New Ways

SIX

Sigrid

The rainfall became more intense as I was reaching the building of my workplace. The windscreen wiper of my car jerked back and forth swiftly, removing the water that the clouds spat down to earth in a furious manner away from the glass panel before me. The heavy downpour made it hard to see both traffic and pedestrians on the road, so to minimise casualties I drove as slowly as I could.

As if squinting my eyes was going to boost my vision, especially through the heavy rain, I scanned the buildings on my left side along Lincoln Square for the one that housed Yogasutra. Shortly after my parents tied the knot about twenty-five years ago here in Manhattan, they opened a yoga studio and named it Yogasutra. After a few years of success they went on to open other studios around New York and hired only the best yoga practitioners from all over the world to teach the different types of yoga across all the ten studios in New York City. This particular one here in Lincoln Square is the fifth franchise of the brand and the only one that has its own building, with five floors housing two studios each. Also being the studio closest to Parmont, I help out with the business as much as possible on weekdays as most of the receptionists are college students too but with a busier weekday schedule hence they appear more on the weekends than on weekdays.

I parallel parked the car at the spot right outside the building. Taking my purse and cellphone and leaving everything else in the car, I hopped out and ran into the building.

"You're pretty early today," Denise, our resident ghetto Latina who moved from Bronx to pursue her performing arts studies in another university here, clapped her hands lightly as she noticed me approaching the reception area. This girl was petite and curvy at the same time, her tanned caramel skin complemented the way her hair was braided in cornrows, completing her ghetto look. She had a white tanktop on with Yogasutra printed in capital letters, the uniform here, duh.

Uniforms, uniforms, uniforms. Why can't I just wear whatever the hell I want. As a matter of fact, I could, though only on weekends.

"Um, aren't you cold?" I asked, forever distracted by Denise's ample busts that stretched the closely printed word Yogasutra apart from each other. "Why aren't you wearing a jacket?"

"Uh, it's raining outside, not inside, Sig," she reached out across the counter to pass me my locker key. Her cleavage showed in the process and I struggled not to get any ideas in my head.

Damn you, Denise. That is no way to make a gay girl feel.

Especially if the gay girl is me.

"And besides, I already adjusted the aircon temperature. So it should be fine for now," she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

"If you say so, honey. I'll just get changed and I'll be right back," I winked and turned my heels toward the changing room.

I reached my self-designated locker at the end of the changing room and swiftly unlocked it with just one turn of the key. I carefully laid down my purse and my cellphone in the locker, then slowly got out of my school uniform. I had left my blazer in the car, so I was just left with my tie, blouse and skirt.

As soon as I got to putting up my hair in a ponytail after slipping into my black yoga pants and the studio's tanktop, I felt a soft pair of lips land on the nape of my neck, trailing down on my left shoulder before I was spun around by the waist and my eyes met a pair of warm dark brown eyes accompanied by an angelic soft laughter.

"You're always hotter with your hair down, though," the owner whispered, before a smile formed on my lips and I pulled her in for a kiss.