by Anna Todd
“Same. How are things . . .”—he leans across the table to whisper—“you know, between you two?”
I look over and see Hardin has his back to us, but the barista’s face is in a deep scowl. She rolls her eyes as he hands her his debit card, and I wonder what he could have done to her to irritate her so much this early in the day.
“Good, actually. How are things with Dakota? It feels much longer than a week since we’ve seen each other.”
“Good, she’s preparing for New York.”
“That is so amazing, I’d love to go to New York.” I can’t imagine what the city is like.
“Me, too.” He smiles, and I want to tell him not to go, but I know that I can’t. “I haven’t made my mind up yet,” he says, answering my thoughts. “I want to go and be close to her—we’ve lived so far for so long. But I love WCU and don’t know if I want to be away from my mom and Ken to go to a huge city where I know absolutely no one, except her, of course.”
I nod, and try to be encouraging despite myself. “You would do amazing there—you could go to NYU and the two of you could get an apartment,” I say.
“Yeah, I just don’t know yet.”
“Know what?” Hardin interrupts, setting my coffee in front of me but not sitting down. “Never mind. I’ve got to go, my first class begins in five minutes on the opposite side of campus,” he says, and I cringe at the thought of running late on the first day of new classes.
“Okay, I’ll see you after yoga. It’s my last class,” I tell him, and he surprises me by leaning down and planting a kiss on my lips, then my forehead.
“I love you, be careful being bendy,” he says, and I get the feeling that if his cheeks weren’t red from the cold, they would be now; his eyes shift to the floor when he remembers Landon is sitting across from us. Public displays of affection are definitely not his thing.
“I will. I love you,” I tell him, and he gives Landon an uncomfortable head nod before walking toward the door.
“That was . . . weird.” Landon lifts his eyebrows and takes a drink of his coffee.
“Yeah, it was.” I laugh and rest my chin on my hand and sigh happily.
“We should get going to Religion,” Landon says, and I grab my bag from the floor and follow him outside.
Luckily we don’t have a long walk to our first class. I’m excited about World Religion. It should be very interesting and thought provoking, and having Landon there is an added bonus. When we enter the room, we aren’t the first students to arrive, but the front row is completely empty. Landon and I sit down in the front center and take our books out. It feels good to be back in my element—academics has always been my thing, and I love that Landon feels the same.
We wait patiently as the room fills with students, most of whom are obnoxiously loud. The compactness of the classroom doesn’t help with the noise, either.
At last, a tall man who looks too young to be a professor strides in and immediately launches into his lesson. “Good morning, everyone. As most of you know by now, my name is Professor Soto. This is World Religion; you may get bored a few times, and I can promise you that you’ll learn a heap of facts that you’ll never actually use in the real world—but hey, what is college for?” He smiles and everyone laughs.
Well, this is different.
“So let’s get started. There is no syllabus for this course. We will not be following a strict outline—that isn’t my style . . . but you’ll learn all that you need to know by the end date. Seventy-five percent of your grade will come from a journal that you’ll be required to keep. And I know you’re thinking: What does a journal have to do with religion? It doesn’t per se . . . but in a way it does. In order to study and really understand any form of spirituality, you have to be open to the idea of anything and everything. Keeping a journal will help with that, and some of the things I’ll have you write about will involve topics that people aren’t comfortable with, topics that are very controversial and uncomfortable for some. But all the same, I have high hopes that everyone will leave this class with an open mind and maybe a little knowledge.” He beams and unbuttons his jacket.
Landon and I both turn to look at each other at the same time. No syllabus? Landon mouths.
A journal? I reply silently.
Professor Soto takes a seat at the large desk in the front of the room and pulls a bottle of water from his bag. “You can talk amongst yourselves until the end of class, or you can go ahead and go for today and we’ll begin the real work tomorrow. Just sign the roster so I can see how many flakes we had that didn’t show for the first day,” he announces with a playful grin.
The class howls and cheers before departing quickly, Landon shrugs at me, and we both stand up after the room is empty. We’re the last to sign the attendance roster.
“Well, I guess this is cool. I can call Dakota for a little while between classes,” he says and packs his things.
THE REST OF THE DAY goes by quickly, and I’m eager to see Hardin. I’ve sent him a few text messages, but he has yet to respond. My feet are killing me as I make my way to the athletic building; I hadn’t realized how far of a walk it would be. The smell of sweat invades my nostrils as soon as I open the main door, and I hurry to the locker room labeled with a stick figure in a dress. The walls are lined with thin red lockers, the metal showing through the chipped paint job.
“How do we know which locker to use?” I ask a short brunette wearing a bathing suit.
“Just pick one and use the lock you brought,” she says.
“Oh . . .” Of course, I didn’t think to bring a lock.
Seeing my expression, she digs into her bag and hands me a small lock. “Here, I have an extra. The combination is on the back; I haven’t removed the sticker.”
I thank her as she walks out of the room. After I’m changed into a new pair of black yoga pants and a white T-shirt, I head out. As I walk down the hall to the yoga room, a group of lacrosse players pass by, several of them making a vulgar remark that I choose to ignore. All of them except one keeps moving.
