One week later...I cross one leg over the other and fold my upper body to my thighs, stretching my arms until they can sweep across the floor. Gradually I inhale, filling my lungs with oxygen and expanding my chest to capacity. I hold it for a couple of seconds before forcing every molecule from my body. Repeating the process, I focus on my breathing. I can almost feel the break down of lactic acid that has built up in my muscles during the intense sixty-minute practice. After a few more deep breaths, I sit up and shift my legs before crossing the left in front of the right and bending forward to deepen the stretch. Once my calves and thighs have been stretched, I straighten my legs in front of me and fold at the waist before widening my legs and moving through a second series of stretches.Francois Dupre, our guest instructor, is a French import. His pedigree is impressive. Classically trained, danced as the lead with the French Ballet, travelled the world. Most of the femal
My elbows are perched on my knees as I sit on the bench in the locker room and stare sightlessly at my clasped hands. They're clenched so tightly together that the knuckles have turned bone white.Did I do the right thing?Or was it all a huge fucking mistake? One I can't take back because let's face it, there's no way to come back from a breakup through text. That's signed, sealed, and delivered.Here's what I know-relief flooded through me as soon as I hit send.And that's got to mean something...right?I straighten my shoulders and try to convince myself that I did what needed to be done. That, unfortunately, doesn't stop the self-doubt from mushrooming up inside me. I feel like the world's biggest asshole for handling it in this manner. I damn well know that Alyssa didn't deserve to be broken up through text message, but I also realize that I wouldn't have been able to go through with it if I'd had to stand before her and look her in the eye.So, yeah...I pussied out and text
I jerk my shoulders. There's no way I can tell her the truth. That would mean opening up and letting her in. Like slitting my wrist and bleeding out emotionally. And that, I'm unwilling to do. So, I go with something believable. "I dunno, just kind of feels like this relationship has run its course." When her eyes widen, I force out the rest, needing a clean break. I can't have her coming back, trying to repair this. I need to blow it up. "There's only so much monotony I can deal with."Her mouth tumbles open as she sucks in a sharp breath. "What?" Whatever she was expecting me to say, that wasn't it.When her eyes turn glassy, I glance at the cement block wall beyond her. If I don't, I'll drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. And I can't allow that to happen."We had a good run. Six months is practically an eternity as far as I'm concerned. But I'm over it. I need to mix things up. Explore my options.""You," there's a beat of silence as if she's having a difficu
There's a gentle tap on my arm."Lys?"I blink out of my thoughts and refocus my attention on Mia. "Hmmm?" If she asked a question, I have no idea what it was. I really need to snap out of this funk. Sympathy flashes across her face as she loops her arm through mine and tugs me to her. "Aww, girl. I'm sorry. I know this must be tough." There's a pause. "You want me to beat Colton's ass? For you, I'll do it."Even though it takes effort, I force out a snort. "Nah. He's not worth it." My lips quirk at the corners at the idea of Mia getting into any kind of physical altercation. She's never so much as had a disagreement. She's always walked the straight and narrow, but that behavior intensified after her sister, Brianne, died in a car accident. Sometimes I get the feeling that Mia is trying to distract her parents with all of her accomplishments. Straight A's, tennis tournaments, squeaky clean image and reputation. It must be exhausting to be so perfect.I wouldn't know.
One month later...The muscles of my belly spasm as I click on the email and skim over the first line. I'd mentally prepared myself for a-we regret to inform you...blah, blah, blah.Instead, it reads-Congratulations! You have been selected...I blink and read over the first line with more care, but the words remain the same. It still says congratulations.Holy shit! How did this happen? I didn't think I had a shot in the dark of being selected to attend LCDS. There were only a handful of spots and the competition was killer. Without Monsieur Dupre practically forcing me to apply, I wouldn't have bothered.A potent concoction of excitement and fear bubble up inside me. As that thought swirls through my head, the door to the dorm opens and Mia steps inside.Her lips lift into a smile when she spots me at the desk near the window. "Hey! I didn't expect you back so soon.""We were let out early," I tell her. "I just walked in ten minutes ago."With a huff of breath, she tosses
Summer before junior year of college...I pull my metallic grey 840i convertible BMW into Beck's circular driveway before shifting into park and leaving the car to idle. I shoot Beck a text to let him know that I'm outside waiting before drumming my fingers impatiently on the sleek leather steering wheel.A couple of minutes tick by and there's no sign of Beck. His truck is parked in the drive and there are lights on inside the house, so I know damn well that he's home.For fuck's sake, where the hell is that guy?Irritation pounds through me. We've got plans tonight and I'm impatient to get to them. We're supposed to meet up with a couple of chicks from high school. I fire off another text.Let's move!There's nothing but stereo silence from his end. It's enough to rile me up. Muttering under my breath, I slam out of the vehicle and stalk up the wide stairs to the massive front door before rapping my knuckles against the heavy wood.No answer.I ring the bell. It chimes throug
March of junior year...Jack grabs hold of my hand and laces our fingers together before flashing me a cheeky smile as we take in the shops on Oxford Street. The skies are overcast, but the weather is seasonable for this time of year in London, which means it's about fifty degrees. We're both bundled up in jackets. I can't help but return the easy expression.Effortless.That would be the perfect word to describe my relationship with him.He's handsome, charming, and so very British.I've turned into something I never expected to be-a cliché. I could listen to him talk all day long. And I flipping love when he uses words like-bullocks, bloody, and knackered. It makes me laugh every time. And the guy knows it, which is why he does it. He gets a little twinkle in his dark eyes when my lips start to twitch.And he's a footballer.Well, I mean soccer player. In England, it's called football and it's huge. Like nothing I could have imagined. Everyone is crazy for either Mancheste
"We're late," Beck mutters, hastening his step as we move through the lobby of our apartment building before pushing through the glass doors and into the bright sunshine, "and I'm in no mood to run suicides."Yeah, me neither. We've done more than enough of that this summer. My body already feels battered and bruised and it's only August. Coach came back in July when training camp started up with all these new workout regimes. I'm not sure if he's trying to scare the freshman, but I don't like it.Not one damn bit. Added to that, it's hot as hades out here. And it will feel a thousand degrees hotter running plays on the turf. There are times when the field actually looks hazy in the afternoon sun. A few of the guys have already passed out. That's Division I football for you. Pussies need not apply.I'll tell you this, it makes me glad that I decided not to enter the draft. As much as I love football and I'll miss the sport, I'm ready to move on with my life. I glance at Bec