It wasn’t working.
I pressed my palms flat against the mat, focused on the steady rhythm of my breath. And not the fact I’d been dealing with neurotic Griffin for five days. FIVE. DAYS.
Since we’d landed in Singapore, the man couldn’t sit still for thirty consecutive seconds. Couldn’t read a book or watch a show or exist in a room without fidgeting. Even when Hazel slept and the suite fell quiet, he paced. Kitchen to living room to window and back again, restless energy radiating off him in waves.
And I’d been trapped here with him, watching him spiral, trying desperately not to think about the plane.
The almost-kiss.
The way he’d looked at me like I was the only fixed point in his chaotic world.
Inhale. Exhale. Don’t think about it.
I flowed into cobra, spine arching, shoulders rolling back. The stretch pulled at my lower back, right where I’d been holding tension since?—
“Didn’t know you did yoga.”
I startled, nearly face-planting into the mat.
Griffin stood in the doorway, workout bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp with sweat. He wore joggers and a fitted training shirt that clung to his chest, the fabric dark with moisture.
I sat back on my heels, pressing a hand to my racing heart. “You need to make a noise when you walk into a room.”
“I did. I spoke.”
“Before that. Like a cough or something.”
“You want me to announce my presence in my own suite?”
“Our suite. And yes.” I tried not to notice the way his shirt outlined his shoulders. Failed spectacularly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Noted.” He dropped the bag on the floor with a thud. “Better?”
“That works.”
He wandered closer, studying the mat like it might spontaneously combust. A faint sheen of sweat still covered his forearms. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since Tanzania.” I moved into child’s pose, forehead resting against the mat. “It helps with stress.”
“Working for you?”
Not even remotely. “Fine.”
“Liar.”
I lifted my head, glaring at him. “Was there something you needed, or are you just here to critique my coping mechanisms?”
He grinned. “Can I join?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Yoga. Can I do it with you?”
“You don’t do yoga.”
“How would you know?”
“Because you’re—” I gestured vaguely at all of him. “You.”
