Mia avoided me for five days, a laughable and impressive effort considering I attended her Friday and Monday classes. She wore a chilly mask of indifference, handing out platonic smiles like the town's dentist doling out toothbrushes on Halloween.

That was before her Olympic-paced croc-walking. Arriving two minutes before class and leaving one minute after, she left no time for me to catch her. That girl was as subtle as poking a rusty nail in my eye.

Her eyes never landed on me in two hours' worth of classes. Two hours, one hundred and twenty minutes, and zero eye contact. It bothered me. A lot. How did I transition from disliking her scrutinous gaze to...Fuck if I knew, but I didn't like it. What the fuck had I said wrong? She froze up, bolted out of my house as if her ass were on fire, and screeched tire marks backing out of my driveway.

Her yoga mat being patterned with ladybugs confirmed my assumption: she was still hung up on her ex. Unless Mia was in some toxic shit breakup, having feelings for an ex wasn't an issue. I still held feelings for Candace because she'd been an invaluable part of my life. Replaying all the signs, now as clear as runway globe sticks directing a plane, we weren't the right fit. Accepting that was a bitter pill to swallow, but I still wanted her to be happy.

So, yeah, I understood caring about your ex. Very healthy and mature of me.

All that maturity evaporated with Mia's fifty-yard dash exit into the women's bathroom. Since Delores moaned up a storm in there, I wasn't about to barge in. Leaning against the hallway wall, Mike texted me with news that kicked me right in the balls.

Mike: About the golf event.

Me: What happened?

Located outside Dallas this year, I was representing my foundation at its biggest fundraiser of the year. Ashley told me that my PR turnaround depended on it...I wasn't aware my PR was declining.

Mike: Nothing but FYI, Candy will be there.

I blinked at his response, then snorted. My thumbs couldn't fly across my screen fast enough.

Me: Not as my date.

As far as I was concerned, Candy forfeited all WAG opportunities for public exposure when she left.

Mike: No.

"What then?" I asked my screen.

Me: ?

Mike's three dots replayed before I called him. "For fuck's sake, what!?"

"Shh," he shushed me over loud activity sounds. Where was he? "I'm at the doctor's."

I frowned. Hopefully, he was okay. "Are you sick?"

"No. Listen, Sam. Candy is seeing someone."

Mike's verbal sledgehammer made my chest crumple. Already? The studio walls spun around me. All that shit I said about wanting her to be happy? Fuck that. "Good for her," I grumbled between tight teeth, gripping my phone in a chokehold.

Fresh air. I needed fresh air.

"She's dating Elijah Shepherd," Mike provided info I didn't realize I didn't want to know until he already told me. Not a sledgehammer. Pile driver hits kept coming.

At my silence, Mike filled in, "Dallas'– "

"I know who he is." I squeezed my free hand into a fist. My knuckles needed to impale something, preferably Elijah Shepherd-shaped. The attention-grabbing, lightning-fast wide receiver for Dallas. Two years younger, his ego was ten times bigger than mine. As another native Texan, he was confirmed for the event...Which had a partners theme this year.

I pounded my fist into my forehead, closing my eyes and huffing out a sigh. With shoulder rehab, this yoga shit, and Mia's...Mia-ness, I'd completely forgotten.

"Ashley thinks you should issue a statement..."

Of what? Enjoy the breasts I paid for?

"...She's already drafted one if you want–"

"Fine." I tipped my chin at Delores' parting smile.

"For the charity event, do you have someone you can bring?" Mike's voice buzzed in my ear. The bathroom door stayed closed. No Mia. "Remember, it'll be highly publicized. No drinking, no public displays of..."

A high-pitched giggle rang out, followed by a pouty smile and wave from Alyssa. Her attending every class I did, fluttering her eyelashes and sending me heated looks from one mat space over, was no coincidence. I frowned and scratched at my beard. Today's class had more younger girls than Friday's grannies.

"I'm sure I can find someone."

Alyssa gazed at me like her lunch option, but the opening bathroom door had my attention. Chin tucked in and sunglasses hiding her eyes, Mia's bag bounced at her side. She passed right by where I stood, as if I was wall paint. A strange tightness pulled into my chest. It coiled tighter when she was no longer alone.

After three weeks of Mia's insults, her silence made me miss them. She was polite but distant, cold, and disconnected. The rest of the class sang praises for her revised class routines. Delores wanted to adopt her. Sure, I appreciated her changing around her class for my shoulder's benefit swelled in my chest. The initial tugs of tightness hadn't returned. I still couldn't relax my mind worth shit but I tried to follow what she said, calming my body into a corpse. My mind refused to follow.

