I reached forward. Penelope slid her hand onto the red beside mine, leaning close. The faint floral scent of whatever cheap perfume she used hit me.
"Left foot, yellow."
We shifted. She bent over, placing her foot on a farthest yellow circle. And that was when I realized her shirt was loose. And thin. And there were her nipples, poking through the fabric like sharp little reminders that I was absolutely not supposed to be staring.
I swallowed.
Penelope noticed.
"Right foot, green!" Mendy called.
I stretched over her leg, practically half-draped across her back. She bent lower, her hair falling forward. The mat crinkled beneath us.
"Left hand, blue!"
"Oh, come on," I muttered, reaching awkwardly across her. My arm slid right beside her ribs and my face ended up inches from her cleavage. The thin shirt dipped forward, giving me a perfect downward view.
She shifted her weight and her chest pressed against my upper arm.
I nearly lost my balance.
