“Well, I don’t know,” she tells him with an impish grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t usually sleep with a pillow.” She isn’t quite sure why she feels the need to share this with him, but it’s done and she crinkles her nose, laughing softly at herself. “I must sound like a freak."
Jim follows suit, thinking it’s okay to laugh if she’s leading the way. It’s a welcome change, her leading. “Yeah, Beesly, I think that about sums you up.” He swears the coffee’s taking longer than usual to brew. “Really?”
“Do you think it’s serious, Doc?” she replies, her giggles still subsiding as she tries to maintain a serious tone. They’re discussing décor and Jim wants to know if matching shams take away from one’s manly masculinity. It’s a ruse and they both know it, but it’s relaxed conversation between friends. Best friends. The very best.
The coffee’s taking much longer than usual to brew.
“So, like, just mattress? That’s comfortable for you?” Poking fun at her’s easier than humoring the image of her in bed in his mind.
“Mattress, boulder, bed of nails.” Your shoulders. “Anything that suits my mood, really.” Poking fun at herself’s easier than entertaining the idea that Jim’s picturing her in bed. “Nah, it’s just that I’m sitting all day, you know? So it actually feels good on my back at the end of the day. Good on the muscles.” His skeptical look says it all and she averts her eyes, laughing again. “Shut up.”
“Didn’t say anything.” His bemused smile sets him back about ten years; she feels compelled to muss his hair but refrains. The coffee pot runs its course and heaven is served, her mug first because he’s bona fide. “If it’s a muscle thing, y’know…” He thinks better of his suggestion, deeming it a dumb one the minute it’s reached the tip of his tongue.
Her curiosity is predictable. “Oh?” she wants to know, making a squeak and a face at the scalding coffee, and he loves her. “Um, yeah, don’t drink it yet. My professional opinion.”
“Duly noted. I was just thinking, well.. I did yoga a few times? It sounds sort of hokey, yeah, but it works.” He’s pretty sure he’s just outdone her ‘I don’t sleep with a pillow’, but it’s done and he shakes his head, laughing softly at himself. Yoga. Does he want any shams with that?
She repeats what she’s not positive she heard, storing the tidbit away for future, utterly embarrassing use. “You mean with, like, mats and funky music, that stuff?” She feels a little guilty the minute she says it, surreptitiously looking around for any sign of Kelly. She feels a little guiltier when she realizes she’s done that, as well. The guilt’s no good, especially when Jim’s primed for a good teasing.
He has no one to blame but himself. “I happen to like that music,” he retorts, but it’s in vain. He’ll never hear the end of this one, not unless the miracle of yoga sweeps over his very best friend in the next five minutes. It gives him an idea. Anything for the sake of his manliness. “So like, it was just this way to warm up for games back in school, but you’d be surprised. I still remember most of it. I could show you.” It’s an invitation, one that somehow feels as pivotal as if he’s just asked her to dinner and a show. He remembers he’s actually successfully done the latter in the past and decides that no, this carries far more weight to it.
She’s surprisingly receptive to the notion, already predicting Roy’s reaction and conjuring several lies and excuses to get around him. She’s not sure if her lack of guilt in that particular area is alarming or not, so she just raises a brow in his direction. It’s hard to conceal a smile, though, especially one for Jim. “I’m not really the athletic type.”
“Admitting it’s a sport’s the first step,” he replied, tipping his mug in her direction before taking a drink. It’s still hot but he masks the realization with more ease than she’d mustered, just wincing slightly. “You can even share my mat.”
It’s another one of those suggestions that holds far more to it than it should. She visibly flushes.
“Or not.” He shrugs. He’s carefree, has taught himself to be when she gets like this, and she’s grateful. “It was just an idea. I guess painkillers work okay, too.”
It’s not about pain, but she lets him go. It’s time to start the day, anyway, and when she finds herself caught up with her work she catches herself picturing him in his yoga attire (white muscle tank and black pants, of course, why wouldn’t it be) and doing his stretches. She flushes again, and she doesn’t notice that he notices.
She goes home and, after a phone call from Roy detailing the five, six reasons he won’t make it home tonight, she calls Jim and takes him up on his offer. It’s a ruse and they both know it, but it’s relaxing between friends. Best friends. The very best.
