Both my parents were entrepreneurs, owning a restaurant and a computer repair shop. They’d worked so hard my entire life, and I wanted to be like them when I grew up. Turns out, all that hard work was actually hard.
I made it through most of the day without incident, but I kept my ear trained to the floor to feel if any music started up.
Nothing. I took a break to get some food and went past the gym, glancing in quickly. The lights were on, and people were walking around inside. Looked like they were painting or something. Good, the place definitely needed it. I understood the whole cinderblock chic thing was an aesthetic, but that wasn’t the kind of gym that I would ever want to work out in.
When I came back almost an hour later, the door was open and the entryway reeked of paint fumes. I nearly choked on my way upstairs. It never ended. If it wasn’t the music, it was this. I lit a ton of incense and breathed through my mouth. Class let out, and people wrinkled their noses as I made apologies for the smell.
By the end of the night I was a little high from the fumes and had the makings of an epic headache pounding in my skull. I headed home earlier than I normally would have and glanced over my shoulder at the gym on my way out. One of the previously gray walls was now a stark white, which was an improvement, I guess? Maybe there would be a mural or logo or something. The place was going to be called CrossFit 721, according to the posters. Not the most auspicious name, but I couldn’t really talk. I strayed away from any bad yoga puns when I’d been naming my place and I’d picked the most generic thing I could think of.
“Enjoying the view?” a voice said behind me, and I swear my soul left my body for a second.
“What the fuck?” I gasped and turned around to find Tuesday watching me. Once I got my breathing under control again, I noticed that she was covered in flecks of white paint.
“That’s not a very zen thing to say, is it?” she said, raising one paint-spattered brow. Her hair was up in a bun, but the paint had made its way there as well, like little bits of snow.
“It is when someone sneaks up behind me,” I said, with my hand on my pounding heart. “Were you painting?”
“Is it that obvious?” she said, her voice dry. I couldn’t get a read on her. Was she just an asshole, or was there something else to this girl named Tuesday?
“Sorry, I was just on my way out. Checking things out,” I said. I had never wished for teleportation to be a thing more than at this moment so I could be back in my apartment in the blink of an eye.
Tuesday rolled her shoulders and for the first time I noticed there were dark circles etched under her eyes. I had a flashback of when I was first opening the studio and I’d been covered in paint as well. I hadn’t been able to afford a crew to paint, so I’d done it all myself, with the help of Zee and a few other friends on weekends. It had been awful and fun at the same time, as most things were.
Tuesday tilted her head to the side and regarded me in a way that made my cheeks get hot.
“What?” I finally said, when she wasn’t forthcoming.
“Do you want to help?”
I blinked at her, unsure if I’d heard her right.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you want to help? I’ve got brushes. And I can order dinner.”
“You can’t be serious,” I blurted out. Yesterday she’d been nothing but rude and now . . . I didn’t even know what to do with this.
“Suit yourself,” she said, pushing past me. “I’m going to be cranking the music, so things might get loud anyway.” The door shut in my face before I could say anything.
What the fuck was her problem?
“SO, SHE WAS ASKING for labor in exchange for dinner?” Zee asked later, their brown eyes wide as we sat on the couch dissecting the encounter. I couldn’t not tell Zee about this one. It was just so strange. I’d turned the situation over and over in my mind on my drive home, but I wasn’t any closer to understanding what that had all been about.
“I mean, I guess? It seemed like the weirdest peace offering I’ve ever heard of, but maybe she was just trying to be an asshole again. I have no idea. I can’t get a read on her and it’s really starting to irritate me. I’ve only had two encounters with this person, and they’ve both left me annoyed and puzzled.” I made a frustrated noise and was about to ask Zee what they thought again, but found them watching me.
“What?” I asked. I didn’t like that look they were giving me. Slowly, they smiled. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, Zee.”
“You’re attracted to her.” I made a sputtering noise like a car trying to start in the winter before I was able to formulate any words.
“I am not!” I said, and my voice squeaked on the last word.
Zee cackled and scared the kittens, who rolled around on the floor with some new toys that we bought them.
“You totally are. I mean, I read between the lines and figured out she was hot, but your little obsession with her is telling me that she’s really hot.” I pressed my lips together because I didn’t want to say anything that might incriminate myself and lead Zee to think their theory was something that it wasn’t.
Okay, fine. Tuesday was stunning. Gorgeous. Hot. Sexy. All of those. But that didn’t mean anything. I saw hot people all the time; I ran a yoga studio. Her attractiveness had nothing to do with anything.
“Ohhhh, this is very interesting,” Zee said, stroking their chin and staring at me as I glared back.
“Stop it,” I said, pointing my finger in their face. “Stop it right now.” They laughed and shook their head.
“No way. She’s mean and hot, which is a deadly combination. You’d better be careful. Pretty soon she’s going to ask you to ‘help paint’ and there will be no brushes or paint involved. Unless she’s into that kind of thing.” I stood up from the couch.