“You trying out for cheer next year?” the boy asks, his deep brown, almost black eyes looking me up and down.
“Me? No, I’m just on my way to yoga class,” I stammer. We are the only people in this hall.
“Oh, that’s too bad. You would look phenomenal in a skirt.”
“I have a boyfriend,” I announce and try to move around him. He blocks me.
“I have a girlfriend . . . what does that matter?” He smiles and takes a step, cornering me.
He doesn’t appear intimidating at all, but something about his cocky smile makes my skin crawl. “I need to get to class,” I say.
“I can walk you . . . or you can skip and I could show you around.” He puts his arm up on the wall next to my head, and I step backward with nowhere to go.
“Get the fuck away from her.” Hardin’s voice booms from behind me, and the creep turns his head to look at him.
He looks more intimidating than ever in long basketball shorts and a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to reveal his tattooed arms.
“I’m . . . sorry, man, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend,” he lies.
“Did you not hear me? I said get the fuck away from her.” Hardin walks toward us, and the lacrosse player backs away quickly, but Hardin grabs hold of his shirt and slams him against the wall.
I don’t stop him.
“Come near her again and I’ll crack your skull against this wall. Do you understand me?” he growls.
“Ye-yes . . .” the guy stutters and rushes down the hall.
“Thank God,” I say and wrap my arm around his neck. “Why are you here? I thought you didn’t need any more PE classes?” I ask.
“I decided to take one. And good thing.” He sighs and takes my hand into his.
“Which one?” I ask. I can’t imagine Hardin being athletic at all.
“Yours.”
I gasp. “You didn’t.”
“Oh
, yes I did.” His anger seems to be dissolved as he smiles at my horrified expression.
chapter sixty-seven
TESSA
Hardin makes it a point to walk slightly behind me, and I suddenly want to go back to the tenth grade when I would tie a sweater around my waist to hide myself.
His voice is quiet as he says, “You’re going to need to get more of these pants.”
I remember the last time I wore yoga pants in front of Hardin and the crude remarks he made, and those yoga pants weren’t as tight as these. I laugh lightly and grab his hand to force him to walk next to me instead of behind me.
“You aren’t seriously taking yoga.” No matter how hard I try to picture Hardin posing, the image just won’t come.
“Yeah, I am.”
“You do know what yoga is, don’t you?” I ask him as we walk into the room.
“Yes, Tessa. I know what it is, and I’m taking it with you,” he huffs.
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why—I just want to spend more time with you.”
“Oh.” I’m not convinced by his explanation, but I’m looking forward to seeing him try to do yoga, and the extra time with him doesn’t hurt either.
In the center of the room, the instructor sits on a bright yellow mat. Her curly brown hair piled on top of her head and her flower-print shirt make a welcoming first impression.
“Where is everyone?” Hardin asks me as I grab a purple mat from the shelving unit on the wall.
“We’re early.” I hand him a blue one, and he examines it before tucking it under his arm.
“Of course we are.” He smiles sarcastically and follows me to the front of the room.
I begin to lay my mat down directly in front of the instructor, but Hardin grabs my arm to stop me. “No way, we’re sitting in the back,” he says, and I see the instructor’s face alight with a slight smile at his words.
“What? Sitting in the back of the class for yoga? No, I always sit in the front.”
“Exactly. We’re sitting in the back,” he repeats and takes my mat from my hands to head to the back of the room.
“If you are going to be grumpy, you shouldn’t stay,” I whisper to him.
“I’m not grumpy.”
The instructor waves and introduces herself to us as Marla when we take a seat on our mats, and afterward Hardin claims with certainty that she’s high, which makes me giggle. This is going to be a fun class.
However, as the room fills with girls in tight yoga pants and tiny tank tops who all seem to glance or stare at Hardin, I get steadily less Zen. Of course he’s the only male. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice the heaps of female attention he’s receiving. Either that, or he’s just very used to it—that has to be it. He gets attention like this all of the time. It’s not like I blame the girls, but he’s my boyfriend and they need to look elsewhere. I know some of the girls are looking at him because of his tattoos and piercings; they must be wondering why the heck he’s taking a yoga class.
“Okay, everyone! Let’s get started!” the instructor calls through the room.
She introduces herself as Marla to everyone else and gives a short speech about why and how she got into teaching yoga.
“She’s never going to shut up, is she?” Hardin groans after a few minutes.
“Eager to pose, are you?” I raise my brow.
“Pose what?” he asks.
“First we’ll begin with a few stretches,” Marla says just then.
Hardin sits still on the floor while everyone else mimics her actions. I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
“You are supposed to be stretching,” I scold him, and he shrugs but doesn’t move.
Then, in a singsong voice, Marla calls Hardin out. “You in the back, join us.”
“Erm . . . sure,” he mumbles and uncrosses his long legs and stretches them in front and attempts to reach his toes.
I force myself to look toward the front of the room and away from Hardin to prevent the laughter that is fighting to surface.
