Grateful, I smiled. “My art professor suggested that I do a figure drawing class. It’ll be the most uncomfortable thing for me to do.”
“Drawing naked people?”
Clearing my throat, I said, “Being the naked person people draw.”
“Oh. Oh.” She stopped again. “Does she know about what you’ve been through?”
“That’s why she thinks it’s a good idea.”
“Body positivity,” she realized, almost sounding awed by the idea.
I hummed and did nothing else.
“Yoga.”
My brows pinched. “What?”
Sighing, she moved on to the other side of my hair. “You have to come to yoga class every week. No skipping unless it’s necessary. If you don’t show up, I know where you live now. I’ll drag you there myself.”
“But why?”
She appeared in front of me again, a hand on her hip. “If you want to take her advice, you need balance. That means trying. Go to yoga every week, find a routine. Put yourself in the mindset with your new badass haircut and build yourself up to a point where you can be more comfortable putting yourself out there.”
I licked my lips. “That sounds easier said than done.”
“Nothing worthwhile comes easy. How many people have told us that growing up? I’m fairly sure I heard your own mother tell you that during practice a time or five million.” My mother was full of wise advice that I held onto, so Tiffany was right. Until she added, “And you’re dancing again.”
My eyes bugged out. “Whoa. Wait—”
“Not for Judith or anybody else.” That shut me up. Well, that and the narrowed look she gave me that told me to let her speak. “You’re going to come to my private studio and we’re going to dance like I originally offered, except I’m not giving you a choice this time.”
“But—”
“No. Routine, remember? Yoga is a first step. A baby step if you will. It’ll get your mind to calm and center your focus. Dancing will help you get back out there again and start recognizing your body for what it is. Plus, you can’t tell me you’ve never danced since walking away. I wouldn’t believe it.”
I wasn’t going to admit I’d found myself moving to old routines we’d practiced or turning on music here and moving my body to the beat, or even slow dancing at the warehouse with Theo, something I desperately wanted to repeat just for the sake of being held by him and caressed by the melody. “But I don’t want to, Tiffany.”
“Why?”
I said nothing.
“I’m not finishing your hair until I get a valid answer. Don’t think I won’t make you walk around looking like you lost a fight to a chainsaw. Feel me?”
My lips twitched.
“So?” she pressed.
I debated my options and met her eyes realizing I didn’t have any. So, I admitted for the second time in one day what I’d held in for a long time. “It’s the mirrors.”
Her head cocked. “The mirrors?” When I nodded, she considered the answer, studying me like she was trying to figure out my tells. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. That’s good.”
“I’m confused.”
She snickered and went back to my hair, clearly accepting my answer for what it was. “If it’s just that, it’s a fixable problem I can actually help with.”
Again. I was silent.
“Think about it,” she prompted. “Your endgame, subconsciously, is doing that drawing class as a nude model. Which, by the way, badass. That would be nerve wracking for anybody. But if you get back on that dance floor, in front of the mirrors, and work out those feelings, you’ll be better for it. You’ll get used to accepting your body again. It’ll take time, Adele, like everything does.”
It made sense, more than I wanted it to. So, for the rest of the haircut, we were silent while I considered it with a heavy conscious. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but welcoming.
Eventually, she started humming like she was enjoying herself and I figured it had something to do with her victory considering I didn’t argue.
After she told me to look in the mirror when she was finished, I touched the ends of my new short cut and smiled at my reflection. It lasted longer than normal. When I came back out and saw her sweeping the floor despite her protests before, I smiled wider because…
We were becoming friends.
So, I said, “The people who don’t completely dislike me call me Della.”
She paused, looked up at me, and tried hiding a smile. “Okay.” Another pause. “People don’t really call me anything other than Tiffany, Tiff, or bitch. Typically, the latter.”
I snorted. “Tiff it is.”
A last-minute decision had me snapping a selfie to show off my new look and sending it to Theo with no caption. I didn’t need one.
My phone pinged.
Theo: Like I always say. Beautiful.
Chapter Twelve
Theo
If I had longer hair, I’d have pulled it out by now. It was better than putting my fist in The Dick’s face like I wanted to as soon as he showed up uninvited right before lunchtime. I was already on edge since I left Della’s apartment yesterday morning and knew that the note I’d left wasn’t good enough after what we’d done. She deserved more than one text after she sent me that picture—a call. A visit. I’d planned on surprising her tonight for dinner.
My mind wrapped around the feeling of her squeezing me, leaving me permanently hard all fucking day. It didn’t put me in a good mood since I’d taken a cold shower while planning how to approach us now. We couldn’t go back, I didn’t want to, but that didn’t mean moving forward would be easy. Dealing with an asshole like Pratt certainly didn’t put my thoughts at ease because his eyes told me they knew. I wasn’t sure how, but he did.
“You’re not even listening, are you?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin before sitting back in the chair across from me. The restaurant he chose was busy and public, probably for his benefit since I was red-faced as soon as he stepped foot into my office and told me we