“I’m leaving right now unless you stop talking about this immediately. And I’m taking the babies with me.” I scooped up both kittens and held them to my chest as they wiggled, angry I’d taken them away from their new shiny toys.
“No, don’t leave,” Zee said, falling horizontal on the couch and reaching for me dramatically. “Come backkkkkk.”
I turned on my heel and pretended to flounce, whipping my hair around.
“Come back and I’ll let you have the rest of the ice cream,” they said. That did it. I went back and dropped the kittens in their lap. They made cooing noises at them and gave them kisses as they meowed.
“I’m not attracted to her,” I said. “I just need you to know that. I’m not.”
“Uh huh,” Zee said, not looking at me, but pretending to be consumed by the kittens, “I completely believe you.”
I wanted to throw something at them, but I also didn’t want to hit the babies, so I just huffed off to the kitchen to get the ice cream and then returned.
“What are we watching?” Zee turned on the TV and flipped through our different streaming services.
“This one again?” she asked, landing on our favorite show that we’d watched at least four or five times through already.
“Yup,” I said, digging my spoon into the ice cream container. The show was a classic that had been out when we were younger and hadn’t exactly aged well, but we still adored it.
I found Zee eyeing me a few times and I could tell that they wanted some of the ice cream.
“You said I could have it,” I said, not looking at them.
“I know, I’m having regrets now.” I sighed and handed it over. “One bite.”
“Thank youuuuu. Did you know that you’re the best? Because you are. The best.” They took the biggest bite ever and then handed the container back.
“I know I am,” I said. Mocha and Cappy toddled over to me and pawed at the ice cream container.
“This isn’t for kitties,” I said, holding it so they could sniff the contents. Of course, they both recoiled and meowed at me in confusion. “I know, life is confusing, my babies.” I finished the ice cream and set the container d
own where they couldn’t get at it. I petted a kitten with each hand, which made them both purr.
I wasn’t attracted to Tuesday. Not with her attitude. Hot and mean. That was a way to describe her. I could admit she was hot without that indicating I was attracted to her. Right? That was a thing.
Mocha bumped my hand with her head and I realized I’d been slacking on my petting duties.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, and scratched her head right where she liked it. “I’m a bad kitty mom.” Mocha yawned in response.
I didn’t know what I was going to walk in to the next day, but I braced myself for anything. Tuesday wasn’t there in the morning, as expected, but the painters were back again when I went to get some lunch. This time I scanned the room and saw her dark bun. She was right alongside the painters with a roller in her hand and paint smeared all over her thighs. I’d never seen thighs quite like hers. They popped out so much I wondered if she needed to let out her pants to accommodate them.
There were enough painters so it seemed like she could leave them to it, but I bet she didn’t trust them to get things right and wanted to be there to supervise. That had been how I was with my studio. Even if I’d had the money to hire more people, I would have been hovering over every little thing and making sure it turned out right.
Maybe Tuesday and I had more in common than I thought.
I spared a moment for that thought, but then she turned around and her blue eyes shot right toward me. Crap, I’d been caught staring at her again, and creeping on her business. I didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened.
Tuesday’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but she didn’t do anything else. I hurried away and didn’t look toward the door when I came back. Just kept my eyes on the stairs.
I was finishing checking people in for one of the other teachers when someone came up the stairs and I did a double take.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. The class had started so I didn’t have to think about any of the yogis seeing whatever this was going to be.
“Just checking things out,” she said, looking around as if she’d been thrown into a room on another planet. I wondered if that was the same look on my face when I walked into her gym.
“Do you want a tour?” I asked, hoping she would say no.
“Sure,” she said, concentrating on me again. Her eyes really were remarkable. The clear blue of a frozen lake.
“Can you take your shoes off?” I asked, and she hesitated for a second, but then slipped off her paint-covered running shoes. She wasn’t wearing any socks.
I stepped out from behind the desk and approached her. I gave tours of the studio all the time to new clients, but this was different. I hoped she wouldn’t see the slightly stained ceiling tiles that I kept putting off replacing, or the scuffs on the walls that I needed to clean and repaint, or the way the floor was just a little warped. Granted, she was my landlord and it was her duty to fix that shit. What a weird situation.
“So, uh, this is where people check in,” I said, gesturing to the desk that I’d been sitting behind. “And we have retail.” Worst tour ever. I couldn’t look at Tuesday while I gave her the pathetic tour, including the snack and drink area with kombucha and green juice taps and a hot water dispenser for assorted teas.
“Class is in session in this studio, but I can show you the other one.” I’d lucked out in that this place had already been fitted to be a yoga studio, complete with two heated rooms that could also be used for workshops, etc. I opened the door and showed Tuesday the smaller, unoccupied room.
“Nice,” she said, but I couldn’t tell if she was saying that, or if she really meant it.
We finished the tour and went back to the reception area.
“That’s pretty much it,” I said, glancing up at the logo on the wall. I’d ordered a decal from a shady company online and had put it up myself. It was still a bit wrinkled in places. Yet another thing to fix.
