I want more.
That’s how I find myself outside an unmarked, seemingly abandoned warehouse in Camden where I was sure to be murdered any minute now. I pull out my phone to double check the address, positive I got it wrong, when I see a text from Maxine.
Maxine
I booked you a meet and greet at Selfridges on Oxford Street to align with the new collection hitting stores. They’ve already announced it on socials and are waiting for you to accept the collab to cross promote. Tickets are already selling out.
A pounding in my head starts up.
This isn’t the first time she’s promised my time without asking me first. I would just have to hope it didn’t interfere with any prior engagements.
I open Instagram, find the tagged post that’s already amassed thousands of likes in a few minutes, and accept the collaboration before tossing my phone back in my bag.
The entrance to the warehouse boasts a large, vibrant mural of Camden Town if it was on psychotropic drugs, with a neon sign in the center reading ‘Le Freak’.
What am I walking into?
The invite link was vague, with details only saying to come limber, whatever that means, and in comfortable clothes. I’m equally concerned and intrigued, but one thing is always certain—where Tieran is involved, I’m sure to be entertained.
Begrudgingly, I have to admit, I kind of love it—the rush I get whenever he’s around is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I shouldn’t want it—him—but, against my better judgement, I do. He consumes my thoughts and it’s an annoying, highly inconvenient thing to deal with. I’ve never been so unproductive in my life, getting distracted onzoom calls, zoning out, remembering dark rooms in illicit bars during board meetings, thinking about a soft kiss pressing into my cheek as the scent of him washed over me.
I didn’t even hesitate this time when I received the link to whatever it is we’re doing today. There was no momentary delay before refusing the invitation, no mental gymnastics around why I shouldn’t be here, no trying to convince myself this isn’t exactly where I want to be.
My resolve is sedimentary rock on a cliffside, slowly crumbling every moment I spend in his presence. I’m one wave away from eroding completely.
Even still, I take a step beyond the foyer into the main room of the warehouse, where I’m greeted by fifty foot silks, foam pads covering the floor, and hoops hanging from ropes.
Tieran booked us an aerial silk class?
Will he ever not shock me?
I scan the room of around fifteen people, looking for a familiar set of cerulean eyes and panty-melting dimples, but don’t see him anywhere. Disappointment courses through me before I reason I just happened to get here first.
“Hey!” a person with fiery red hair, snow pale skin, and multiple facial piercings greets me while holding an iPad. “What’s your name so I can get you checked in?”
“Oh, um, Jade.” I pause as they scan through their list, a furrow lining their brow. “But it could be under Tieran,” I hasten to add.
They recheck the list and then tap the touchpad. “There you are! Have you done aerial or silks before?”
I look around again, waiting for Tieran before I answer. “No, I mostly do Pilates.”
“Not a problem!” Their reply is chipper. “This is a pretty novice session; nothing too advanced but still plenty of fun.”
“Billie! Can you come help me get this knot untangled?”
“Be there in a second,” Billie calls to their coworkerbefore looking back at me. “You can go ahead and set anything you brought with you against the wall over there, take off your shoes, and then join us in the center of the room.”
I move over to where they indicated I drop my stuff and start to unlace my shoes, keeping my socks on when I notice everyone is still wearing theirs. I check my phone, hoping maybe there’s a text from Tieran telling me where he is, but my screen only holds four notifications from Maxine, one from Aanya, another from Poppy confirming our one-on-one Pilates session this week, and about fifteen unread emails that have come in over the last hour.
Nothing from Tieran.
My stomach sinks. Is he not coming? He said before the crochet night that he wouldn’t come if I didn’t want him to. Was he giving me space now? Was I so unreadable that he couldn’t tell space was becoming a non-issue lately? I mean, I showed up at his fucking door; what else does he need? For me to wear his jersey around town for everyone to see, or to actually tell him, “hey, I like you and wanna kiss you some more”?
God, that sounds horrific.
Why should his lack of presence bother me? He didn’t say he would be here, and I can still have a good time on my own, even if I do have a mountain of work I blew off to come.
“Alright, everyone, let’s get started,” Billie’s counterpart announces. “My name is Stasia, and we’re going to start today’s lesson by showing you a basic climb and foothold. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the fun stuff in a bit. Everyone grab a silk and watch me.”
