Every Single Thing About You: A “Tuck Yes” Love Story - Book 3 by Hopkins, Faleena (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

good, everyone. Now take your favorite pose,” she smiles, and several students say it with her, “Shavasana.”

It takes me a second to remember that’s the one where you lie on your back with a blanket and do nothing.

I can do that.

I lie down with a sense of achievement, pulling the yoga blanket up, lungs deflating a deep breath of relief as I close my eyes. With muscles tingling I allow everything but why I came here to disappear.

Tempest’s voice comes gentle. Quiet. “When you’re ready, roll onto your side and stay there a moment, then lay your palm flat on the ground and push yourself slowly up and face forward in Lotus.”

As I plant my palm, I glance over to the stage and find her watching me.

She averts her gaze back to class. “As you return to your busy lives, remember to breathe. Except in the subway. Shallow breaths are okay there.”

Her students laugh, and Tempest checks to see if she made me smile. Our eyes lock, and because I’m not smiling her body unravels with the speed of a cheetah again, voice clipped, “Thank you everyone. Have a good day.” Turning her back on the room, she heads for a door on the far wall.

I have to crane my neck a little to see what’s back there, and a woman I recognize from the first class fills me in, “That’s the bathroom.”

“I knew that.”

“No, you didn’t.” Rolling up her mat, she smiles, “Because you’ve never been here before.” At my expression she offers, “I’m Joan. I’ve been to every single class since Tempest opened her own studio. I remember you. You’re the guy whose friends are dating her sister and… was it her cousin?”

I point at the hardwood floor. “Wait, this is hers? Tempest owns this?”

Pointing to her pants with Y.Y.Y. branded on them, she beams, “I’m all in. I’m even going to Italy!”

“Italy?”

Walking backwards Joan says, “The retreat next month,” and waves, “Have to go home and shower. I’ve got a date tonight.”

Bending to roll up my mat, I notice I’m the only one left, and stop rolling, sitting down on it instead. Takes another five or six minutes before Tempest peeks out of the bathroom.

“Still here,” I wave.

She reacts, straightens up, and walks to the stage. “Why?”

“Needed to talk to you.”

Pausing over a lit candle, she blows it out and walks to another. “You have my full attention.”

“So, this is yours, huh? I had no idea you started a business.”

She crosses to the fountain, and turns it off. “I asked Christina and Zia not to tell you.”

“Ouch.”

Her eyes cut to me, “Ouch?” and she blows out another candle. “You have feelings?”

I stand to roll up my mat, “Too many.”

“Join the club.”

Punching the sides to get it balanced I offer, “And I’ve hurt yours.”

Tempest blows out a flame, and meets my eyes. “Yes, you have. Several times.” Walking to the last candle she adds, “In fact, pretty much every time I’ve ever seen you.”

“Yet you still like me.”

She freezes, and spins on her heels, furious. “What makes you think I like you?”

“I get the feeling you do.”

“I hate to tell that inflated ego of yours, but you’re wrong.”

“Huh.” I bend and snatch up the blanket, folding it as she draws unpainted, wood blinds, blocking the lights of one of our busiest streets in Manhattan. Putting away my borrowed materials I wait for her to say something, but get silence as she gathers her things.

In the foyer I spy a flyer for Italy’s retreat by her studio’s sign-in sheet that I hadn’t seen before in my haste to get inside. Snatching it from its plastic display, since it seems to be the last one, I shove it under the elastic in back of my joggers, and cover the theft with my tank top, quickly turning around as Tempest walks in with a tote bag hanging from her shoulder, keys in hand.

“Good class tonight.”

“Thank you,” she frowns.

“I’ll walk you to the subway.”

“I’m not taking the subway.”

“Oh.” My turn to frown. “You have plans?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” I open the door for her and she holds my gaze as she exits. We walk onto Houston Street where pedestrian traffic is constant, and I wait while the key slides into place and Tempest glances to me, wondering why I’m still here. She slowly withdraws the key and starts walking west. That’s my direction, so I join her, uninvited.

“What made you open your own place?” I look over at her frustrated sigh. “What?”

“You don’t really want to know.”

“Yeah I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Stopping in the center of a graffiti-tagged sidewalk, Tempest faces me and flips her braid behind her. “Zia told me she yelled at you. Don’t try and make amends by acting all buddy-buddy with me, Josh. I’m perfectly fine with the fact that we don’t like each other. And yes, I know we’re going to be in their weddings, and we’ll probably see a lot of each other when my sister has her baby, since Bennett is your best friend.” She motions between us. “But we really don’t have to do this.”

Pursing my lips, I nod, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tempest tilts her head.

“Yep.”

“Good!” She looks over at me as my feet keep time with hers. “What are you doing?”

“I live this way, so I’ll just walk with you until you have to go to wherever it is you’re going. Would be pretty weird if we walked in the same direction and pretended we didn’t know each other. Plus, it’s safer if I walk you.”

“I can protect myself.”

“Safer for me.”

A beautiful grin flashes. “Fine. We’ll walk.”

“In silence or…”

She sighs, “I decided to open my own studio because corporate life wasn’t making me happy anymore.”

“Did it used to?”

Thinking about it, Tempest admits, “When I first started, it did. So busy and hectic you feel…I don’t know…important? But after a while my days got so loud I sought out silence.” We make way for a skateboarder, and she watches him ride off before we continue walking up Houston.