Practicing at home before bed was more difficult. It was her fault. Visualizing coating my mind in indigo paint as she suggested, her open-mouthed smile flashing her dimples surfaced. Sunlight streaked her hair and glimmered her eyes with golden highlights. When I took slow, deep breaths, palming my stomach, her hands were on mine and her laugh echoed in my mind. Pathetic was an understatement of my current state of existence, exhibited by the way my dick rose at every reminder of her stripped down in her sports bra and leggings.

Fuck, I shouldn't think of her in that way. It's not that I barely knew her, I don't know her at all. Mia's secrets were more closely guarded than Fort Simmons, the nearby Army base, which only prodded my curiosity further.

She interacted with several guys at the studio. Until today, her morning classes were all sweet old ladies, after which men approached her. Muscular with buzz cuts and thick necks, the broken toys gazed at her begging to be fixed. Nope, don't like it.

On my way out, I asked the Indian lady behind the desk, "Does Mia have another class now?"

"No, she's done until tomorrow night." She smiled and offered me a gold nugget of information. "Good to see you again, Mr. Pearson."

"Thanks." Huh. Mia's posted classes were on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She was hiding something.

Today's guy profusely thanked her, putting a guiding hand on her back and holding the door. Was she teaching more people one-on-one? The idea burned into me, coating my tongue dry. Mister Smooth's melon-sized biceps were covered in black ink. I about lost my shit when he tugged her arm to stop walking and wrapped her up in a hug.

Her spine and arms froze in a robot position, but his back rounded so their chests were flush. Really don't like it.

Her hands patted his back, starfish fingers splayed. The door closing didn't blur the red dots flashing over my view of them hugging. His hands staying north of her equator did nothing to quell the heat rising under my skin. My feet didn't register until I was outside, exhaling hot, sharp breaths over them. At least I was taller.

"Thank you," he whispered into her shoulder.

My mouth moved before my brain caught up. "Is this guy bothering you, Mia?"

'Cause he was bothering me. He was handsome, with a square jaw, a straight spine–nope, didn't like it.

"No." Mia's face wrenched into a scowl, showing the first sign of herself in five days. "Thanks for telling me, Dave."

She threw him a smile so sweet, I hoped his teeth rotted. He bid her goodbye, eyeing me with 'Where do I know you?' question marks in his eyes, and left. I high-fived myself for his retreat.

Mia's smile dissolved into a bored expression. Her voice was tight as she clipped, "It's not Wednesday. What do you want?"

Play it cool. Don't admit–"You're avoiding me." I crossed my arms, adding a flex of my biceps, not melon-sized but noticeable enough that she frowned at them. "And I don't like it."

So much for playing it cool. Her eyes rounded, blinking up at me from her lashes. Fuck, even those were pretty. Nice. Pretty nice...I was beyond fucked. Sweat tickled my hairline. My tongue was so heavy, I swallowed. Explain, Mia. The floor's open.

"Don't know what you mean," she mumbled, turned on a squeaky croc heel, and stomped off.

I willed my eyes higher than her rounded ass, which jiggled with each step. So fucking stubborn. I heaved a sigh as her door slammed, a cloud of dust falling off her rusty junk of a truck. My truck was old but hers was a relic. Was that Ford model serviced anymore, much less manufactured? Rust covered the grill and front fenders and beneath a layer of dust, it appeared to be light blue. Its engine churned like a dying cat. Nope, it coughed, turned, and choked. Not a relic, a jalopy.

Mia's reactions behind the wheel morphed through an impressive spectrum. Her eyebrows creased together, and she held a tense grip on the wheel. She turned the engine again. The second attempt was worse, with only a few attempted clicks. For a millisecond, her eyes rounded so wide, her irises were surrounded by white. Her head shook, strings of muffled, "No no no no fuck no!" muffled inside, and her truck jiggled when she pounded the wheel.

Any cocky, 'Need help?' offers died on my tongue when her face morphed into devastation. Her mouth and eyes curved into rainbows, her lips parted, and sobs made her shoulders bounce. Tears streamed over her cheeks before she cupped her hands over them.

I opened the door without another thought to raspy sobs, uneven gasps, and snotty sniffles. "Mia?"

"Muh-muh..." A strangled sob choked off her words.