“Nice, nice,” Tuesday said. “You’ve really done a good job. If I did yoga at all, this is the kind of place I would want to come.”
“Thank you,” I said. That meant a lot. “How is your place coming along?” It only seemed polite to ask.
Her shoulders slumped, just a millimeter.
“It’s coming. Slowly.”
“Do you think you’re going to be ready to open?” I probably shouldn’t ask that, but it was a relief to be having a somewhat normal conversation with her.
“We will be,” she said, and her eyes snapped back on me. The moment of weakness I’d seen a few seconds ago was gone. Her shoulders tensed again. Tuesday was back in charge.
“We?” I asked. So far, I’d only seen her and the painting crew.
“I should go,” she said, edging toward the stairs.
“Okay,” I said. “See you later?” This interaction added even more confusion to the picture I was trying to paint of Tuesday. I didn’t even know her last name.
“Maybe,” she said, pivoting and jogging down the stairs.
I shook my head to clear it. Every single time I had an encounter with Tuesday, it was like I was thrown into an alternate universe where I didn’t know any of the rules, what to say, or how to act. She completely confused me in so many ways. It didn’t help that her body was so appealing. That was distracting enough. Muscles on top of muscles on top of muscles. It was just excessive and unnecessary and . . .
Arousing. I could admit that to myself now. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, not even Zee, but yeah. Hot as fuck was Tuesday. Hot and mean, Zee had said, and Tuesday had both of those in excess.
Although, the mean had been dulled a little bit today. I couldn’t work out why she’d come up here, what her purpose had been. Was she trying to be nice after the music thing?
I didn’t know. I sat at the desk and was working on figuring it out as I answered customer emails when I heard it.
The steady throb of a bass beat hit the bottoms of my bare feet and I thought I was hallucinating for a moment. Nope. There it was. The music was back. So much for Tuesday being nice. I waited a few minutes for the music to stop, but it did not. No, it got a little bit louder.
I wanted to scream. What an asshole. I only hesitated for two minutes before I was back down the stairs and pushing open the door of the gym.
The paint fumes weren’t as strong, but there was still one wall that needed to be done. All the rest were stark white. Now the place looked like some kind of hospital basement.
“Seriously?” I yelled over the music. She turned around slowly from the wall she’d been working on with a roller.
“Oh, can I help you?” she said. As if I’d come down here to ask her if she wanted a cup of tea.
“Yeah, you can turn down the music. Again. What is wrong with you?” I shook a little with my anger. I didn’t usually have such a hot button, but Tuesday seemed to know exactly what to do to get me mad. It wasn’t just what she was doing, it was her attitude about it. Like I’d intruded on her and was the one in the wrong.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said, putting down the roller. “I’ll be done in a little while.” I was about to ask her why she couldn’t turn the music down right-the-fuck now when she stripped off her white tank and was left only in a black sports bra and I forgot how to make words.
I could do laundry on those abs. There was no way they were real. They had to be painted on or tattooed. I felt myself gaping.
“You could make it go faster by helping,” she said, tossing the tank to the side.
“No,” I said, finally formulating a word. “Do you not care that you’re annoying my clients and potentially hurting my business?”
She rolled her eyes a little and then walked over to the sound system, turning it down a few notches.
“Better?”
“I guess,” I said. I needed to get back upstairs because class would be getting out, but I found myself with my feet glued to the floor. Why couldn’t I move?
“Anything e
lse?” she asked, when I didn’t immediately leave.
“Yes,” I said, because I needed a plausible reason to still be down here.
“And?” she replied, when I wasn’t forthcoming.
“You should come to yoga.” It was the first thing I could think of to say. “We offer the first class for free.” Now I definitely needed to run away.
Tuesday seemed surprised by my declaration.
“Really?” she asked as if she didn’t believe me. “You want me to come do yoga?” Without even trying, my brain conjured an image of Tuesday in downward dog with me adjusting her hips and I had to close my eyes and breathe for a second. Mean. She was mean. Hot, but mean. The mean had to outweigh the hot.
“Yes. Yoga is an amazing workout for the mind and the body.” I wasn’t going to pull up the studies about the benefits of yoga right now, but if she asked me, I would. I had the receipts.
“I’m sure it is, but I like doing a real workout. Stretching is good, but it’s not going to build a body like lifting does.” Oh, now I was mad.
“You wouldn’t last an entire advanced class. Not a chance.” I offered one advanced class a week, as well as a few intermediate, but everything else was basic for all levels of people. Actually, she might not even make it through the basic class. I’d seen her type before: cocky gym rats that thought yoga was just a bunch of fancy poses that did nothing, before they took their first class. After, they would come to me, drenched in sweat with shaky knees and telling me that I was completely right and they didn’t know how intense the workout was going to be. Tuesday wouldn’t be any different, and I wanted to be there to see when it happened.
Anyone but You Page 2