I laugh silently as I shake my head. Eyes falling shut, I focus on my breathing. I’ve been coming to this yoga studio for the last five years. When I first started, I needed an outlet that I never got anywhere else. Work challenged me in the best way, and my home life made me miserable. But yoga was a way for me to focus on myself. I didn’t have to worry about anyone at work or Blake. I just had to worry about what was happening on my mat with my practice. It was freeing in a way that I’d never experienced. And I’ve been hooked ever since. It’s been torture not to come since everything happened.
When the teacher comes in to start class, I lean over to whisper in Chris’s ear, and he puts a hand on my lower back. As if I wasn’t hot enough already, that simple touch lights me on fire.
“You ready for this?” I ask, before leaning back and grinning at him.
He leans toward me to whisper in my ear. “I’ve never been more ready.”
I take a deep breath to steady myself as I move into the starting position. His simple statement seemed to convey so much more.
An hour later, when most people have already left the room, I sit up and look down at Chris sprawled out on his mat, sweat glistening on his body. He shed his shirt pretty early in the class, and I enjoyed the glimpses of him in the mirror as we moved between poses.
“You ready to go?” I ask in a hushed voice, not to disturb the last few people remaining.
He nods and sits up, swiping the sweat from his face. I roll up my mat as he leaves his where it is, since he rented his mat and towel from the studio. When I stand with my mat under my arm and my water bottle gripped in my other hand, he gently takes my mat from me. Even though I can carry it out myself, I give him a grateful smile before heading out of the studio.
We go to the locker rooms to take quick showers and change into clothes that aren’t sweaty. Ten minutes later, I meet him in the lobby and wave goodbye to the teacher.
“What did you think?” I ask excitedly once we’re outside.
“That was much more intense than I thought it would be.” He eyes me as he unlocks the car and opens the passenger door for me. “You didn’t seem to be struggling nearly as much as I was.”
I laugh as he shuts the door. When he’s seated next to me, I tell him, “I usually come multiple times a week. Obviously, I haven’t been since everything, but I’ve been doing yoga for about five years.”
He hums as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Yes, I was surprised. You seemed quite…flexible.”
My eyes widen slightly as my breath catches in my throat. Apparently oblivious to my internal freakout at his comment, he turns up the radio a few notches. He most likely meant nothing by it, besides making an observation, but it made a whole lot of inappropriate images run through my mind.
I’m sobered when Blake’s comment from when I first started yoga plays in my head—I thought people who did yoga were skinnier.
I avert my eyes and stare out the window. Blake always wanted to remind me I wasn’t skinny enough or pretty enough. He’d use anything against me. Even something thathe’d never been to and knew nothing about. Instead of letting him get to me about yoga, I went even more often to prove him wrong.
But the reminder of his comments brings up insecurities that I’ve fought against for years. I don’t think Chris meant anything by the comment that he was surprised, but for some reason, it cuts me.
When we park, Chris turns his car off. “You okay? You got really quiet.”
I turn toward him and force a smile. “Yep, I’m good.”
Not letting him say anything else, I get out of the car and walk to the elevator. I need to remember that it doesn’t matter what Chris thinks of me as long as he can help me legally. That thought doesn’t make me feel any better as we head to our respective bathrooms to get ready for the day.
I’m pouring a cup of coffee when Chris walks out, casually dressed in jeans and another Henley, looking incredibly hot. He’s staring down at his phone with a frown.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
His head pops up. “Yeah, everything is good.” His frown stays in place, contradicting his words. As he takes a seat at the counter, Hank jumps up in front of him to demand attention. Chris pets him and says, “So I have a weird question.”
I huff a laugh at how unsure he sounds. “Oh, boy, this sounds interesting.”
He smiles, but it looks a little strained. “So I want to go to a basketball game this afternoon. Would you be willing to go with me?”
A basketball game? Nashville doesn’t have a professional basketball team, so I assume he means college. “Uh, sure. What time is it?”
Chris checks his phone. “We’d need to leave in about an hour.”
I shrug. “Sounds great.”
His smile is somewhat relieved, and I’m even more confused. I let it go, assuming I’ll figure out what this is about eventually.
“I thoughtyou meant a college basketball game,” I tell him as we climb up a few rows of the bleachers in a large high school gymnasium, my hand tightly gripped in his.
