Soaring with Fallon (Big Sky 4)

And I did have a full room, with not one familiar face.

But I also had a group of about five teenagers who were in town with their parents and decided they wanted to try yoga. They laughed, giggled, and mocked me the entire hour, ruining the experience for everyone else.

I asked them not to come back.

So now I’m irritable, my hand hurts, I’m hungry but still grossed out by the pubic hair, and I’m as far away from my center as I can get.

I don’t like it.

I hope Noah isn’t home when I get there. I don’t want him to see me like this. He barely knows me; he shouldn’t have to see grumpy Fallon so soon.

I pull into the driveway and let out a gusty breath.

Of course, he’s home. Because the Universe is out to get me today.

Noah’s just hopping off his lawnmower, covered in sweat and rubbing his sweaty forehead with his forearm as he walks to me.

“Hey, you,” he says in greeting.

“Hey, yourself.” I try to smile but feel like it falls flat.

“What’s wrong?”

I sigh. I can’t lie to this guy. And it seems I can’t hide my emotions from him either. He calls me out on being evasive, and rather than get annoyed like I usually do, I find myself wanting to confide in him.

All of this is a brand-new experience for me.

“Shitty day,” I say when he cocks a brow at me. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home already.”

“I have more volunteers than I know what to do with this time of year,” he says, glancing over at the sanctuary. “Summer brings them out in droves, which is helpful, but honestly, all of the people being underfoot makes me stabby. So, I leave them to my staff when I start to get twitchy.”

“Best not to stick around.” I smile and step up onto the porch.

“Want some company?” he asks as he opens the door for me. “I’ll go get a quick shower in first, though. I’m sticky.”

“Sure.”

He winks and disappears down the hallway.

Did I just agree to company when I’m irritable? It seems I did.

Because, apparently, I’m trying all kinds of new things lately.

I walk down to my room and quickly change my clothes into denim shorts and a fresh tank. The only good thing about not having any boobs to speak of is I don’t need a bra, especially when it’s hotter than balls outside.

It’s crazy to me how cold it gets in the winter, and then just a few months later, it seems Satan himself is vacationing in Montana, bringing the heat with him.

I pad barefoot out to the living room. I’m hungry, but nothing sounds good, so I just sit on the couch and sigh.

It’s quiet here. There’s no traffic noise, no people walking past the house. It’s just silent.

And it’s pure bliss.

“I smell better,” Noah announces as he saunters into the room. He’s changed into cargo shorts and a Spread Your Wings T-shirt. His dark hair is wet from the shower. “So, what happened today?”

“What didn’t happen today?” I laugh and pull my legs up under me. “I burned my hand.”

“Let me see.” He sits next to me and reaches for my hand, careful not to touch the tender skin. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. I’ll put some lavender oil on it, and it’ll heal in a couple days, but it sucked. A client injured herself in class because she was showing off for her friend.”

I roll my eyes. Noah rests his elbow on the back of the brown leather couch and listens intently.

“Then, I didn’t have anyone show up for my noon class, so I decided to go out for lunch.”

“Nice.”

“And found a pubic hair in my sandwich.”

“Gah.” He makes a choking noise and presses his fist to his mouth. “Jesus, that’s gross.”

“Pretty gross,” I agree and then tell him about the idiot teens in my last class. “It was just a very trying day.”

“I have something for you,” he says and jumps up, walks to the kitchen, and returns with a small tub of ice cream and a spoon. “Pistachio.”

“You bought me ice cream.” I stare at it, touched that he thought to get my favorite.

“Just in time for a shitty day,” he confirms as I spoon a bite into my mouth.

“I feel a tiny bit guilty for eating this when I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“You know, one of my favorite things about being an adult is that I can eat ice cream for dinner and no one gets to tell me I can’t.”

“Get your own,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. He pads back into the kitchen and returns with another small pint of his own.

“There. Dinner’s solved,” he says with a satisfied grin and takes a bite of rocky road.

He looks good sitting over there, one leg up on the couch so he can face me. He’s tanned all over, and there go those arms again, flexing and looking sexy.