All The Ways You Saved Me Part 3

Ah, satisfaction. Come Thursday, I'd have another thing to cross off my list. Mental high five, Bianca! I sighed at my inner peppiness. I was losing my mind.

Now, to only fill my other off nights with something to do. I ran my finger over the edge of my lower lip, resisting the urge to bite my nail. If I'd learned nothing in the years I'd spent with my etiquette tutor, it was to never, ever mutilate my fingernails. Pus.h.i.+ng up onto the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, I leaned the chair back on two legs.

The sudden appearance of a coffee cup several inches in front of my face nearly made me upset my chair. Gripping the sides to keep it from tipping over, I followed the navy blue cup to its destination next to my laptop where a finger tapped the lid. I let my eyes meander from that finger, up to a hand, over a multi-colored canvas of forearm, through the divots of a jet black thermal, and finally up to a somewhat familiar face-the face of my good-deed-coffee-guy.

He surprised me by pulling out the chair opposite me, the legs sc.r.a.ping against the tile floor, and sitting down. Tugging the chair in, his knees b.u.mped mine.

He swirled his coffee cup in one hand. "I owed you a coffee."

I laid my hand on the lid of my laptop and pushed it down so that I could look directly at him. "No, you really didn't."

"So, are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what, exactly?" I wrapped my fingers around the coffee cup and drew it toward me, raising an eyebrow at him.

He took a long swig of his coffee, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. A flash of color winked out at me from the underside of his left wrist, a bright spot on his otherwise plain arm. "Why you randomly decided to buy me coffee the other day."

"I already told you." I drummed my fingers on the side of the cup. "Good deed."

He shook his head. "I'm not buying it. People always want something in return."

The coffee cup halted on the way to my mouth, and I slowly set it back down. "You're telling me that you don't believe I just wanted to do a nice thing, that I must have done it because I wanted something back?"

"Precisely." He arched his eyebrow at me, his lips holding in a firm line.

"You mean, like your number?"

He frowned.

"Because if you'll remember, I didn't ask you for that." With an internal sigh, I abandoned the coffee cup on the table and pushed it back toward him. "And I guess by accepting this I would only be feeding your cynicism, so I'm going to have to give it back to you. It's too bad, because that caffeine smells mighty good."

His frown deepened, etching creases on either side of his eyes, his gaze flickering from the coffee cup back to me. "It really was just a nice thing you wanted to do?"

I bit my lip and chuckled. "Yes and no." Seeing that he wasn't going to accept that incredibly vague answer, I pushed on. "Yes, it was just a good deed. No, I wasn't expecting anything in return. But it was also part of this thing that I'm doing."

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands across his lean middle. "A thing?"

I traced circles on the laminate top of the table with my pointer finger, avoiding meeting his eyes directly. It wasn't any huge secret, but thinking about the reason behind it made my heart cower inside my chest. My words, when they finally came out, were quiet. "If you must know, my best friend died not too long ago. She had this list of these little things she wanted to do to make sure every day was something special. I'm finis.h.i.+ng it for her."

"That's . . . kind of amazing."

I finally pulled my eyes back up to his and saw him smile for the first time. Man, did that do wonders for his face. His gray eyes lit up, and all the harsh edges and lines that circled his mouth suddenly softened.

I hastily cleared my throat and re-focused my stare out the window. d.a.m.n, was I blus.h.i.+ng? "Thanks."

"I'm Ian, by the way," he said.

"Nice to meet you, I'm . . . Bianca." I quirked my head to the side as he practically stared through me. Lifting one hand to cover my mouth, I surrept.i.tiously felt over my teeth with my tongue. "Do I have something in my teeth?"

"Hm? No." He gave his head a little shake and seemed to relax. Weird. "So, do you have a lot on this list that you need to do?"

I pulled up the list in my head. "There were fifteen, total. Buying you coffee let me cross one off the list, another is in progress, so that leaves another thirteen." I stopped, considering my next words for a moment. "I have plans to take care of another one on Thursday night if, um, you're at all interested."

Real smooth, Bianca.

He s.h.i.+fted in his chair, looking suddenly uncomfortable. The frown was back.

I preempted his brush-off by barreling forward. "It's fine, I can totally go by myself. And I didn't mean like a date or anything, to be clear. I just thought if you weren't busy, or were bored, that maybe you'd wanna hang out or . . . never mind."

G.o.d, now I was definitely blus.h.i.+ng. Someone please hand me a shovel so I can dig this hole a little bit deeper. You'd never know that during a typical summer I held intelligible conversations with U.S. Congressmen on a frequent basis, yet here I was, stuttering with the best of them in front of some random guy. Man, I missed Renee. She always knew the perfect things to say.

He looked like he was trying to bite back a smile as my cheeks flushed even darker. s.h.i.+fting the coffee cup from one hand to the other, he leaned forward. "Turns out, I actually don't have any plans on Thursday."

