass," James teases, gathering empty pizza boxes. "I'm sure Ivy will appreciate the view."
I shove both hands into my hair, anxiety already building. "You know this is going to end badly, right?"
"Probably." Brodie grins, shrugging on his jacket. "But at least it'll be entertaining. For us, I mean."
"Some best friends you are." I chuckle. But it's time to stop playing it safe, and show Ivy I'm willing to step out of my comfort zone for her.
"Text us how it goes," James calls as they head for the door. "I want a full report on whether you pass out or achieve enlightenment."
"Or both," Brodie adds. "Both would be hilarious."
The door closes behind them, leaving me alone with my impending yoga doom.
The lights of BrooksideCollege Sports Centre flicker overhead as I dig my phone out of my bag for the hundredth time today.
Caleb:What about after?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard, but my brain's got nothing. Just like the last six times I've opened this message.
"If you check that phone one more time, I'm going to throw it in the nearest toilet," Amelia announces, adjusting her gym bag on her shoulder. "Either text him back, or stop acting like your phone's a Ouija board trying to channel his spirit."
I lock the screen, then immediately unlock it again. "I don't know what to say."
"How about 'stop stalking me at the grocery store'?" She smirks, holding the door open as we enter the locker room. "I've got to hand it to you, dropping your basket and bolting was pretty entertaining."
"I didnotbolt." My phone hits the locker with a little more force than necessary, the metal door rattling in protest. "IrememberedI had something else to do."
"Right." Amelia's voice drips with sarcasm as she changes into her workout set.
"I need time to think."
"Make him sweat," she says, pulling her black hair into a sleek ponytail. "Let him work for it. You're not some consolation prize he gets to claim because he finally got his head out of his ass."
My teeth catch on my lip, the familiar taste of cherry balm mixing with anxiety. "I know, but . . . I miss him. And before he came back, I thought one day we could be friends again. But when he said he wanted toearn my friendship back," My stomach twists. "It made me realize I don't want that. I don't want maybes anymore. We lived in those for years."
"No shit." Amelia rolls her eyes, but her voice softens. "You two weren't exactly the poster children for healthy friendship boundaries. I mean, who schedules weekly movie nights, complete with cuddling, and still claims they're 'just friends'?"
We push through the frosted glass doors into the yoga studio. The familiar scent of eucalyptus and sandalwood wraps around us, and soft instrumental music drifts from hidden speakers.
"I want him." The words come out barely above a whisper as I unroll my mat. "I want it to work. But only if he's all in. The chemistry's always been there, but that's not enough anymore. I need something real this time."
She snorts, dropping onto her mat beside me. "Didn't you say the sex was shit?"
"Amelia!" I whip my head around, but the early crowd's too busy perfecting their pre-class stretches to notice my mortification. My voice drops to a desperate whisper. "Yeah, okay, it was . . . underwhelming. He was there, but nottherethere, youknow? It started hot and just . . . fizzled. But that's not the point. I want him to show up for real this time."
"Hard to show up when you sprint in the opposite direction every time he breathes near you."
"I do not sprint," I protest, crossing my arms.
"Uh-huh." Amelia's perfectly shaped eyebrow arches with enough skepticism to fuel a conspiracy theory. "You keep living in your little delusion land."
Before I can defend myself, familiar voices cut through the zen atmosphere.
"I swear to god, if Jacob texts one more sad face emoji because you're at yoga instead of watching him play video games . . ." Katie's laugh echoes through the studio as she and Zara claim the mats behind us.
"He's not that bad," she protests, but her grin gives her away. "I mean, okay, maybe I had to physically pry his hands off my waist to leave, but that's kind of sweet, right?"
