Not Your Fault

“You think he’ll show up today?” Cat asks, suddenly in my bedroom doorway when I had thought I was alone in my own house. I let out a yelp and flinch so hard my mascara swipes across my face, leaving an army-style line under my eye.

“Jesus, Cat you could knock to announce your presence, ya know.” I lick my finger and rub it across my cheek, then reapply some BB cream on the freshly spit-cleaned skin. “Don’t make me take your house key away.”

She disregards my threat because we both know it was an empty one. “Well?” she asks, crossing her arms and giving me one hell of a mocking glare as she watches me finish my new makeup routine.

“Well what?” I ask, rising from the chair and smoothing my hands over my spandex pants. “I’m just going to work and I do not care who else will be there.”

She shoves me in the shoulder as I walk out to grab my purse and car keys off the kitchen counter. “You are so full of shit,” she says, following me like a puppy wanting a treat. “I’m starting to think ya’ll are hooking up secretly and you’re keeping me out of the loop here.

”

“That’s not happening,” I say as a snort of laugher escapes me. “He doesn’t like me. He’s too—” I stop myself midsentence and walk out the door, giving my sister a half-assed goodbye. I can’t believe the words that almost came out of my mouth. He’s too good for me. Why the hell do I think that? Because he’s so unbelievably gorgeous and I’m just me? Plain and average? Because he has money and probably dates models, except for that one girl who was so not a model, and I don’t have money and I date losers like Nathan?

I shake my head, wishing I should shake all thoughts of Kris out of it. Nothing good will come from liking him and our make out session was just a one time mistake. I’ve had one time make out mistakes before, so I know I can handle this one.

Shaking my head, telling myself empowering thoughts and even pretending to daydream about movie stars does nothing to ward Kris out of my mind. This man will drive me insane, if I’m not already insane. But that’s the thing about being insane—if you think you are then you’re probably not. It’s when you think you’re perfectly normal that you should start to worry.

All my regulars are in class today. The atmosphere overflows with enthusiasm for a night of fun dancing and a hardcore calorie burn. I head to the front of the dance room and queue up my mp3 player to tonight’s playlist on the big stereo system, anxious to let my body move and my mind take a break from thinking about Kris.

He wasn’t at the gym when I arrived a few minutes ago, and if all goes as it has for the last twelve days, he won’t bother showing up this late. My guess is that he’s working only in the day shift now, or possibly not at all since the place runs itself just fine without him. But who cares what he does; the only thing I care about is the next sixty minutes of carefree sexy aerobics.

The warm up song, a naughty R&B track, begins and I lead the class in slow hip circle stretches and deep lunges. My muscles unwind and my body falls into step with the music. Halfway through the song, I’m feeling both sexy and relaxed. The door at the back of the room swings open with a screech, and I try not to get distracted from the late comers by keeping my eyes closed as I squat down low, arch my back and bring it up slowly.

“Three more, ladies,” I say in a soothing voice, directing them on what to do for the ending of the song. As I lean back into the second squat, my eyes open. I study the mirrors in front of me to make sure everyone is in sync. My arms stretch in front of me for balance as my ass pokes out as far and low as I can go, which luckily is farther and lower than anyone else in class is. I don’t need my students upstaging me.

When I arch my back and slowly rise out of the squat, a bright white shirt catches my attention from the back corner of the dance room. My muscles tense, freezing me in a half squat as I blink to make sure the reflection in the mirror isn’t just a mirage.

Kris Payne positions himself at the back of the room, legs shoulder width apart and ass bent into a squatting position. Still caught in disbelief, I whip around and see him with my own eyes and not through a mirror’s reflection. A few people in the front row rise from their squat and stare at me, wondering what to do next. Soon, everyone else follows.

My brain knows enough to force my body back toward the front of the class, but I’m so shocked at Kris’s arrival that my mind goes blank. I stare into the mirror while the music plays and my vision goes blurry, obscuring everything in my peripheral vision until all I see is my own pale face, watching me in horror from the other side of the mirror.