I gave myself a full five seconds to form a fully coherent response in my mind before actually allowing myself to speak. "Really? Great. I'd love some company."

Tilting his head to the side, he asked, "So, what's on the agenda?"

I ignored the little flips my stomach was doing from the way he was looking at me. "Yoga."

"Yoga? Like, a yoga cla.s.s?"

"I know." I shrugged. "Not the best place to have a conversation."

"Should I meet you there?"

"That works. I can give you the address . . ." I hopped up from the chair like it was on fire, grabbed a napkin from the front counter, and s.n.a.t.c.hed an abandoned pen as well. By the time I got back to the table, my face had finally returned to its normal pale shade.

Pulling the info up on my phone, I scribbled the details down and added my number at the bottom. "This is my number, just in case you decide you don't want to spend your Thursday night doing yoga with me."

He glanced down at the wrinkled brown napkin and then shoved it in his pocket. "Alright, well, I've got to run, but it was really nice meeting you, Bianca."

His hand hovered in the air between us, and I reached out mine to shake it. He was warm, much warmer than I was, and it made me wonder again why in the world he was wearing a d.a.m.n thermal s.h.i.+rt.

"Nice to meet you too, Ian."

Picking up the second coffee cup, he set it back in front of me. "Here, my good deed for the day."

I smiled. "I'm not sure I really buy that, I mean, I did just give you my number, after all."

An answering grin split his face. "Touche."

Chapter 8: Bianca.

Standing at the end of my bed, I stared at the outfit I'd laid out this afternoon for tonight's yoga cla.s.s. Black yoga pants with an aqua and lavender tie-dyed tank top. I considered swapping the tank top for something else for the thousandth time, but finally just let it go. It's not like it was a date or anything, just two people hanging out. Not that I would've minded if it was, but . . . baby steps. If nothing else, it wouldn't hurt to have another friend in the city.

The sun was just dipping below the tops of the buildings when I stepped outside, injecting pink and orange hues into the brilliant blue sky. My strides were long and measured as I wound my way across the street and down several blocks, dropping my gaze to my phone and quadruple-checking I was heading in the right direction.

The gla.s.s front of the yoga studio had its name, Studio D, scrawled across it in a sweeping white font. Through the window I could see golden hardwood floors, clean white walls, and small shoots of bamboo poking up from the reception desk.

I tugged my purse up an inch higher on my shoulder and paused with indecision outside the door. I could wait for Ian inside, but then I'd probably need to explain that I was waiting for someone, and if he didn't show then I'd look like an a.s.s. So, I decided to wait right here, and pretend that the woman at the front desk wasn't watching me anyway.

Flicking my phone on, I glanced at the time. Fifteen minutes before the cla.s.s started. I'd give him ten more before I went inside alone.

I counted cars as I waited, people-watching the few men and women that scurried across my path. I could almost hear the seconds tick by even though I knew the clock was an imaginary one in my head.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled up a new message from Harper: Have fun tonight! Text me when you're home so I know you made it there safely. Xoxo.

It'd been hard letting Harper in. Everything with Renee was so fresh, so raw, that letting another person get close to me was a risk I was afraid to take. Now, I was glad I'd taken the chance. I sent her back a quick message-Will do. As my text whisked off into cybers.p.a.ce, the time flashed back at me-seven twenty-five. Game over.

I wanted to sigh again, but cut it off before it even started. There were other nights, other guys. Dropping my phone back in my purse, I reached for the door handle and tugged it open.

"Bianca!"

I froze and my hand slipped off the handle, the door slamming shut. The girl at the desk gave me a dirty look before averting her gaze back down to the computer screen in front of her.

I took two steps back so that I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk. Ian hurried toward me in his typical gray thermal, with the sleeves pulled down this time, and a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. He'd swapped his jeans for a pair of black athletic shorts that emphasized how narrow his hips were in comparison to his broad shoulders.

He came to a stop a few feet in front of me and seemed to sway toward me. At this distance I could see the p.r.i.c.kling of stubble shadowing his jaw, and it looked like he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a week if the dark patches underneath his eyes were any indication.

"Sorry I'm late," he said.

My nose wrinkled at the overwhelming stench of whisky that wafted toward me. I kept the realization from my face and plastered on a practiced smile. "Don't worry about it."

His eyes drifted over my face, his gaze looking almost as unsteady as he did. I made a move for the door, and he followed behind me, managing to catch the toe of his sneaker on the doorjamb and stumbling forward. He gave me a sheepish smile, and I had to stifle the urge to roll my eyes.

Ian fiddled with a plant in the corner while I signed us in and paid. For both of us. I didn't really mind. I asked him to come with me after all. The entire time I stood there, the receptionist's eyes were glued to Ian, and the worst part was that I couldn't even blame her.

d.a.m.n him and those tight thermal s.h.i.+rts.