“You’re supposed to touch your toes,” the blond girl next to Hardin says.
“Trying,” he says with an overly saccharine smile.
Why did he even respond to her—and why am I so jealous? She giggles at him while the image of me slamming her head against the wall plays on repeat in my mind. I always lecture Hardin about his temper, but here I am planning this whore’s murder . . . and calling her a whore even though I don’t know her.
“I can’t really see clearly, I’m going to move up,” I tell Hardin.
He looks surprised as he speaks. “Why? I wasn’t—”
“It’s nothing, I just want to be able to see and hear what’s going on,” I explain and drag my mat a few feet, stopping directly in front of Hardin.
I sit down and finish stretching with the group. I don’t have to turn around to see the look on Hardin’s face.
“Tess,” he hisses, trying to get my attention, but I don’t turn around. “Tessa.”
“Let’s begin with the downward-dog pose—it’s very simple and a basic one,” Marla says.
I bend down, place my palms against the mat, and look at Hardin through the space between my stomach and the floor. He’s standing still with his mouth open.
Once more Marla notices Hardin’s lack of movement. “Hey, man, you thinking of joining us in yoga?” she asks jokingly. If she does it again, I won’t be surprised if he curses her out in front of the entire class. I close my eyes and shift my hips so I’m bending over completely.
“Tessa,” I hear him say again. “The-reeee-sa.”
“What, Hardin? I’m trying to concentrate,” I say, looking at him again.
He’s now leaning over, attempting to do the pose, but his long body is bent at an awkward angle and I can’t help but burst into laughter.
“Shut up, would you!” he snaps, and I laugh louder.
“You are terrible at this,” I tease.
“You are distracting me,” he says through his teeth.
“I am? How?” I love having the upper hand with Hardin, because it doesn’t happen often.
“You know how, minx,” he whispers. I know the girl next to him can hear us, but I don’t care, I hope she does.
“Move your mat, then.” I purposely stand up to stretch and bend back down into the pose.
“You move . . . you’re the one toying with me.”
“Teasing,” I correct him, using his words from minutes ago against him.
“Okay, let’s move into a halfway lift,” Marla says.
I stand again then bend at my waist, putting my hands flat on my knees and making sure my back is at a ninety-degree angle.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hardin groans at the sight of my bottom practically right in front of his face. I turn around to look at him and see that he isn’t remotely doing the pose correctly; he has his hands on his knees but his back is almost straight.
“Okay! Now for the forward fold,” our instructor calls, and I bend down, folding my body.
“It’s really like she wants me to fuck you right in front of everyone,” he says, and I snap my head up to make sure no one heard him.
“Shhh . . .” I plead and hear him chuckle.
“Move your mat or I’ll say everything that I’m thinking right now,” he threatens, and I quickly stand up and move my mat back to its previous spot next to him.
“Thought so.” He smirks.
“You can tell me those things later,” I whisper, and he tilts his head to the side.
“Trust me, I will,” Hardin promises and my stomach flutters.
He doesn’t participate in much of the remainder of class, and the blonde ends up changing her spot halfway through, probably because Hardin won’t stop talking.
“We’re supposed to be meditating,” I whisper back to him and close my eyes. The room is silent except for Hardin’s quiet whispers.
“This is so fucking lame,” he complains.
>
“You’re the one who signed up for yoga.”
“I didn’t know how lame it was. I’m literally about to fall asleep right here.”
“Stop whining.”
“I can’t. You had to go and get me all worked up, and now I’m stuck sitting cross-legged, meditating, with a hard-on in a room full of people.”
“Hardin!” I hiss, louder than intended.
“Shhh . . .” Multiple voices attempt to silence me.
Hardin laughs, and I stick my tongue out at him, earning a dirty look from the girl to my right. Hardin and me taking yoga together is not going to work; I’m going to get kicked out or fail.
“We’re dropping this class,” he says when the meditation is over.
“You are, I’m not. I need a PE credit,” I inform him.
“Great first day, everyone! I look forward to seeing you later this week. Namaste,” Marla says, dismissing us.
I roll my mat up, but Hardin doesn’t bother; he just shoves his onto the shelf.
chapter sixty-eight
TESSA
The girl who gave me her extra lock is nowhere to be found when I return to the locker room, so I just put the lock back on the handle, and if she doesn’t claim it back tomorrow, then I’ll continue to use it and pay her or something.
When I finish collecting my things, I meet Hardin back in the hall. He’s leaning against the wall with one foot perched on the wall behind him. “If you’d taken any longer, I’d have barged in there,” he threatens.
“You should have. You wouldn’t have been the only guy in there,” I lie and watch as his features change. I turn away from him, taking a few steps before he grabs my arm and spins me back around to face him.
“What did you just say?” he demands, eyes half closed and primal.
“Teasing.” I smirk, and with a huff he lets go of my arm.
“I think you’ve done enough of that today.”
“Maybe.” I smile.
He shakes his head. “You clearly enjoy tormenting me.”
“The yoga relaxed me and cleansed my aura.” I laugh.
“Not mine,” he reminds me as we walk outside.