“You okay, Delaney?” A small Hispanic woman asks me from the front row. She’s a regular in my class, showing up early every week to ensure her front row spot. She touches my arm as the music slows to the last few beats before the song is over. “You look sick,” she says.

I shake my head and force a smile. “I’m fine,” I say, deciding to use her observation as the perfect excuse. “I just got dizzy for a moment, but I’m better now.” It’s a lie but it’s better than admitting to everyone that my boss just walked in and now my knees are weak and my face is flushed and it’s not from the dancing.

The next song begins and it’s a fast-paced hip-hop track that requires lots of booty shaking and hip thrusts. Booty shaking is my absolute favorite thing in this class and this is one of my favorite songs. I begin side lunges to the rhythm all while trying not to look at Kris in the mirror. I’m a total failure though because I look at him. And he is looking straight at me while he makes a perfectly executed side lunge.

I take in a sharp breath, hoping no one notices the trembling in my fingers and the pounding of my heart against my chest. My mind goes haywire—all my thoughts are static and fuzzy and somehow painful at the same time. Embarrassment overwhelms me at the thought of Kris seeing me shake my ass seductively, but at the same time, my confidence has never been higher. I am not the lanky girl from high school anymore. I can be sexy. I am much sexier than that woman he dated a few months ago.

My body moves on its own, using muscle memory to complete the choreography since my mind is too preoccupied to focus on the dances. After the fourth song, we take a quick break for water. My legs are on fire and I cock my hip to the side as I wrap my mouth around my water bottle and suck long and hard. I swipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand, trailing my fingers down my neck and across the top of my push up sports bra, stopping at my cleavage. I do it all because Kris is watching me from the back of the classroom, and he hasn’t stopped watching me since he arrived.

At the end of the hour, my body is on fire. I’ve taught this class so many times I don’t typically get muscle soreness unless I’ve had a week off. But this time was different—all my moves had to be perfect because I was showing off like some kind of child, even if I don’t really want to admit that to myself. And now I’m paying for it. A few of my regulars meet me in the front of the classroom while everyone else files out of the room, wiping sweat off their faces in a beeline to the locker room. I drain my bottle of water and grab another one from my gym bag, twisting the cap off with a crack. There’s no time to drink water in a sexy way anymore…I’m too fucking exhausted for that nonsense.

“You were insane today,” Yolanda says, lifting her shirt to dab sweat off her face. The other woman, whose name I can never remember, opens her mouth and tries to say something but can’t get it out over trying to catch her breath.

I smile over the gulping of water, finally setting the bottle down when it’s half-empty. I’m about to thank her when a voice that isn’t out of breath joins in our conversation. “This girl is intense.”

I turn to find Kris stepping into our circle with a bottle of blue Gatorade in his hand. Yolanda’s smile turns friendly as she eyes Kris up and down before holding out her hand to shake his. “It’s not every day we get a new man in the class. I’m Yolanda.”

He shakes her hand and introduces himself simply as Kris. “That was one tough ass workout. I don’t think men’s hips are built to move that way.”

The two women next to me smile and swoon and talk stupidly, fawning over him as if he’s a new piece of meat that needs to be tenderized. Never mind that both of them are in relationships. Never mind that he’s my boss and my ex-boyfriend and, oh God, when did I become jealous over him?

I pack up my gym bag and throw the strap over my shoulder, since technically I have to work my shift now and shouldn’t be hanging out in the dance room. I should just walk out and head to the front desk and say hello to Susan and check the gym’s email account and all of the other things that my job requires. I should absolutely not stand here, silently comparing Yolanda’s ass to mine in the mirrors, wondering if Kris finds her more attractive than me, and all of the other dumb ass things that are going through my mind. I am not in high school anymore. I am not boy crazy. Especially not over this boy.

I am a fucking grown up, dammit.

So yeah, I know I need to walk out of here, but Yolanda’s heavy flirting and the fact that she’s now got her stupid hand on his arm as she tells him all about how she?