The Love Proposal, page 10
I read the note:
See you at yoga, x
Ah.
What should I make of this? I wonder what made Summer freak out and leave before I woke up. But I also smile to myself realizing she’s too nice to just sneak out, and made me coffee first.
Women.
The man who understands them is a lucky bastard, if the dude exists.
Conscious I’m not him and probably never will be, I shrug and sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard while sipping the coffee.
Mmm. Not too bad considering it came from a hotel kitchenette. Still, I grab the creamer Summer left on my nightstand, and mix it in. I close the plastic lid and take another sip; much better. Again, I smile to myself that she went to the trouble of leaving me the creamer and sugar. I still would’ve preferred a bonjour kiss, but as morning after cop-outs go, this isn’t half bad.
Coffee over, I take a quick shower and change into yoga clothes, arriving at the class just as it is about to start.
Summer turns and spots me walking from the hotel to the outdoor cabana, her facial expression quickly switching from worried, to relieved, to a warm smile.
And I’m struck a little dumb in my tracks.
That is a smile that could launch a thousand ships, you know, if we were living in ancient Greece or something. A smile that could light up a whole town, and it’s just for me.
A weird something wells up inside me. It’s a warmth that I don’t recognize and it startles me. It seems too serious. And right now, at this point in our relationship—if we even have one?—shouldn’t we just be having fun? So why did I spend the night talking to the woman instead of making her scream my name between the sheets? And why did having her fall asleep in my arms feel just as good?
Summer lowers her gaze, pulling on her ponytail in a way that has me itching to reach out and pull down on her hair until her throat is exposed to me, until I can make her knees go weak with my mouth on her slender neck.
There goes the weird warmth surging in me again. I should run. I should turn on my heel and run as fast as I can. But I can’t help it. I’m drawn to her in a way that’s turned me into a fool. I act like a dumbstruck idiot half the time I’m around her. I don’t even recognize myself.
Then Summer looks up and her smile turns flirty.
I stumble and almost fall face-first into the gravel, but luckily recover my balance with the next stride and manage to reach the cabana without making a complete ass of myself.
“Morning?” I say, underlining the greeting with a questioning tone: “Are we okay?”
“Morning.” Summer nods in what I suppose to be a, “Yep, we’re good,” unspoken answer.
Miranda, the same yoga teacher from yesterday, is confabulating with a small group of the other students in the class. She looks up, seemingly taking a headcount, and finally walks up front to the center of the space.
“Hello, class,” she greets everyone. “I was just talking with a bunch of you who have expressed an interest in trying out more Acro Yoga poses. Since we’re an even number again, I wanted to check if everyone would be okay with a slightly different class?”
I look at Summer. She shrugs, so I shrug right back.
“Everyone good with it?” Miranda asks, and when no one objects, she continues, “Great. We’re going to do a quick warm-up and then work on some new poses.”
A few sun salutations later, Miranda asks us to divide up into pairs. The same couples from yesterday form, and we wait for the next instruction.
“Okay,” Miranda encourages, “for the next pose we’re going to start with a position you’re already familiar with but take it to the next level. We start in plank press. Bases, please lie on your backs facing your flyers, knees bent.”
I get down on the mat and stare up at my partner. I love how Summer blushes whenever she meets my gaze and tries to hide it.
“Flyers, place your feet in between your partner’s. Perfect. Now bases,” Miranda continues. “Like yesterday, set your feet on your flyers hips.”
I never thought of yoga as foreplay, but this Acro thingy sure feels like it.
“Let’s practice a basic plank press a few times. Flyers, open up your arms in a T shape and keep your bodies straight and remember to keep a strong core. Bases, bend your knees toward your chest and receive your flyer’s weight and then push back slowly. Flyers keep your feet on the floor and trust your weight to the base.”
Take this move, I’m basically using Summer as a bench-press weight. It shouldn’t feel hot. But it does. It’s in the way she looks at me. In the way her ponytail swishes forward wherever I bend my knees, in the way her lips slightly part as if she was coming up for air.
“And now let’s move on to the next level,” Miranda says. “Flyers, reach forward and clasp hands with your bases, keeping your arms straight and creating a straight line from your shoulder to your bases. And now the hard part: flyers, you have to push off the ground. Bases, you have to lift your flyers, straightening your legs. Flyers, once you’re airborne, engage your core and straighten your legs. If and when you feel stable enough in your balance, you can let go of your bases’ hands and pull your arms back like bird wings in front bird pose.”
Okay, this pose and the next ones require enough strength and concentration that I don’t have much time left for dirty thoughts. Still, already compared to yesterday, Summer’s and my movements seem to be much more fluid. Like we already have that extra confidence in each other. Is that why she bailed this morning? Was spending the night in each other’s arms too much? And why? We agreed that this thing between us was a week-only deal. So, is she afraid we’re getting too close? Is she getting too close? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman I’d agreed to have a casual relationship with wanted more.
And, then, out of nowhere, the scariest thought I’ve ever had pops into my head: what if I wanted more?
