I gulp down more of the coffee, feeling it jolt my system like a live wire.
Caffeine goodness …yes,I need that more than life itself right now.
“Who needs a functioning tongue anyway?” I muse out loud.
But then last night’s kiss flashes into my mind.
Okay, yes, a tongue is useful …
I shudder the thought away, tossing on a pair of leggings and nearly tripping again.
“At this rate, I’m going to need a helmet just to make it through the day,” I mutter.
With one last glance in the mirror—a quick assessment that I’m not inside out or back to front—I make a dash for the door.
The coffee cup is now half empty, or half full if I’m being optimistic. I take a big gulp, trying to channel its caffeinated power—willing it to bring me to life.
Necromancer, indeed.
As I lock the door and hurry down the stairs, I can’t help but think,Jillian is either going to be impressed by my commitment or convinced I’m a lost cause.
Finally ready (again), I make my way to the gym, my mind still a whirl of questions and coffee stains.
If this is how my day is starting, I shudder to think what Jillian’s workout has in store for me. At least I can’t accidentally spill a treadmill.
Take a spill and have my face sanded off, though?Sure.
I groan at the thought. Knowing my clumsy capabilities, that’s a total possibility.
After a quick walk, St. Mary’s looms ahead—a place where I’ll either find my focus or provide entertainment with my newfounduber-clumsiness.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the former and secretly praying it’s not the latter.
Jillian, of course, is already in full drill sergeant mode when I arrive. Her piercing gaze zeroes in on me the moment I step through the door.
“You’re late, Carlie,” she chides, though I’m perfectly on time.
By two minutes.
Hallelujah.
“Sorry, Jillian. Traffic,” I lie, not wanting to admit the way my morning has technically gone.
She doesn’t look like she buys it but simply nods, directing me to warm up. I start with stretches, but my movements are jerky and uncoordinated.
I can literallyfeelJillian’s eyes on me, scrutinizing every awkward movement.
“Focus, Carlie. This isn’t a dance recital,” she barks, and I can’t help but wish it was. At least then my two left feet might have a fighting chance.
As we move on to more rigorous exercises, it’s painfully obvious my mind is elsewhere, replaying last night’s kiss, the lingering scent of Adam, and all the questions in between.
It doesn’t help that every time I glance at Jillian, I half expect her to morph into a demonic trainer from one of my more vivid nightmares. She’d fit the part perfectly.
“Carlie, for heaven’s sake, lift your knees higher,” Jillian’s voice cuts through my daydreams.
I try to comply, but my coordination is off. My foot catches the edge of the mat, and I stumble, barely catching myself before my face splatters onto the gym floor.
I can’t even bring myself to care.