I had to tap him on the shoulder to regain his attention, and even then it looked like he had difficulty focusing on my face. G.o.d, this was going to be a long night.

As we slipped into the cla.s.sroom, I grabbed two yoga mats and maneuvered us to the back of the room. Laying his out next to mine, I lowered myself down to the mat.

Ian did the same, but with not even an ounce of grace. He thudded to the ground in a move that would probably leave a grapefruit-sized bruise on his a.s.s. A few women glanced around in his direction, but most were too intent on stretching to pay either of us any attention.

Sealing my feet together at the instep, I bent forward for a deep hamstring stretch and let my cheek rest on the top of my thighs. To my left, Ian had also pulled his heels together in some awkward type of b.u.t.terfly stretch and bounced his knees up and down, the nervous energy seeming to flow straight out of him. The only brief pause in his agitated movements came when he flipped his hat around so that it faced backward.

A minute later, the yoga teacher walked in, dressed in black spandex capris and a matching racerback tank top.

"Good evening, cla.s.s," she said, letting her gaze roam over the entirety of people gathered before her. "It's always lovely to see new faces. For those of you who are unfamiliar with yoga or who might be taking their first cla.s.s," her eyes swept over to Ian where he swayed like an unstable Buddha, "I hope you enjoy yourself and will be back to visit us again."

She sat down on her mat, and I copied her position. I'd already done my yoga googling before coming here, checking out some beginner poses and practicing them in the comfort of my own apartment. Life lesson from my father-never go into anything unprepared.

As we s.h.i.+fted through the routine, I felt my muscles wake and stretch. Pus.h.i.+ng up into Downward-Facing Dog, I peeked through the crack in my legs at my drunken companion. The muscles in his forearm flexed as he tilted toward one side and then righted himself.

We moved through a few more exercises, which were accompanied by Ian's grunts and m.u.f.fled oaths It was as we switched to Reverse Warrior that things went significantly downhill. A few of the women in front of me swayed but held firm. My super sweaty friend wobbled, flailed his arms in a strange helicoptering motion, then slammed down onto his mat.

Surprisingly, not one person turned around. Apparently they were in the zone or something. The teacher quirked an eyebrow toward him, quickly hiding a smile. Uncurling myself from the position, I crawled over to him.

"Are you all right?" I whispered.

A few strands of dark brown hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes squeezed shut.

"Fine," he answered. Pulling back one eyelid, he tried to focus on my face. "I think, maybe, I'll just watch the rest."

"That might be a good idea."

Rolling onto his stomach, he half belly-crawled, half crab-walked to the wall and propped himself up against it behind my mat, turning his hat around one more time and pulling it low. I took one last look at him and the green hue his skin had taken on, hoping he wouldn't end up vomiting all over the place.

Shaking him free from my mind, I bent in half into a Seated Forward Fold and took deep cleansing breaths. Another few moves, and we moved into a cool-down. When we were finished, I rolled up both our mats and returned them, stopping to scoop up my purse. I turned, offering him a hand and tugging him up to his feet.

He leaned a little too heavily toward me as I pulled, and his balance quickly s.h.i.+fted in my direction. I tried to sidestep to regain my equilibrium, but he still had a hold on both of my hands, so instead we twirled in a circle. Two hundred or so pounds slammed me into a wall, and my head snapped back with a resounding thunk that pinged off the walls of the now empty room.

I blinked hard and saw spots.

"s.h.i.+t. Are you okay?"

My fingers trailed up to the back of my head where a lump was already starting to bloom. I waved him off. "All good. Don't worry about it."

Opening my eyes, I found his mere inches from mine. He jerked back, nearly stumbling and landing on his a.s.s again. What a mess.

Ian trailed my heels like a lost puppy dog on the way out, managing to b.u.mp into me when I came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk. The air hadn't lost any of its heat and hung heavy around me like a flannel blanket.

I surveyed Ian with an exasperated glare and cursed my good upbringing. "I guess I should probably make sure you get home safely."

His lips sunk into a frown, the emotion reflecting in his eyes. "Shouldn't that be my job?"

"Well, we both know what the key word there is," I muttered.

He blinked at me like a solemn owl. "What?"

"Nothing, forget it." I waved a hand at him. "Are you close enough that we can walk, or . . . ?"

"Cab," he said. "Definitely need to take a cab."

I only hoped he still remembered his address. How drunk could the guy be if he could still partially partic.i.p.ate in a yoga cla.s.s? Not that drunk, right?

I stepped to the curb and flagged down a taxi, holding the door open so that Ian could fold his long frame into the backseat. He looked cramped with his head ducked down from the ceiling and his knees drawn close to his chest.

I fiddled with my phone while he gave the driver his address. As the taxi peeled away into the street, I focused on my breathing and tried to tamp down the nearly immediate motion sickness. Unclenching my hands, I folded them neatly in my lap, keeping my eyes trained on them so I couldn't see the scenery hurtling by.