Page 34 of Fall Apart

“So, you were serious yesterday? I can stay with you as long as it takes to fix the condo?”

I slide my hand over, grabbing her drink and the croissant, getting her attention. She glares at my hand and then back at me. “I told you before. I promised I would make things right. I don’t take that lightly. So yes, you’re welcome as long as you need to stay.” I study her deep blue eyes, driving home my point.

“Fine,” she huffs before taking her drink and food back, carefully plucking them from my hands. “I’ll stay, even with yourcharming disposition. But I have one condition.” She taps her finger on her lip again, clearly pondering something. Oh my god, those pouty fucking lips. “Make that two conditions.”

“How are you so damn tight?”I chide, trying in vain to push her straight legs back towards her chest, stretching her hamstrings.

“I’m not tight. You’re just not strong enough,” she groans. Seriously, how did I get here today?

Dumb question. I know exactly how. I should have asked Lizzy for more details. Instead, I blindly agreed to her conditions.

Would I still have agreed knowing what I know now? Yes, but at least I would have tried to negotiate a better deal for myself.

Condition one: a coffee maker. Easy.

Condition two: helping her do her yoga on weeknights and weekend mornings. Not so easy.

As soon as we got back from the coffee shop, she wanted to dive right into it. And it’s definitely not easy, especially when it turned into me being pressed against her in every single suggestive way possible.

“You know, for someone that always wears matching yoga outfits, you suck at stretching.” I hold her legs there, watching as she folds her arms around the back of her thighs to hold the position.

“Very funny. I’m sure you’re as stiff as a board, Clay. I’d like to see you stretch.” That hit a little too close to home considering the situation in my shorts right now. But the joke’s on her.

“Move over." I kneel on the ground next to her, gesturing for her to get off the yoga mat.

Now, this should be fun.

CHAPTER 17

LIZZY

ARE YOU SERIOUS?

I rolloff the yoga mat, sitting crosslegged on the rug in front of the fireplace after Clay gruffly told me to move. I will give it to him. This is definitely a scenic, cozy place to do yoga. A fireplace on one side and floor to ceiling windows looking out over the mountains.

Butthisview.

Clay, kneeling on the yoga mat in shorts and a tight, sleeveless workout shirt. He’s stretching his arms behind his back and rolling his neck. I mean it’s downright pornographic. He’s a masterpiece of sinewy muscles flexing under a rippling painting of tattoos. If he was facing me, he’d see a shade of crimson crawling across my skin.

Somehow, my idea of Clay being my accountability buddy seems incredibly indulgent right now. A truetreat yourselfmoment on myTour de Lizzy.

Clay slowly goes through a short routine alternating back and forth between downward dog and cobra poses.

I sit here, crossing my arms in amusement. He’s good at it, but that’s nothing crazy. “Clay, you don’t have to do this.”

He stays quiet and pulls himself up into a cobra. I’m about to say something when he flawlessly shifts into a crow pose and holds it.

I sit in stunned silence while he transitions from that into a shoulder stand, balancing his entire weight on his hands.

“Were you saying something about stiff as a board?” he says gruffly, turning to look at me over his shoulder, smirking.

Are you serious?

“How on earth are you doing that?”

He gracefully lowers himself back to the floor and sits facing me, looking at me sheepishly. “You do know I qualified for the Olympics, right?”

I think back to the pictures on the walls last night, thinking about some of the medals for international competitions. But the Olympics? I didn’t know that. The idea that this gruff construction worker, being a former world class athlete, is a stark contrast. I mean he certainly has the body for it. But how did he really get here besides the injuries?

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