Chapter Eleven
“You’re crazy, little brother. Certifiable. I don’t care how hot she is, if she’s got that much baggage, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment, if not full-on trauma.”
Noah rolled his eyes at his reflection in the mirror, waiting for his sister to finish her harangue. “Noah? Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he lied, looking for a pair of suitable shorts and a T-shirt. “But I have to go now. Time for my first hot yoga class.”
Her sigh hit his ears like a tornado—so loud he held the phone away from his ear. “God, you really are serious.”
“Yes. I really am serious about my fitness.” He flexed one arm, admired his guns for a few seconds and wondered how in the world he’d keep from falling asleep in some silly stretching class. The two weeks between that oddly poignant moment in Gayle’s office and today had been busy, with him learning his new job, glad-handing, pouring or buying beers for bar owners and patrons, getting earfuls about quality from some and glowing reviews from others. He’d enjoyed it, but the low-lying memories of her vulnerability in front of him wouldn’t ever fully exit his consciousness.
He’d embarked on a bit of subterfuge. After memorizing the hot yoga studio’s schedule he’d discovered she wasn’t terribly reliable when it came to the time of day she’d participate. Luckily, his job allowed for a fair bit of ‘in between’ time—normally dead periods when he’d be between retailer calls. So, he spent those hours staking out the place, watching to see when she was there for a class and when she wasn’t.
And now, he was ready to make his move. Or rather, ready to give the yoga thing a shot, during a ten a.m. Saturday class he’d discovered, through his amateur sleuthing, that she nearly always attended.
“Noah,” his sister barked in his ear. “Don’t get caught up in this. She sounds like she might not be worth the emotional effort. How old is she anyway? What if she can’t have kids?”
“Sister dear, do you have any idea how crazy you sound right now? I mean, in one breath you’re telling me to avoid her, the next you’re wondering about nieces and nephews.” He made a tsk-ing sound with his teeth. “I mean, really. Make up your mind already.”
“Way to deflect me, jerk. Nicely done.”
“Thank you. It’s but one of my many skills.”
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you anyway.”
“No thanks. Tell Rob and the spawn I said hi. I gotta go now. Time for yoga.” He hung up before she could berate him any further. He’d read he should bring a yoga mat, a towel to cover it and a water bottle. He’d bought the first and gathered the rest and, with only a mild shiver of anxiety about how she might react at the sight of him invading her space again, he got into his truck and headed for the studio.
He spotted her walking in the door as he parked so he waited a few minutes, hoping she’d have time to get away from the front desk while he paid and signed up or whatever he had to do. Once he’d registered and been given the basics—no talking, wait for first scheduled water break, stay in the room if possible—he left his shoes on one of the open shelves and headed into to the darkened room.
The smell hit him first. His impression was one of a car full of hockey gear, left in the desert for a week. Noticing that none of the people already in the room were gagging or otherwise acknowledging the reek, he stumbled to an empty spot, unrolled his mat and arranged the towel on top it. At a loss for how to manage to not puke, he sat, not even noting where Gayle was located.
With only five minutes before the official class start time, he observed most people were lying down with their feet to the back wall, arms to their sides, breathing quietly. The heat made its presence known once his olfactory nerves adjusted. He could hear motors running somewhere above him and realized with some alarm the light sheen of sweat already coating his arms.
Determined not to panic, or even worry too much—yoga was only a bunch of stretching after all, hot room or no—he closed his eyes and focused on something else that didn’t reek of old socks or make him feel like he’d walked into a steam room on a hot summer day. This couldn’t be hard, for crying out loud. He was in tip-top shape. He could run ten miles, take a few breaths and run ten more. He could bench press twice his body weight and do hundreds of sit-ups in a row. Noah opened his eyes when the lights came on, flooding the space and prodding everyone to their feet.
He followed their lead, casting a quick glance around the crowded room. He didn’t see her right away, since he’d had to tuck himself into a corner and was surrounded by mostly women in various stages of nakedness. He blinked, attempting to parse the amount of bare female flesh, some of it covered in sports bras and spandex.
The teacher lady was, in a word, hot. Okay, a few more—AF. He gulped and looked down at his feet, the heat filling his lungs and nasal passages while she made word noises he barely registered.
My God, I’m dripping with sweat already. How in the hell am I going to get through this?
When he realized everyone around him was shifting and assuming some kind of preparatory position, he copied them. When he looked toward the instructor chick, he looked right into her eyes and realized she remembered him. Her brow furrowed as she snuck a glance to her left, then glared back at him. He smiled, or at least he tried to. It might have not looked much like it. His brain felt as if it were melting into a warm puddle of goo. The teacher grinned at him, cleared her throat and the class began.
At first, it was only breathing. But it seemed to go on forever. And the realization he was sucking in huge lungs full of the stinking, overheated air made him dizzy. He tried his level best to follow along, to do what the others were doing. After the third, or perhaps the fourth, borderline torturous position he was asked to fold himself into, he reached for his water bottle, gasping, every inch of his skin drenched.
“Please hold off on a water break for one more posture,” the teacher bitch’s voice boomed into the room. He put the water bottle down.
The entire experience seemed designed to bring him to his knees, while everyone around him flexed and stretched and generally prezteled themselves with seemingly little effort. Everyone was dripping wet by the time they hit the floor, finally. But there were still forty minutes to go. He tried to obey the torturer-woman’s commands to breathe through his nose to calm his heartbeat but lying on his belly for some set of ‘spine-strengthening series’ made him gasp like a beached fish.
