“Jesus Christ,” Elliot grumbles, twisting away from us and adjusting his dick.
“You okay there, buddy?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve—I’ve gotta piss. I’ll be back in a minute.” He stomps in the direction of the bathrooms, but I’m a bit confused by his reaction.
“Hey, angel,” Fletcher says as he greets his fiancée, pulling her into his chest.
“Hey, yourself. You ready for this?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be. After last week’s game, I need to be stretched out anyway.”
“You know I could help you with that,” she murmurs against his lips.
Rhonan clears his throat. “Uh, I’m standing right here.”
Laney swats at him. “Then go away if you don’t like what you’re hearing.”
Elodie giggles as she slides up to me. “You ready to be shown up by your nanny?”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Come on, Henley. Everyone knows women are more flexible than men.”
I lean down and line my lips up to her ear. “Then maybe I need to show you a few things when we get home later.”
Her gray eyes darken. Seems she likes that idea just as much as I do.
Laney rubs her hands together. “All right, let’s get this night started.” She takes her spot up at the front of the courtyard, puts on her head mic, then starts the session.
Elodie and I keep tabs on each other throughout the workout, laughing when we both struggle to keep our bodies in a certain pose. Rhonan is taking pictures from his post on a small hill, laughing to himself as Fletcher, Elliot, and I take turns flipping him off. Fletcher is right in front of his fiancée, soaking up every minute of being able to watch her, and Elliot is behind Dilynne, grumbling as he falls down.
“Do you want some help?” Dilynne offers, her voice low.
“I don’t need your fucking help,” he spits back at her.
She puts her hands in the air. “Suit yourself, Grumpzilla.”
I glance back to check on Elliot, but his eyes are locked on a part of Dilynne that I’m almost positive I haven’t caught him staring at before.
“Great, now let’s start to wind this down. Everyone transition into child’s pose,” Laney says into the mic as the entire lawn full of people moves down to their mats, placing their hands out in front of them as they bend in half, their chests to the ground.
“How are you feeling?” Elodie whispers over to me.
“I have sweat dripping down my ass crack, but that’s pretty normal for when I do yoga, so not that bad.”
She snorts. “Oh my God, Henley.”
“What?”
Shaking her head, she says, “I like this side of you.”
“Which side is that?”
“The one where you’re not afraid to have fun.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. I’ve never had issues with having fun, but my definition of fun used to be very different—careening down the side of a mountain at lightning speed, jumping out of an airplane and waiting until the last possible second to pull my parachute, or seeing how many phone numbers I could get from women in one night.
Now, it’s getting my daughter to laugh, cracking jokes with my nanny, and thinking about where I could take her on a date.
