17. Topsy-Turvy

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As soon as Jian leaves the yard, I slump like a rag doll over the windowsill, pitching forward so that the edge of the low wall digs into my belly. The summer sun warms my exposed back, and my fingertips graze the wooden porch. Inside the house, on the other side of the window, my widely planted feet keep me from falling out onto the porch and my knees dig into the low wall beneath the window frame. The stretch of my muscles almost feels ... good. I think there might be something to yoga bringing about inner peace.

With fingertips on my brow, I close my eyes and try to convince myself that what just happened - that heart-pounding, breath-stealing kiss - didn't really happen. I can't quite swing myself far enough forward to bang my forehead repeatedly against the outer wall. Hammering my head into oblivion might be enough distraction to erase the memory of Jian's lips on mine.

"So, are you just ... uh... hanging around?“