A half-shriek might've been in there too. I'd never heard that sound, but it was louder than her choked engine. She sat with her back rounded and pressed her elbows on her thighs. I cupped her heaving shoulder. "Calm down." I pressed my thumb against her neck. Her pulse raced. "Breathe, Mia."

"Oh, fuck. It can't. It can't be broken. I'm supposed to take care of–" she groaned, ducking her head and pressing those chewed-up nails into her scalp.

"Mia." I moved my hand to palm her back, hoping a touch of pressure would relax her convulsions, but it shook with uneven pitches. "Breathe."

As if she had chills, her torso quivered where she sat. Lifting her head, she drew in a breath that shook my hand. "That's it. Again."

She breathed a few times, dropping her hands in her lap. Redness coated the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks were pink and raw. Her lips parted open, white lines of dryness near the seam. Framed by clumped lashes, a distant, glossy look clouded her pupils. Soft mumbles twitched her lips. No sound came out, so I leaned closer. "Need to...fix."

"Do you have a mechanic?" Keeping my hand on her back, I pulled out my phone. When she shook her head, I dialed mine.

"Abe's," a gruff voice answered.

"Hey, it's Sam," I frowned at Mia's third startup attempt, earning her a few clicks, so I snatched up her keys. "Got a challenge for you. Send a tow truck."

Through her tears, Mia glared at me. Success: she responded to me again.

Seven minutes later, Abe's tow truck arrived. She didn't want to exit her truck, gripping the wheel with enough tension to rip it off. My hands twitched with the urge to scoop her up, but instead, I palmed her tensed knuckles.

"I'll give you a ride..." Fuck, wrong words. "To the shop."

She was silent on the drive over to Abe's, sniffling quietly and wiping her eyes. Her presence in my car, her skin-tight yoga clothes, and the faint smell of perspiration made my heart unsure of what it was supposed to be doing. My dick volunteered to hold my body's blood supply, making focusing my eyes straight ahead difficult. Her knees hovered close to the dashboard; if I looked any higher, I would wreck from checking out her thighs.

"How tall are you?" I blurted out, palming the wheel to turn in behind the tow truck.

"Five-eleven and five-eighths," she muttered, her eyes tracking her truck pushed into the service bay.

I smiled at her level of specificity. "Why didn't you say six?"

"Too conventional," she replied before leaping out of my car.

Mia's pacing, to use one of my mom's sayings, was like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Hinged over, my older, balding shop owner inspected her truck. Red-faced and sweaty, he wiped his hands and gave me a warning look.

I raised my eyebrows. "Diagnosis?"

"Simple battery died, but alternator, carburetor, fuel injector, and–" he stopped as Mia gasped at each 'tor' problem.

"Can you fix it?" she whispered, hugging her stomach. Her lower lip quivered. "Please."

"Miss, if I can fix a squirrel-infested Durango, I can fix this." Abe shot me a smirk. For the record, it was one squirrel, and a shit-ton of wires chewed that prompted me to get a second garage built. "It'll cost more to fix than it's worth."

The pain searing Mia's eyes tightened my resolve. "Fix it."

"Ain't standard parts, so it'll take a while." Abe's eyes shifted between us.

"Don't care." My hand palmed her lower back, which she relaxed into. "Whatever she needs, I'll take care of it. Do your magic, Abe."

While Abe counted his future fortune, I rubbed Mia's back. "Sorry, I–"

She cut me off by throwing herself on me. Her arms snaked around my neck, choking my air supply. Her breasts smashed my chest, flexing my torso back, and her wet cheek brushed my mouth. A faint bite of salt hit my tongue as I wet my dry lips. She wasn't light–she was, but she sagged her weight into me. I brought my arms around her trembling spine. Her hot, uneven breaths fanned over the base of my neck, followed by hot tickles of more tears. "Thank you."

Why the truck was so significant faded as I held her. It didn't matter. Lightheadedness whirred my brain more than a blender on high, and my guts rearranged themselves, playing their own game of leapfrog. Thundering beats filled my chest and ears. Her hair smelled like...hair.

"I'll pay it back, whatever it costs," she muffled into my throat. It tightened, so I swallowed the cotton factory stuffed in my mouth. "Thank you, Sam."

I still knew almost nothing about Amelia Hayes, including her red-hot, ice-cold modes and blatant hatred of me. None of that mattered. Abe went somewhere else, and the sun didn't feel like it was burning off my skin anymore. Hugging her close, feeling her heart beating and tension leaving her body, I closed my eyes and rested my chin against her temple.

"You're welcome."

This truck is very important to Mia... What do we think of Sam offering to fix it?