That last bit is a stretch. Lincoln won’t care. He’s only worried about Danielle and making her happy. Bingo!
“Dani isn’t from here,” I say, laying it on thick. “She doesn’t have a lot of friends here and I know Lincoln really wants us all to come out and support her.”
“I don’t even know her,” she points out.
“Yeah, but she’s heard us all talking about you.” I gulp and prepare to wind a little more truth to this. “It would mean a lot to me.”
She sucks in a breath, warring over her decision.
“Please?”
“Fine,” she exhales. “I’ll do it.”
“Great! I’ll—”
“Not so fast,” she says, waving a finger at me. “I’ll go on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You go to yoga with me tonight.”
“Mallory,” I groan. “Be reasonable.”
“I think this is very reasonable. I’m considering accompanying you to a wedding and a bridal shower for someone I don’t even know. That’s a lot I’m giving you, Graham. You can certainly give me an hour of yoga.”
“I don’t yoga.”
“You’ll yoga just fine.” She stands, nestling her hand in the crook of her hip. She knows what she’s doing because she smirks. “You’ll need to be at the studio by six.” Like the decision has been decided, she takes the insurance papers and bounces to the door. “Oh, and Graham?”
She looks coyly at me.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Don’t be late.”
Mallory
I have no idea why I do this to myself. Laughing out loud, I correct my inner monologue. I do know why I do this to myself. At least this time.
I want to see Graham Landry relaxed. He’s been going so full-tilt with all the things on his plate that I want to give him a few minutes away from the office. Just a piece of time where there’s nothing to do but be. Factoring in that I might see some muscle, and if I’m lucky, some sweat, doesn’t hurt either.
Stretching
out for the last thirty minutes, I feel nice and limber. Everything is tingly, but that probably has nothing to do with the moves I’ve been holding and more to do with the headlights suddenly shining in the front window of the studio.
I’m aware I’m an addict and I measure my drugs in Grahams. Just like anyone that has an insatiable craving for something, I want to horde the remaining moments I have with him because once it’s over, it’s over. It has to be. I can’t take a gratuitous huff of his stick from time to time.
My breath catches as he walks in the studio. Dressed in a pair of black workout pants that, as opposed to most men, fit him semi-snugly. Like his suit pants, only not. Only, quite possibly, better. A sleeveless black shirt covers his torso, his arms on display for my gratification.
He glances around, biting his bottom lip. “So this is a yoga studio?”
“It is.” I pop up on my bare feet. “Ever think you’d be in one?”
“Nope.” He gives me a mega-watt grin, tossing a grey duffle bag on the floor. “Shoes off?”
“Please.” I watch as he casts off his shoes and socks and then pads across the floor and to the mat I have laid out for him next to mine. “I hope you’re happy,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “I left a stack of papers unsigned to be here.”
“You must really want me to go to that wedding,” I tease.