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Arianna. Who looks fuckable in those pink yoga pants.
And goats. Dozens of the hairy fuckers.
“I already registered you with the instructor,” Arianna informs me as I try to pick my jaw up from the floor.
“Goats,” is the only word I form.
“It’s goat yoga.”
“Goat yoga?” What the fuck is that?
This is not what I was thinking when I asked her to help me find ways to relax. I feel tenser than a rubber band about to snap.
Stretching her arms out as if embracing the moment, she replies, “The goats improve mood and connect you to nature. It’s fun.”
“Fun?” My idea of fun was more along the lines of stripping Arianna naked then have her coming all over my tongue.
“Yes, fun. Lots of it.”
A cheerful-looking woman at the front of class beckons me to her. “Mr. Hart, I saved you a spot up front.”
I bet she fucking has. A tugging sensation pulls at my shorts and when I look down, I discover a goat gnawing at the hem of my new shorts.
“He likes you,” Arianna says as the goat proceeds to shit on the floor.
Arianna sucks her lips into her mouth, and I can tell she’s sensing how uncomfortable I am and loving every fucking minute of this.
“You’re with me.” The instructor appears and ushers me away. Drags me, more like.
“Havefun.” Arianna gives me a finger wave, opening the door as if she’s leaving. “See you soon.” Where the hell is she going?
“You’ll pay for this.” I look back over my shoulder.
“Relax, Nathan.”
And then she’s gone.
What the hell was I thinking asking her to book ways to help me relax?
I think I hired a mistress of mischief, not a secretary.
Eli
*goat emoji* *poop emoji*
Me
Mature of you.
Cole
*laughing emoji*
Max
If you don’t marry Arianna, I will. Fucking epic.
Mom