That meant that Mickey and I had a choice. We could vie for our friends’ attention, or we could hang out with each other.
Luckily, our best friends are smarter than that. But, they do like to spend an awful lot of time together, especially now that they have Calla, their sweet baby girl.
I guess we’re smart people, too, because we know a good thing when we see one. Since we were constantly running into each other at JT and Magggie’s place—and that we were left in the lurch when they wanted “alone time” together, we just started spending time together by default. And now, I can’t imagine my life without Mickey in it. He’s the best guy I know, and I wouldn’t trade his friendship for anything.
I do my best to stop ogling Mickey so I guide my class through the rest of the positions. It’s a damn good thing I've already logged several hundred hours toward my certification, because that means I can pretty much phone these last few minutes in, and no one will notice the difference. I try to be mindful and present for every moment—that’s part of the freaking point of practicing yoga in the first place—but it’s not easy to do when Mickey’s around.
The man is gorgeous. He’s six feet of muscled perfection. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose makes him look adorable, and the dark auburn hair that's always expertly styled makes him look like he just stepped out of a photoshoot. The scruff on his face makes him look like he just rolled out of bed, and in a parallel universe, I’d be tempted to roll back into bed with him.
His back arches as he stretches in front of me, fully immersed in his practice and blissfully unaware of the fact that I’m clocking his every move.
Well, that certainly tracks.
He’s also completely unaware of the one night we spent together.
It’s the best sex I ever had, and he doesn’t remember a blessed second of it.
I remember the scene like it was yesterday. I was standing in the kitchen of Maggie’s apartment, making brownies, as one does. Her baby daddy boyfriend was busy sorting through all the loot they’d gotten at their surprise baby shower the day before. I was just stirring batter, minding my own business, and having mental flashbacks to the night before. It was definitely not my first time having sex in a basement, but damn, Mickey had unexpected talents. And all the rumors I’d heard around campus about his…endowments…were true. I was smiling to myself, thinking we might be able to make a regular habit of bending each other into sexy pretzels.
But then he walked into the room and stared at me like I might have the power to turn him into stone. When he finally found his voice, he started talking a million miles a minute about the most random topics. He bounced from spouting facts about the first boxed brownie mixes dating back to the nineteenth century to hitting me with rapid-fire stats about infant safety. Then he pulled a hammer out of his backpack and went in search of JT.
I was so annoyed and distracted that I burnt the brownies, and I was fully prepared to hate Mickey Mikalski for the rest of his natural life and beyond.
But that’s impossible. He’s just so damn likable. A few hours later, we were all snacking on a fresh batch of brownies and admiring the guys’ handiwork. For a guy whose attention spanseemed to be about five seconds, I was shocked to see the kind of focus he put into assembling the baby’s crib and changing table. He was obsessed with all the safety specifications, and while I don’t think anyone on campus would have willingly given Mickey a drill, he expertly anchored all the furniture to the wall so that it wouldn’t become a hazard.
That defrosted my heart a bit, and by the end of the evening, he had me laughing so hard I had tears in my eyes. And the crazy thing is that he wasn’t even trying to be funny. He was being dead serious the whole time, but he has this outlandish way of saying things that makes me giggle. I’m used to being the most outspoken, ridiculous person in the room, and Mickey had me beat by a mile.
That made my heart melt a little more, and gradually, I just got over the fact that he didn’t remember a second of our night together. It stung at first, but now I know it’s for the best.
I don’t do relationships. At least, not monogamous ones. I did, once upon a time when I was a naive kid. But then I got my heart smashed to smithereens by a cheating cheater. I thought my world was going to fall apart when my boyfriend of two years showed his true colors. And I definitely wallowed for a minute. But then I came to the conclusion that if you can’t beat ‘em, you should join ‘em. I figured if guys weren’t going to keep their promises, why make promises in the first place? Strings-free hook-ups are definitely the way to go, and if Mickey and I had gotten physical last year, things could have gotten really messy.
Instead, I have another bestie, and life is pretty great. I have zero complaints.
I’ve also had zero sexy times in way too long, but that’s a problem for another day. Right now, I need to wrap this class up, clean these mats, and get to class.
Luckily, it’s time to sayNamaste, and my regulars are happy to leave with a wave and a promise that I’ll see them in two days.
Well, all of them except Mickey. He’s such a gem. He’s reaching for the cleaning supplies as soon as the door shuts behind the last two stragglers.
“That was fucking awesome, Viv,” he tells me with a smile.
I roll my eyes playfully as I smack his rock-hard chest. “You’d tell me that even if I had you doing jumping jacks for an hour straight.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of a jumping jack,” he says earnestly. “That’s good cardio. Not quite as good as jumping rope, but it’ll do in a pinch.”
“Noted,” I say, smiling to myself as I wipe down each mat after he sprays it. We’re a good team, and it doesn’t take long before the space is clean and ready for the next class. I could do it myself, and I do when Mickey’s traveling for games, but when he’s here, I gratefully accept his help. He gets offended when I don’t, and as adorable as Grumpy Mickey is, I don’t need to rile him up for no reason.
Reaching into my cubby, I give myself a quick spritz of deodorant and run a brush through my hair before pulling it back into a ponytail. I briefly consider changing, but I’d rather stop by Drip for something fruity and caffeinated, so I pull my hoodie out of my bag instead. Before I tug it on, I glance at myself in the full-length mirror that lines one wall. Mickey pops his head into the back room and catches me frowning.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern etching his face.
“Nothing,” I answer, shrugging. “I need to buy new bras, though.”
His blush is instantaneous, and it covers his cheeks and neck. “Um, yeah, well. I mean, didn't you kind of expect that when you?—”
“Got my tits done?” I say, smiling as I finish his sentence.
“Yeah, exactly.” There’s still a crimson stain across his handsome face, and I can’t help teasing him.
