Page 19 of Hero Hair

Chapter Seven

Teala

I taught three hot yoga classes before noon. It’s two in the afternoon and I haven’t heard from Macs. Not that I’m the type of person to wait for a phone call from a man, but for the first time in a while I’m excited to hear from a man. I’m also excited to tell my mother I’m dating someone. To tell my friends he called for a second date.

“It’s fake, Teala,” I tell myself as I glance at my watch for the third time in one minute. I tap on it to see how many calories I’ve burned and sigh.

I’m meeting Jasmine for a workout at our boot camp class across the street. If he hasn’t called by then, I may have to lie. The girl who works my front desk pushes a Greek wrap across the desk.

“Eat. You’ve already burned more calories than you can make up today,” she says. “We might need to hire another teacher so there’s backup when someone gets sick.”

“It’s fine. I have it, it’s no big deal.” I don’t have to pay an instructor today. As inconvenient as it is to be here on my day off, I don’t complain too much. Owning my own business has taught me more about life than I can quantify. Running a good business and making money isn’t an easy task. I’ve managed to create something successful that funds an exceptional life. I’ve helped my mother out a time or two when she hit a rough patch. Nothing makes me happier. “She’ll be back tomorrow. Just one more class and we’re done for the day. You should get certified,” I offer.

A double-threat employee. She can run things and teach classes. A woman can dream. She laughs and brushes off my suggestion with a lame excuse. That’s a millennial for you. I had to fire the last twenty-two-year-old desk girl after she brought her small dog to work. I told her it was unacceptable. Twice. She told me it was a hostile work environment. A yoga studio. Hostile. I laughed while I paid her in cash from my own wallet just to get her out of my sight.

Rolling my eyes, I eat the wrap in four bites, inhaling quickly without tasting the food. She stares at me with huge eyes. “I don’t know how you can do that.”

I shrug. “It’s food.”

“You’re going to teach a class after eating that in thirty seconds? I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

Smiling, I crumple the wrapper and toss it into the trash can across the room. “I’ll take it easy this go-round.” My watch pings with a text, but it’s just Jasmine confirming our meet-up. “Ugh,” I moan. “Is the room clean? I’ll head in and fold cold towels.”

She nods, so I head into the warm room, my bare feet sticking to the dark hardwood floors. I do a few stretches on my mat in the front. I prefer the low lights in here to those in the real world. Everything is so bright and harsh. I hear the soft waft of the door behind me.

“Teala. How are you?” I recognize his voice right away and shiver despite the warm room.

I turn to the side to glance at him in the mirror. “Gavin. I’m well. How are you?”

“I had no idea Trudy was out today,” he replies.

I sigh. Let’s call Gavin specimen A. A man I slept with who could have been more if he wasn’t such a dickhead. Speaking of—specimen B. It’s his dick. It’s long, pink, and strong. I laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Gavin asks, eyes narrowed.

I shake my head. I subconsciously quoted a rap song. There’s no hope for me. Macs did call people who do it awesome, though. I stop laughing. “Nothing, Gavin. Just thought of something.” And now I want to crawl in a hole because I care what a man like Macs thinks of me.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I’m making him self-conscious. Good. Let him think I’m laughing at him. He deserves more than embarrassment.

“I don’t know why you don’t find another studio to practice at.”

He’s a lean and handsome business man who travels to San Diego frequently. We had a passion-fueled night a few months ago. For a brief amount of time he made it seem like he wanted more than just a night. I thought a regular hook-up might be better than a bunch of new ones, but I was so wrong. He left and put an envelope of cash on my pillow.

“I don’t need your money here either,” I deadpan, turning my gaze to my knees for a stretch.

“I’m sorry. I tried calling you and emailed the studio. I freaked out,” he explains.

He unrolls his mat next to me. I close my eyes. After my night, the last thing I need is Gavin this close to me. My watch vibrates. I look down and see a message from Macs. I smile.The playground is where I spend all of my nights…Balboa Park. Meet me by the monkey bars at 6.I keep smiling—a goofy, face-bending smile I can’t control. I forget where I’m at and whom I’m talking to.

When I finally glance Gavin’s way, he’s eyeing me down not so subtly. Standing, I head over to the towel fridge and begin rolling the wet squares of fabric. “You can stay for class, but I don’t want to talk about it, Gavin. I’m over it. I’m seeing someone else now.” Saying those words feels sweeter than I thought they would. Even if it’s a lie. Using my cell phone, I set the music to low, electric mood music and send back a thumbs-up to reply to Macs.

I screenshot his text and send it to my friends in our group message. They all reply with generic congratulations and jokes. None of them suspect anything. Not to my face anyways. How could they not speculate given my history? They know me too well. I’ll have to keep the false pretenses and my guard up.

Don’t stalk me there, please,I text back to my friends. I ask what’s acceptable behavior for a second date and receive mixed messages. Some say a kiss is okay. Others say making out is completely acceptable. No touching below the waist is what they agree upon in the end.

A few more yoga patrons trickle in. Gavin ignores my eyes studiously. He watches me, though. When he thinks I’m not looking. I know the look on his face and it makes me feel validated. He knows he fucked up. But I’m not a woman who can be kept. He did himself a favor by changing his mind. I’d never tell him that. It’s a forty-five-minute class. With my head in the clouds, daydreaming about what tonight might hold, it passes by in an eye blink. Gavin’s loaded gazes become background noise.

Stepping outside after my instruction has finished, I call my mom and fill her in on the details. I haven’t heard her this happy for a long time. I make a mental note to lie about my relationship status more frequently. I envision the smile she’s wearing and a pang of loneliness hits me. I pull my feet up onto the bench in the locker room. Not loneliness for myself, but for her. I ask about her friends, and she reluctantly tells me she has a date in the upcoming week. Her excitement for my own date morphs into dread.

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