He lets out a low, rough laugh, and the sound does dangerous things to my insides. “And you’re surprisingly bendy for someone who claims to hate yoga.”
“I said I hate yoga,” I shoot back. “I never said anything about other flexible activities.”
It’s silent for the remainder of my folding time. When it’s my turn to twist, I place one hand on Milo’s shoulder and the other on his side. His muscles shift and flex under my palm with every breath. He’s so warm. So solid.
“You’re tense,” I whisper.
“You’re the reason,” he replies in a gravelly voice.
The instructor drifts by, offering adjustments with far too much enthusiasm. “Beautiful connection, you two! Lean into each other a little more—yes, perfect! Now, whoever is twisting, give a gentle pull. And remember to communicate. Let your partner know if it feels good or if you need to ease up.”
“Trust,” I mutter under my breath. “She has no idea what she’s asking us to do right now.”
He laughs softly, the vibration traveling straight down his spine and into mine. “She has no idea whatyou’redoing to me right now.”
I twist a little harder just to make him grunt. “WhatI’mdoing to you? And what’s that, exactly?”
“You’ve got a death grip on my shoulder,” he replies. “If I end up folded like a pretzel, I’m blaming you.”
“Blame away. Pretzel sounds ambitious,” I tease. “I was going for ‘mildly uncomfortable but still ridiculously sexy.’”
He snorts so loudly he nearly collapses out of the pose. “Sexy? I have cramp in my left butt cheek. This is the least sexy thing I think I’ve ever done in my entire life.”
“Your butt cheek is currently pressed against my spine,” I grin, though he can’t see it. “And I’m having a full-blown religious experience over here.”
“Lucky you,” he grumbles.
When the pose ends, and we finally separate, the ghost of his touch still lingers on my skin. The rest of the class passes in a hazy blur of stolen glances, burning muscles, and way too much sweat on one unfairly attractive man.
By the time we reach the final pose—savasana, lying flat on our backs with the sunset painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges—I’m a complete mess. I sneak one last look at Milo. Eyes closed, chest rising and falling steadily, sweat glistening along his throat and collarbone. The golden light makes him look annoyingly beautiful.
When the instructor ends the session, we all sit up. Milo wordlessly hands me a water bottle. I thank him, twist the cap off, and chug half of it in one go. Before I catch my breath, Aria plops down beside me with a knowing grin.
“You okay over there?” she giggles, her breath even, like we weren’t just doing a whole workout and a half.
I nod, catching my breath. “That was intense.”
“The yoga or the eye-fucking?”
I nearly choke. “Aria.”
“What?” she laughs. “He kept looking at you like you were the only person on the beach. And you were staring at his chest like it was on tonight’s menu.”
I swat her arm. “Go away.”
She laughs, and we end up play-wrestling in the sand like children until we’re both breathless and covered in sand.
When things settle, Aria invites us to dinner, but I shake my head. “I’m socialized out. I’m ordering food to the villa and staring at the ocean until I pass out. Rain check?”
She pouts dramatically, then nods. “Fine, but you owe me a girls’ night tomorrow. Milo?”
Milo glances at me for a beat, then nods. “I’ll be there.”
Aria grins. “Yay! See you both later—well, seeyoulater, Milo. Sienna, enjoy your quiet night… alone.”
As Aria and Ethan head off, Milo and I walk back toward the villa. Halfway there, I nudge him with my elbow. “Scared of being alone with me?”
He looks at me, his eyes steady. “I’m always scared when it comes to you.”
