STEPHANIE
...

I slam the door behind me, drop my bag in the entryway, and collapse onto the couch where Amber is already curled up in a blanket, scrolling through her phone.

Her usual pile of snacks is scattered on the coffee table: a half-eaten bag of popcorn, a soda can tipped on its side, and some chocolate wrappers that look suspiciously fresh.

Perks of working from home.

“How was work?” Amber asks without looking up, her voice casual but curious.

“Still the same,” I reply, kicking off my sneakers and tucking my feet under me. “Mel’s still bratty and thinks the world revolves around her.”

I don’t dare mention that one weird moment today. How her eyes lingered on my lips for just a second too long before she averted it like she’d been caught.

I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s stuck in my head on repeat.

Did she like what she saw? Or was there something on my face? Maybe she was staring at my nose. Oh God, what if there was something in my nose?

“Hello? Earth to Steph.” Amber waves her hand in front of my face, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I mumble, grabbing a pillow to hug against my chest.

Amber raises an eyebrow. “She’s really got you rattled, huh?”

“No,” I say a little too quickly. “She’s just... annoying. That’s all.”

Amber narrows her eyes, clearly not convinced, but thankfully she doesn’t press. She shrugs and goes back to scrolling, leaving me to wrestle with my own thoughts.

Does Melody like girls? Or was that just... nothing? And does she know I’m a lesbian?

I mean, it’s not like I walk around wearing a hoodie that says LESBIAN in bold letters on the back. The short nails might be a clue, but that’s really the only “stereotypical” thing about me.

If she does know, is she teasing me? Because if that’s the case, she’s so wrong. I’m not falling for it. I just need the money, and then I’m out of there.

I sigh, standing up and brushing snack crumbs off the couch. Time to shake off this weird vibe.

“I’m heading to yoga,” I tell Amber, who nods absentmindedly, still glued to her phone.

I change into my go-to yoga outfit: black, high-waisted leggings and a cropped gray tee that says Breathe In, Chill Out across the front.

It’s cute and perfect for sweating without feeling like I’m suffocating. I grab my yoga mat, roll it up under my arm, and throw a water bottle into my tote bag before heading out the door.

The air outside is fresh and nice unlike the chaos in my brain. I hop on my bike, adjusting my bag so it doesn’t swing too much, and start pedaling toward the gym.

It’s a decent ride, and I like how the wind rushes past me, clearing out some of the static in my head.

The yoga studio is on the second floor of a nondescript strip mall between a laundromat and a nail salon.

Inside, the room is bright and airy, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall and soft mats spread out across the polished wooden floor.

There’s faint calming music playing in the background, and the familiar sound of moms chatting fills the air.

It’s mostly middle-aged women here—moms with saggy boobs, stretchy skin, and tired eyes—but I don’t mind. In fact, I prefer it.

This crowd is better than working out with hot girls in their matching sets and perky boobs, who make everything look effortless while I’m sweating buckets trying to hold a pose.

“Hey, Steph!” one of the regulars, Carol, calls out, waving at me from her mat.

She’s wearing a bright pink tank top that clashes with her patterned leggings, but she looks so happy I can’t even judge her for it.

“Hey, Carol,” I say, giving her a small wave before unrolling my mat in the corner of the room.

I stretch a little before class starts, letting the atmosphere do its thing and calm me down. The music shifts to something even softer, and the instructor, a wiry guy named Greg who always wears tie-dye shirts, claps his hands together.

“Alright, everyone, let’s find our center,” he says in that soothing voice.

I try to focus on my breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. But no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps drifting back to Melody. Specifically, that one moment. Her lips. Her gaze, almost like she was—

Nope. I am not doing this.

“Breathe in,” Greg says, and I force myself to concentrate.

I breathe in. I breathe out. I stretch and twist and hold poses that are more challenging than they look, letting the tension in my muscles melt away.

By the end of class, I feel better. Not completely Zen, but close enough.

“See you next week!” Carol calls as I pack up my things.

“See you,” I say with a smile.

The ride home is peaceful, the sky painted in shades of pink and orange as the sun sets. By the time I get back, I feel like I can finally breathe again.

Amber is still on the couch when I walk in, now halfway through another sappy movie. I head straight to my room, shutting the door behind me and tossing my bag on the floor.

After a quick shower, I change into a huge tee and a pair of shorts then flop back onto my bed, letting out a groan of frustration.

The day has been a disaster, and my body feels like it’s been through a blender. Between Melody’s attitude and yoga, I’m completely spent.

I glance over at the paperback novel resting on the edge of my bed. It’s dog-eared and a little worn, but it's Pride and Prejudice—my go-to comfort read when I need to escape.

I grab it and flip through the pages, landing on a random chapter. I've read this over a thousand times but everytime feels like the first.

That's just how good it is.

My fingers trace the words as I start to read, my mind sinking into the story. I can practically feel the heat between the pages. The stolen glances, the barely-there touches that set everything on fire—it’s intoxicating and I would like that for myself.

I try to lose myself in the story, but somehow my brain keeps sabotaging me. Every time the Mr. Darcy's eyes are on Elizabeth, I see brown ones one me instead. Searching and dare I say it...hungry.

I shake my head, trying to refocus. It’s just a book. A fantasy. Nothing to do with her.

I get to the part where they finally give in, where they stop pretending they’re not drawn to each other. The kiss is described in vivid, almost poetic detail, and normally, I’d be melting into my pillow right now.

But my mind betrays me again, flashing back to Melody’s eyes flickering to my mouth.

Did she want to kiss me? Can she do that? Is she crazy enough to do it?

“What the hell,” I mutter, snapping the book shut and tossing it onto the floor.

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to scrub the image out of my brain.

This is insane. I don’t even like Melody.

She’s rude, sarcastic, and constantly finds new ways to make me question my sanity. She’s the last person I should be thinking about right now.

I let out a long sigh, lying back against the pillows.

Okay, I am a little rattled!