The idea distracts me, making me lose concentration and causing my legs to wobble. Which, in turn, causes Summer to tumble down on top of me, her face landing ridiculously close to my groin. She stares up at me, shocked at first. Then, when she realizes where her pretty head is, her expression turns to embarrassment.
“Are you all right over there?” I ask.
Summer blushes and scrambles back, sitting on her heels.
Miranda comes next to us. “Is everyone okay?” she asks, and when we both nod, she adds, “It’s perfectly normal to fall a few times when you’re trying out these new poses for the first time. Class, I think we’re done for today. How about a final stretch before I let you go have breakfast?”
Good, I think. A cool-down is exactly what I need right now.
Once the class is over, I almost expect Summer to walk off, leaving me behind as she did yesterday. But she lingers instead, and we walk together toward the breakfast room. To an outsider, our attitudes would come across as completely innocent, but, again, the shift compared to yesterday morning, when all Summer wanted to do was to shake me off, is incredible. Now she doesn’t have a problem being at the croissants table at the same time as I am, brushing her shoulder against mine. At the coffee machine, she lets me lean into her from behind, my chest pressed to her back, as I reach for the creamer. Yesterday, she would’ve bolted like a startled deer.
We sit at the same table as yesterday, with the same companions. But again, Summer’s stance couldn’t be any more different. Instead of trying to avoid my gaze at all costs, she gives me flirty eyes from across the table for the whole meal.
It’s the sweetest torture. Makes me want to skip the bachelor snooze fest—err… party—and bring her back to my room. She knows it, and she knows I can’t, and she’s messing with me, playing a little game of hide and seek.
We all get up to leave together, exiting the breakfast room and then lingering in the hotel’s lobby. Tucker swears; he’s forgotten his phone at the table and goes back to pick it up.
The bride and groom take the opportunity to kiss goodbye before a day of forced separation. With Winter and Logan distracted, I seize the moment and return the teasing favor to Summer.
I pull her behind a corner and press her against the wall. It’s a risky move. Anyone could walk by and spot us, but the danger of being caught makes it all the more exciting. I lean in closer, my lips a breath away from hers. I sneak a hand onto her neck, my thumb caressing the skin behind her ear in that way I discovered makes her moan every single time. She has to bite her lip not to now.
Aha, before starting to play the game, she should’ve remembered I practically invented it.
Never kissing her, I whisper, “I guess I’ll see you later,” and walk away toward the elevators just as Logan and Winter break their kiss. Tucker still hasn’t returned, and Logan and I agree to wait for him.
Summer turns the corner after me and follows her sister into the first available elevator, looking adorably flustered: swollen lips, pink cheeks, and big eyes filled with desire.
I’m congratulating myself for winning this round when she, eyes never leaving mine, slowly tilts her head backward in a seductive gesture while her hands reach up to untie her ponytail. Her long hair cascades down her shoulders in a mesmerizing effect just as her lips part a little. It’s a show, all for my benefit. One second before she disappears behind the elevator doors, her parted lips curl up in an evil little grin, leaving me burning in hell.
12
SUMMER
The phantom of Archie’s lips is still on mine as I enter my room, and he hasn’t even kissed me. The way he pressed me against the wall left my body itching all over, and the worst part is I will have to wait all day to scratch.
To relax the lust a little, I spend forever in the shower and, when I exit, I style my hair in a braid while it’s still damp. When we were kids, Winter and I learned this is the most effective hairstyle to go riding with. Leaving your hair loose to catch the wind at a gallop might be scenic, but brushing the knots afterward is a total bitch. Not worth the spectacle.
For the same reason, I wear a pair of stretch jeans, a comfy J. Crew V-neck sweater, and sporty ankle boots—the best alternative to proper riding boots. To go horse riding, it’s always best to wear shoes with small heels so they catch on the stirrups and my feet won’t slip through.
Lana preemptively texted us hens to come to the bachelorette in sporty casual clothes, and I hope everyone listened. A riding ground might seem like an odd location to host a bachelorette party. But since coming back from Thailand, my sister hasn’t stopped complaining about how we never go riding any more since Grandpa passed. So, Lana and I thought this would be the perfect occasion. Not to mention that hairy, four-legged studs will make Winter happier than any stripper ever could.
I finish getting ready well before the designated departure hour, but wait until the very last second to exit my room. Today, I won’t be able to avoid bumping into Daria and Susan and Martha, or my bitchy cousins, but at least the sanctimonious aunts won’t be at the bachelorette. Still, I’ll try to delay the inevitable as much as I can. And I plan to cut the interactions to as short as possible.
Gosh, I need another coffee. I brew myself a cup, smiling as I remember doing the same for Archie a few hours ago. When I’m out of time and excuses to stay hidden in my room, I move down to the lobby.
The bachelorette party bus is already waiting outside and hard to miss. The vehicle is thirty feet long and painted in a rather distinctive bubble-gum pink. Lana outdid herself. I would’ve never thought of renting something so obnoxiously fun. Heck, I didn’t even know they made pink buses.
