“What, like meditation? Never been my thing.” I’ve never been good at remaining still, especially not when I was a child. Always bouncing around from one thing to the next.
“Not necessarily,” he says. “Let’s start with some slow, deep breaths. Follow my movements, and breathe with your stomach.”
At my confused expression, he holds out a hand for mine,then places my palm against his abs as he takes a deep breath. I startle and yank my hand back, feeling like it’s on fire. Now I know what the phrase “rock-hard abs” truly means.
His eyebrows pull together at my reaction.
“I was just trying to show you what I meant, how to breathe with your diaphragm.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat and I extend my hand, letting him take it in his and place my palm against his stomach again.
I have to use every ounce of self control I possess not to claw into him. My fingers twitch and my palm itches with the urge to run my hands up under his shirt, to feel his skin against my own and count every muscular ridge I can find.
“You’re not following," he says, and I jolt out of what was starting to become a vivid daydream when he places my other hand on my own stomach.
“Sorry, go again.” I flash him one of my brightest smiles to prove I’m on board this time, and his stomach rises beneath my palm as he breathes in. My brow scrunches when I take an answering breath and don’t feel the same rise on my own.
I look down at my hand and breathe in again, but it doesn’t move.
“What? How are you doing that?” I say with an incredulous laugh.
His answering smile is crooked, and swooping in my lower belly, right below my hand.
“It’s weird, I know. Most people don’t breathe properly. Here,” Asher says, adjusting his position so he’s next to me and placing his hand on top of mine. His fingers splay between my own, his touch searing. He stills for a moment, eyes flicking to mine before he looks back down at his fingertips where they press into the bare skin of my ribs, right below my sports bra.
Asher clears his throat, but his voice still comes out a bit hoarse.
“Fill the top of your lungs first, like this.” He demonstrates with exaggerated motions, his shoulders and chest rising. “Then fill the bottom of your lungs, like this.” His other hand covers mine on his own stomach as he again breathes in, muscles stretching and ribs expanding beneath our joined hands.
“You try," he says, as he slowly releases the breath.
I breathe in with my chest, and he nods, then averts his gaze when he notices where he was staring. His fingertips tap my stomach muscles as he says, “now here” with the rest of my in-breath.
Our hands rise, a practically minuscule amount, but I smile in triumph nonetheless. His answering smile is warm, proud, and I really,reallylike it.
13
WHEN YOU HAVE TO TEACH A VAMPIRE HOW TO HUG
RAYA
I wakeon day three to Asher groaning as he stretches to silence his alarm. I yawn and roll to my back as he stands, then stretch my hands over my head with a contented moan of my own, reveling in the feeling of finally getting a good night’s rest. I freeze when I notice him staring at me, then yank my arms down and snatch the blankets to my chest.
“Sorry,” he mutters, swiping a hand down his face before shuffling into the bathroom. His voice is low and scratchy from sleep, and my stomach tightens at the sound.
He’s dangerous, you absolute heathen. Get your head in the game.
We switch places, and the TV is on when I exit the bathroom, Asher’s face locked in a rigid mask. It’s showing a couple arm in arm posing for pictures while a third man stands off to the side. The sound is muted, but his family name rolls across the bottom of the screen and he immediately flicks it off and turns to the kitchenette when he notices my attention.
“You can leave it on, if you want," I say.
He grunts in reply, and I eye him warily. My curiosity is slowly getting the better of me.
“So…” I trail off, not sure how to ask in a polite way what the deal is with his family. “Are you close with them? Your family?”
His look of disgust could freeze the stars right out of the sky.
“No.”
