Page 36 of Under Pressure

He doesn’t do girlfriends either.

I never said I was looking for a boyfriend. I could play this game where we just casually hook up, right?

But is it casual when we work together? And spend time with one another outside of class too? When I think about it, he’s actually the person I’ve been spending the most time with lately. Even more than Kelsey, the person I actually live with.

I sigh, trying to tune back into the app, but it’s not working. Maybe boxing would work again. When he’d left me alone the other night to hit the punching bag, once his hands were off me and I wasn’t all caught up in my head, it had been exhilarating. And the harder I punched, the more my mind cleared, till it was only me and the bag. Tyler was onto something with the physical activity.

I turn off the woman’s monotone voice from my phone and roll up my yoga mat. I think I’ll make those lemon blueberry cheesecake bars I mentioned the other day. Baking always relaxes me. That’s just a different form of meditation, right?

* * *

I close the door behind our last participant and return to my desk to pack up my stuff, glad to be done for the day. I keep my gaze focused on my backpack, straining my eyes in an attempt to see Tyler out of my peripheral vision, but it’s no use. All I’m doing is giving myself a headache.

I swear I’ve seen him watching me today out of the corner of my eye, but every time I peek over, he’s very deliberately staring at his computer screen. Or the floor. Or the wall. Anywhere but me.

His purposeful avoidance has to mean something, right? Or is that delusionally wishful thinking?

I sigh, knowing I need meditation to get him off my mind, but can’t focus on it long enough because of him. It’s a vicious cycle.

“How much is a membership at your boxing gym?” Maybe I should follow his cue and start that up regularly.

“Why?”

“I’m interested in joining.”

He grins. “What?” When he sees my seriousness, the grin drops. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Mia, no offense, but they’re never going to let someone like you join.”

I drop my bag back down on my desk, indignant. “That’s discrimination. They have to let girls join.”

“We actually have a few women.” His gaze rakes me up and down. “But they don’t look like you.”

My breath catches at the shift in his tone, his body language. “What do I look like?”

“Soft. Sweet.” He comes closer, toying with a curl that’s escaped my ponytail. “Hufflepuffs don’t punch people for fun.”

I resist the urge to sway toward him. “I don’t want to punch anyone, just the bag.”

“And that’s the difference.” He drops the curl but doesn’t step away.

I brush it back behind my ear, struggling to focus on anything but how close he is. How good he smells. How if I stepped just a couple inches forward…

Oh God, he’s taken over my brain.

“I was, um, trying to meditate this morning, but I couldn’t concentrate. When I was punching the bag, though, it was easy to clear my mind.”

He nods. “So you need something to help clear your mind?” He comes in even nearer, skimming a hand down my back until it rests perilously close to my ass. I almost go on my tiptoes just so he’ll touch it.

“Uh-huh.” Is that my voice that sounds so breathless?

“You never answered my proposal.”

I lick my lips and his gaze zeroes in on the action. “The mutually beneficial arrangement?”

“Mm-hmm.”

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