perhaps you will join me for a run if I'm wearing my yoga pants

She's already three miles ahead of you, and you knew the moment she said "join me" that running was never really the point. The yoga pants leave absolutely nothing to interpretation — every curve mapped in tight fabric, shifting with each stride in a way that makes your pace falter.

You catch up just enough to watch the way the material stretches and moves, clinging like a second skin across her hips and thighs. She glances back with a knowing smile, slowing just slightly.

The run ends whenever you decide to stop pretending that's why you came.