If Only You (Bergman Brothers, #6)(22)

“Well.” Mr. K?hler folds his arms across his chest, staring me down. “I’m very glad to hear this. That sounds…”

“Almost unbelievably healthy of me?” I offer.

Mr. K?hler chuckles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I hope it’s a change that sticks. Take care, Gauthier. And, Ziggy, say hi to my favorite player.”

“Will do!” She waves and smiles as they start to turn toward the diner.

As soon as the door of the diner shuts behind them, I round on her. “Angry yoga?”

She flashes a smile my way. “Look at me, thinking on my feet! Being conversational! I was amazing.”

I roll my eyes. “Angry yoga, Sigrid. Of all the things.”

“What? It’ll be fun.” She opens up her phone and shows me an Instagram account with videos featuring lots of people who look like me—pissed, tattooed, flicking off some unseen higher power. “There’s a studio nearby that offers classes, and I’ve wanted to try it for ages, but I never felt like I’d fit in. Now, with you, I totally will. I gotta reserve us a spot ASAP so we have evidence to corroborate what I just said.”

“You mean the lie you just told?”

She hushes me, slapping my thigh gently. “It’s not a lie, it’s just—”

“Not a truth yet, I know, I know.” Scowling, I reach for the milkshake but realize it’s in Ziggy’s hands, her loud slurp heralding the end of it.

“Ooh, they have a morning class tomorrow,” she says happily.

“Ziggy dear, I can’t just go to a yoga studio tomorrow morning. It’ll be mayhem.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your ego.”

“I’m serious. I can’t just go places. If we do angry yoga, angry yoga has to come to us.”

She frowns. “Really?”

I press my tongue into my cheek, a little annoyed by how unbelievable this seems to her. “You don’t know how people react to me in public? My widely known sexual appeal and erotic exploits? What kind of rock do you live under?”

“The rock where I don’t give a flying fart about your alleged sexual appeal and erotic exploits?”

“Well, time to start giving that flying fart because it’s going to impact you, friend.”

She lets out a frustrated growl. “How are we going to be seen together as ‘friends’ if an alleged mob of horny people are tripping over themselves for you all the time?”

“It’s not everywhere. I mean Betty’s Diner was a safe place to come. Then again, you saw Stevie walk into a table when I smiled at him. Stick this handsome, twenty-seven-year-old pansexual specimen of sensual glory in a yoga studio with a bunch of people in their prime, and what do you think’s going to happen?”

She snorts as she types something on her phone. “To have even a fragment of your ego. Fine. I left a message with the studio, but I doubt I can get an instructor to come to us at such short notice, seeing as it’s eight at night—”

“Mention my name, and you’d have a damn good chance.”

That earns me a flat, annoyed look. “You’re a hot hockey player, Gauthier, not Justin Bieber.”

“First, nice to know you think I’m hot.”

She sighs wearily. “Sebastian.”

“Second, I deeply resent the implication that I am not on par with Justin Bieber.”

“Sorry to have offended,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “Back to the matter at hand. Here’s the plan, unless this instructor miracle happens. I’ve got us registered to log in online and participate virtually, two spots at the 6:00 a.m. class. We can take some photos as we do it, post them to Instagram, knock it out before breakfast, and then I can head to practice.”

“Six a.m.?”

Ziggy gives me a withering look. “I’m sorry, Sebastian, do you have some other pressing engagement at that time? Wallowing? Waking and baking? Trying on a different color cashmere throw blanket as your outfit of the day?”

“Fine! I’ll do it, all right?”

“Excellent. We’ll log in for yoga—”

“At my place. If I have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn for this, then your perky little morning-person self can come to me.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “Yoga at 6:00 a.m. Post some photos to Instagram. Then we go get a breakfast smoothie or something afterward, to be seen. How’s that sound?”

“Yoga with a sore foot hours before I’m normally awake? Sounds terrible.” Groaning as pain knifes through my stomach—this is why I don’t eat, because every time I do, it fucking hurts—I ease off the hood of my car. “However, since you backed us into this little corner of a fib with K?hler, I’ll do it.” I tug the milkshake cup out of her hands and shake it meaningfully. “You owe me one of these, by the way.”





8





ZIGGY





Playlist: “Angry Too,” Lola Blanc





The smug look in Sebastian’s eyes when he opens his door almost makes me turn around and walk right back out. Before I headed over, I texted him that the instructor responded after all; Yuval will be here at 6:00 a.m. sharp. I was hoping by the time I got to his house, he’d be past the point of gloating.