I laugh, and she grins, her mood lifted.
I clink my cup against her mug for good measure, and for a second, I think we’ve successfully banished the ghosts of boyfriends past. I sit back and sip my tea, our laughter fading into something quieter. More pensive.
“Not to go on about it, but ... I don’t get it.” I pause. “Why do we let these assholes in? How do we not see the signs?”
Annabelle’s smile dims, and she tilts her head in thought. “Because wewantto believe. That’s all.”
I glance up at her, surprised by the honesty in her voice. “You think it’s that simple?”
“Of course. We want to believe the best in people, so we do,” she continues. “We want to believe they mean what they say, that they’ll be there for us. Sometimes it’s not about ignoring the signs—it’s about hoping we’re wrong about them.”
“Well,that’sdepressing.”
“No, it’s human.” She’s smiling again. “Look. Mike was charming as hell. He brought me flowers every Sunday, took me on road trips, cooked me dinner sometimes if he made it home first. I didn’t see the signs because there weren’t any. He was all in—until he wasn’t.”
That’s true. When he left, it was a complete shock.
She clears her throat. “And Parker? You can’t beat yourself up over him either. You liked him because he was different. A little weird, sure, but you thought he loved you, and so did I.”
I nod, chewing on my lip. “I really did.”
“That’s why they were both bad breakups. They felt right but were so wrong.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a slow breath. “I think I’m done dating for a while. Me and my perfectly normal, drama-free existence. At least until the Fall Fest is over. You need all the help you can get.”
Chapter 5
Harris
If you told me a few days ago that I’d be doing yoga every morning on a dock surrounded by people who actually know what they’re doing, I would’ve laughed in your face.
But it’s not about yoga.
And it’s not about the view. I mean,it is—if byviewyou mean Lucy’s ass in her tight-fitting leggings and cropped top. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the only reason I dragged my sorry self out of bed at six a.m.
Sunlight spills over the lake, catching in her hair and glinting off the water like something out of a painting. And me?
I’m sprawled on this yoga mat on the expansive wooden dock, trying not to groan every time my hamstrings protest.
I’ve done two-a-day football practices. I’ve pushed through weight room circuits that left me seeing stars. Hell—I’ve been tackled by grown men charging full speed at me.
But none of that prepares you for downward dog.
Lucy’s voice flows over the group of us—a mix of my football teammates and regulars from town—like the morning breeze, soft and soothing. Sexy, if I’m being honest ... “Breathe into the stretch. Focus on your inhale ... deep breath in ... and exhale ...”
Her words make the poses soundeasy; as if my body wasn’t on fucking fire right now and my joints weren’t actively protesting against my life choices. Around me, everyone moves like they’re made of elastic, flowing into their poses effortlessly.
It’s like I stumbled into a synchronized-yoga cult by accident.
The fuck?
Here I am, trembling—losing my goddamn balance even though both my feet are firmly planted on the ground.
“Remember to breathe,” Lucy softly says, her gaze briefly flicking my way as if sensing struggle. “In through your nose ... out through your mouth.”
I’m breathing, all right.
I’m winded.
