“On purpose?” I scoff. “Why would I do that?” I flip my hair over my shoulder and motion to the area around me with my hands. “This is a safe space.”
“So you keep saying. Dude, I’m not feeling safe,” Miles adds, pointing at his legs. “My hamstrings arecooked.”
“I’m flattered.” I laugh. “I also noticed you skipped half the stretches.”
This is a him problem, not a me problem. He who skips stretching pays for it in the end. As an athlete he should know to stretch. It’s as if he thought yoga would beeasierthe third time around.
Miles scratches the back of his neck, caught. “Fine. You got me. But in my defense, I’m not bendy. Flexible but not bendy, if you catch my drift.”
Oh brother.
Dex snorts, ass planted in the sand. “He was built to tackle, not touch his toes.”
“Excuses, excuses,” I say. “You don’t get to blame skipping stretches on already being in incredible shape. I had an older woman with two left feet in class last week who managed to stay in downward dog without collapsing.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a challenge,” Quinton says, grinning as he feigns a weak stretch.
“Nope.” My chin hitches up. “Merely pointing out a fact.”
Miles studies me before leaning back on his hands, digging his heels into the ground. “So what’s your story, Luce? Is this your full-time gig?”
I laugh. “Yup, pretty much yoga. Which largely consists of wrangling hungover tourists when they think it’s a good idea to book a sunrise class.”
Dex raises an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is that we’re better behaved than some of your other students?”
“Shockingly, yes,” I reply, chuckling. “You’d be surprised how rowdy people can get when they’re recovering from margaritas.”
Miles gestures toward the shoreline. “But you like doing this, right? I mean, you’re not teaching because you got tired of corporate life or something?”
“I love it,” I say. “There’s something peaceful about being outside, hearing the waves ... even when my students are stubborn guys who complain more than they stretch.”
Quinton chuckles. “I feel seen.”
I smile, squinting at them through the sunlight. “What about you guys? What do you do in your spare time?”
Dex shakes his head. “Uh, sometimes we play football together. Sometimes we work out. Other times we, uh—condition.”
Miles raises his hand. “I took a ballet class once.”
I bet. These guys don’t look like slouches, and the fact that so many of them have been showing up for this early-morning session proves how dedicated they are to their health.
Harris not included.
Not that I lump him in with these guys; he’s in Star Lake strictly for lumberjacking and whatever postworkout muffins I want to bribe him with. But I know for a fact he works out, consideringIwas the reason he was bending and twisting last night. Late last night ... and had I not had this class scheduled—I’d be home, in bed, asleep, too.
Definitely maybe dreaming about hisstupidgrin ...
“Do you guys have anything planned for the rest of the day?” I ask, shaking the thought of Harris loose before it takes over, and stand, dusting off my knees. “Knitting, perhaps?”
Quinton cracks his knuckles, stretching lazily. “Ha ha, pretty much.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
Dex yawns as if he’s just waking up. “Maybe I’ll build a sandcastle later. And there’s a pool at the lodge. I might take a nap later.”
“Sounds like a solid itinerary.” I smile. “Do you mind my asking ... if you have families?” I ask, genuinely curious about what their lives are like. “Kids, girlfriends, stuff like that?”
Dex grins, sand and dirt covering his arms as he props himself on his elbows. “Yeah, I have a girlfriend. Margot—she’s cool about these trips and shit. She knows the deal.”