At one point, he realized he’d poured the last of the water into his mouth and could only sit and stare down at the wet towel beneath him as he attempted not to run out of the room—or throw up his guts. This had been the single most hare-brained idea of his stupid, woman-chasing life. He couldn’t wait to get the fuck out and never, ever come back.
“Now, please, lie back and let your body absorb the amazing experience you’ve just given it,” the woman trilled. Noah flopped onto his back. In all his years of working out—running, biking, lifting and swimming—he’d never once felt like this. It was the typical wet-noodle sensation he’d achieve after a hard two hours or so working up a sweat, but this was combined with a kind of hollowed-out, drained feeling that made him close his eyes and drift, even though he was still lying in this disgusting-smelling hot space.
When he finally opened his eyes, he realized someone was crouched over him. He flinched and propped on his elbows, embarrassed by the state of his skin and the stink emanating from his every pore.
“You didn’t do too badly,” Gayle said, holding out her hand. He frowned but took it and let her tug him forward and up to his feet. The room was dark and empty, but for the two of them.
“Shit,” he said, reaching for his water bottle before remembering its empty state. “I didn’t think I’d fall asleep.”
“It’s more relaxing than you think—I mean, when you’re doing it.”
Noah couldn’t resist the grin. She frowned at him, dark strands of her hair in sweaty curls around her flushed face. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t sweat the letch out of me, I guess.” Realizing he’d probably blown it again, he reached down to roll his dripping towel up in the yoga mat. When he rose, Gayle hadn’t moved. But she was smiling—a kind of half-smile, both wistful and hopeful. He decided maybe this had been a good idea after all, sweat, stink and near-death experience included.
He was about to ask her to join him for coffee, or a shot of something healthy, like kale juice, when she turned away and walked out of the room, sending a glorious puff of cool air across his body. He shivered and followed her, sheepish when he realized everyone had been watching them but were now busily pretending they hadn’t been.
His flesh prickled into goosebumps and he tugged his sweatshirt down his bare torso. The effort made him almost topple over, so he dropped onto his butt on the bench and propped his elbows on his knees, trying to regain his equilibrium. A few deep breaths later, he thought he might live. But there was no way he was going to walk out of here just yet. He lunged forward and refilled his water bottle, gulping it down so fast it leaked out of the sides of his mouth. As he went for a second refill, a hand touched his shoulder, making him flinch and send water flying across the sealed concrete floor.
He was shaking now, having some kind of DT freak-out. He circled right back around to this-was-a-stupid-idea-land. “Jesus.” He ran a hand down his face and watched the teacher drop a fresh towel on his spillage and calmly mop it up. As he stood, staring like a dumb-ass, Gayle emerged from the ladies’ locker room, her hair up in a towel, her skin red and shining, her body covered in a batik-blue sundress that made his poor, overworked heart stutter in his chest.
He smiled, then stepped back from her, hyper-aware of how much he reeked, but unwilling to let this opportunity pass. “Hey, uh, so could we…could I buy you… I mean…”
She leaned her head to one side, the smile he wanted to kiss so badly ghosting across her lips. He put his hands on his hips, looked down, took a breath then stared into her eyes. He was usually better at this. But she’d turned him into a rattled, stuttering, teenager-like mess. The teacher was standing next to Gayle now, her dark eyes narrow when she glared at him. He nodded in her direction. “Interesting stuff in there. Thanks. I think.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re pretty stiff, but I can tell you’re in good shape.” Her gaze darted down his front then back up again. He blushed hot, her double entendre settling into his psyche. These women were messing with him. He stood straighter, part of him wanting to prove to them both—but mostly to Gayle—he wasn’t here to stalk her or anything more than to get to know her. But it sure as hell wasn’t what it looked like and he knew it.
He held up both hands. “Okay, all right, ladies. I get it. I’m at your mercy.” He used his best seducer-smoky gaze on the teacher. She took a step away. Satisfied he’d set her back at least a half second, he turned his attention to Gayle. She was studying him like a specimen under a microscope. He cleared his throat. “Could I buy you something super healthy to drink, after I’ve had a shower?”
Her beautiful smile widened, which made his entire body clench in anticipation. Dear Jesus, but she was perfection, despite what he knew about her backstory. It wasn’t like his was anything to write home about. And all he wanted was to sit, drink something gross but good for him and talk to her.
“Tell you what,” she said, after smiling at her friend the teacher. “You come back tomorrow and get through another class, and I’ll think about it.”
He gaped at her. “Tomorrow? Hell no. I’ll need a week to recover from this shit.”
“Actually, the more classes you can string together, the better.”
“Fuck. That. No offense.”
“None taken.” The teacher put a hand on Gayle’s arm. “I’ll leave him to you.” Her dark eyes flashed when she looked at him. “I think you can handle it.” He wasn’t quite sure whom she meant but it didn’t matter.
“So, about that kale juice…”
She chuckled and walked past him, brushing his arm with hers. He ground his teeth, dying to reach for her but stuck in his cloud of stink, and, frankly, mortification at how amateurish he sounded. “I told you. Come back tomorrow. Then I’ll consider it.”
He stared straight ahead, not willing to give her the satisfaction of staring at her ass as she left him there.
When he showed up the next day, more prepared for the sensory onslaught, she wasn’t in the yoga room. By the time the instructor flipped on the lights, she’d still not shown. Noah stood, met the teacher’s steady gaze for a few seconds then focused on himself for the next unbearable ninety minutes and left the studio without a word to anyone. Gayle, it seemed, had decided to give the hot room a skip.