After Rachel concluded her graceful stretching routine and I finished staring at her like some kind of perverted beast, I drained the last of my tea in an attempt to cool down my increasingly problematic physical responses. The warm liquid did little to settle the uncomfortable heat that had been building in my chest as I watched her move through her yoga poses with fluid movements.
This definitely wasn't good. The guilt gnawed at me with sharp teeth—here I was, barely nine hours after sharing an intimate night with Cindy, and already finding myself distracted by Rachel's athletic form and the way morning sunlight highlighted the curves of her body. What kind of person did that make me? The answer wasn't particularly flattering, and the self-recrimination sat heavy in my stomach alongside the herbal tea.