A familiar pang of regret twists my chest, and for a moment I cannot breathe, remembering how I stabbed Lana in the back, mourning the lost trust and the friendship that will never be the same, even after she’s forgiven me. My face heats with shame like it does whenever I think about Johnathan and the affair. I hate what I did; I’d give anything to go back in time and change it. But I can’t. The guilt will haunt me until I die. All I can do is own my mistakes, take the lesson home, and do better in the future.
Just as these thoughts writhe furiously inside my head, I lift my gaze and meet Daria’s cold stare for the first time since The Mistake. Her mouth curls up in a vicious smile, while she gives me a brief, one-handed wave, saying, “Oh, so you’re really here. Haven’t seen you around much.”
Susan is at her side, foaming at the mouth to see how I’ll react.
I could wave back and disappear inside the bus, but what’s the point? I can’t avoid them forever.
Time to face the music.
I walk straight to them, closing the short distance between us.
“Hi, Daria.” I nod at her and then at Susan. “Susy.”
Both nod back, half-surprised, half-curious as if I were an animal in a zoo and they were trying to guess my next move.
Daria can’t help herself—she was never the stay-quiet type—and speaks first. “Long time no see.”
“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize to both of you for disappearing, but after what happened, I was too ashamed to face anyone.”
Daria seems surprised at my words, but her gaze doesn’t get any less chilly. She also isn’t the forgiving type. Even if we don’t stand a chance of ever being anything more than casual acquaintances, I still owe her an apology. And I don’t know, having Archie not look at me as if I’m disgusting or somehow damaged has made me feel stronger, giving me the backbone to say what I’m about to say. “I did an unforgivable thing; I knew how you felt about cheating and I was too much of a coward to confront you.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “And what’s changed now?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’ve had time to reflect on my actions and realize that I need to take responsibility for the pain I caused. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I hope you can see that I’m sincere in my apology.”
“Yeah, well, apology accepted, Summer.” Daria shrugs in a way that tells me, “You can apologize all you want; we’re never going to be friends again.”
“I just want to avoid any drama for my sister’s sake. No matter what you think about me, this is her wedding, and I don’t want her to worry or feel obligated to come to my rescue.”
“No problem,” Daria says, with that permanent resting bitch face. “We know how to behave ourselves.”
The “contrary to you” postscript is clear in her tone.
“Great,” I say, looking at Susan. She shrugs in a half-apologetic way, as if to say, “I might have forgiven you, but Daria would never allow it, so I have to pick sides and I’m not on yours.”
The idea of having lost them saddens me, but being here with them now, I realize I’ve come to terms with it. Some friendships are stronger than anything while others are simply not meant to last and will crumble under a big enough storm. Daria has had her heart broken by too many cheating men; forgiving me would translate to her as forgiving them, and I know she never will.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” I conclude. “See you around.”
I leave them to no doubt gossip behind my back and head onto the bus. We have to leave in five minutes anyway. I go for a seat in the rear as usual, sitting down with my temples still pulsing from the harrowing exchange I just had outside.
I hope today will pass fast.
The wish has been barely expressed when my phone pings with an incoming text from an unknown number.
Eager to find out who it’s from, I read the message.
From Archibald Hill
Hope you don’t mind, but I finally found a good use for the “Winter and Logan Tie the Knot” WhatsApp group Tucker created
My stomach does a silly, adolescent flip. Archie searched for my number, and he’s texting me.
Even if I feel as agitated as a teen texting her first crush, I keep my reply super cool.
To Archie
Oh, gosh, that group
I mute it every week
With everyone on board, the bus leaves the parking lot just as Archie’s reply comes in.
From Archie:
Every week? I muted it for a year straight off the bat
To Archie
A year?
LOL
That’s badass
But makes sense, you never replied to a single text
I didn’t even know you were in the group
From Archie
Sorry, but the first time Tucker asked us to help research the meaning of flowers and come up with suggestions for the floral arrangements, I had to bail
To Archie
But that was a great assignment
I suggested Gardenias
They’re wedding-white and bringers of joy
From Archie
I remember
I read the chat from time to time
How weird that I’ve been texting Archie for months without ever realizing it. Did I write something majorly uncool? I’m tempted to go back and reread the entire thread, but his next text comes in, preventing me.
From Archie
How’s it going over there?
The bus is already pulling up at our destination, the riding ground. Wow, that was quick, I barely noticed we were moving.
I read the question again. I could tell Archie about my earlier conversation with Daria and Susan, but I don’t want to spoil our chat. Soon I’ll be out in the fresh air, riding. And I’m pretty sure only my sister, Lana, and I will make it to the more advanced group—LA isn’t famous for its riding grounds, and I bet we’re the only ones to have ever been on the back of a horse before. My family, from my mother’s side, is originally from Indiana, and my grandparents used to own a ranch near Bloomington. When we were little, Lana, Winter, and I would spend many summers on the farm doing all the Midwestern activities California kids probably never learn: how to ride a horse, how to shoot rifles, crossbows, and every other weapon known to mankind. Or, more harmlessly, how to milk a cow. All important life skills.
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