I chewed the inside of my lip, thinking about what I’d just told Todd. “Right. Friends.”
Friends didn’t kiss like we had. Friends certainly didn’t fuck like we had. If I thought about that any longer, I’d probably break out into hives from the stress of it all.
Instead, I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, motioning toward my computer. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on. I think you’re going to dig it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ari
Saturday morning, I pulled up to a little Inman Park bungalow, which had been converted into a fitness studio for Atlanta’s newest fitness crazy, Soul Pilates. It was just Pilates set to R&B music, but Bella insisted that we try it. I parked on a dodgy-looking side street to wait for Bella and cautiously rolled down the windows to feel the warm breeze. The running joke about Atlanta is, if you want a change in weather, wait fifteen minutes. It had been nearly freezing Thanksgiving night and now, weeks before Christmas, it was in the 70s. For a minute, I thought back to how cold it was Thanksgiving night at the baseball stadium. And how kissing Porter warmed every part of me. I probably shouldn’t have kissed him. But in the moment, it seemed like the appropriate response. He’d broken into a major league stadium for me, for goodness’ sakes.
I watched all the women walk into the studio, some barely wearing anything more than their designer workout clothes. I recognized a few reality stars, famous housewives of other celebs, B-list celebrities and social-media influencers. How on earth had Bella scored us entry into this exclusive exercise session? What the hell was I doing here? I wanted to turn and eat a warm croissant at the French bakery I passed on the way over.
In my driver’s side mirror, I saw Bella parking her obnoxiously large SUV on the opposite side of the street and putting on a pair of Dior shades, her hair up in a super tight bun. She ran up to my car door, more than enthusiastic for so early in the morning.
“Are you ready to sweat your man problems away?” she asked with a grin.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bag. Bella opened the car door for me to get out. “Can’t have man problems, Bella, if I don’t have a man,” I retorted.
“Hmpf,” snorted Bella. “Whatever. Did you see anyone go into the studio? I heard it’s a hot ticket. Even the mayor’s side piece goes here! Thank God I could snag entry to this Saturday’s session. I planned a birthday party for the owner’s daughter. Do you know how hard it is to find ponies to dress and dye as unicorns?”
“Ahh. I was wondering how you could get into this place. I’m certainly no Celebrity Housewife.”
Bella jokingly hip bumped me. “You could be. What happened to Korey? He’s been on CNN and everything. Rubbing elbows with all the political intellectuals.”
I groaned. “Dear God. He bored me to tears. Do you know all he does is talk about himself? And name-drops. I don’t think in the two years I’ve known him, that he has asked a single question about me. Not to mention, the sex was subpar.”
Bella frowned. “That’s unfortunate. I hate men like that. You can’t be boring and with bad dick. Pick a struggle, dude. Come on. Let’s go in and get us a good spot so we can people watch.”
“I thought we came here to work out. Destress?”
“We can do both. Plus, I can hand out business cards.” Bella smiled as she curled her arm around mine. “I heard they give you CBD warmed towels at the end.” I shook my head, walking along the sidewalk into the studio.
The studio was large, with about twenty-five Pilates reformer machines. Bella and I entered and signed in, hanging up our coat and cardigan. We went to the machines toward the back of the room. As I walked in, I felt eyes staring at us. Well. Not us. Mostly me. It felt like a high school cafeteria with all the cool kids in one corner. I wasn’t all dolled up in Lululemon. In my Old Navy yoga gear with a curly, messy high ponytail, I certainly wasn’t chic.
The instructor was a Black woman, who was very tall, dark, and elegantly appointed. She looked like a statue. Except, it was clear she was faking a British accent, which was layered over a very real Southern one.
“I’m Folashade. Welcome to Soul Pilates, where we stretch yourself and your soul mentally and physically. All with our culture in mind,” said the woman as she flailed her arms around. “Be at ease as we take this soulful journey together.”
I rolled my eyes. This chick used the word soul far too many times. “How much is this class?” I whispered to Bella. “And you know her mama ain’t name her Folashade! It’s probably Sadie.”
“Shhh! It’s normally...like $200 a session but totally worth it,” whispered Bella.
“What!” I whisper-yelled. A few eyes turned to look in my direction. Our distraction visibly annoyed the Real Housewives of Fulton County. I mouthed my most apologetic “Sorry” and turned to listen to the instructor.
The speakers in the studio played classic John Legend. The lights lowered, and I smelled lavender being pumped into the air. Bella was more than excited, and she clapped her hands in anticipation. This all seemed like an overpriced, overhyped gimmick.
We went to our machines and began with single leg stretches. The instructor walked around, making sure everyone was in proper position. The music moved from John Legend to Silk’s “Meeting in my Bedroom.” Dear God. Seriously? The music took me back to the night of the first kiss between Porter and me. My stomach flipped in knots.
“You look tense?” said Folashade as she looked at me on the machine. “Try to relax your pelvic floor.”
“I’m fine,” I said. The more the song played and echoed throughout the room, the more I thought of Porter. His touch. His hands. His lips. His...
Folashade leaned down, her head tilted a bit. “Ms. James, listen, there is no shame in admitting if this is strenuous. A woman your size...you know. Just take your time!”
I spun my head and through gritted teeth, I repeated, “I said I was fine.”
“Okay!” she said defensively, as she moved along the row of machines to the group of athlete’s wives, each one carbon copies of the other.
“What was that?” whispered Bella as her legs moved midair in a hundred positions.
“Nothing,” I said as I attempted to do the same. My mind could not focus. The smell of the lavender became stronger and was almost dizzying. The speakers boomed with the bass of Ginuwine’s “So Anxious.” Anxious. That’s exactly how I felt that first night. His hands all over my body set me on fire.
“That’s it. Damn this.” I unhooked my legs from the Pilates machine. “Bella, I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
“Oh,” said Bella. “Sure.” She furrowed her brow in confusion but kept on with her exercises.