And those are just a few of the more advanced poses we’ll teach once the beginners get the hang of things,” I finish explaining to Stratford, helping Amelia and a few of the other workers up from their mats on the floor where we did a quick yoga demonstration.
For years, this dance studio has only been used for fun, hip-hop dance classes for campers. Amelia had the idea a few months ago that we should start offering a few classes geared just toward the parents whose children attend the camp. For the weekend sessions, to give them something to do if they want to give their kids some alone time with other children, and during the summer months when they come out for visits if their kids are staying for several weeks. After e-mailing all of our parents with a survey to see what they would most be interested in, we’d decided on yoga, kickboxing, and meditation. We had a certified trainer for each of these classes, but she’s on vacation, and since I’ve taken all of these types of classes for years at the local gym, I felt confident enough to lead our demonstration.
Clearing my throat, I wipe my sweaty palms on my gray shorts and give Stratford a nervous smile. He hasn’t said one word since Everett brought him in here and pulled up a chair for him in the back of the room. I think I’d much rather he tell us it’s a stupid idea than just sit there not saying anything. At least give me some sort of indication this was a good idea and something that would convince him to give his money to this camp.
It’s also not helping that Everett has done nothing but stand at the back of the room a few feet away from Stratford, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me each time I looked over at him for silent encouragement, or even some sort of hint that he appreciated the way I looked. So much for Amelia’s bright idea that I wear this dumb outfit to get a rise out of him. I just feel stupid and practically naked with all this skin showing. He leans against the wall looking almost bored. And in a pair of black track pants and a tight white T-shirt stretched across the muscles of his chest and arms, with a backward black baseball cap on his head, he looks bored and hot.
“I’m assuming you have more to offer the parents than just exercise classes,” Stratford finally says, not looking up from the phone that he’s furiously typing away on.
“I, um, we actually—”
“You’ve done a nice job today, Cameron, but I’d like to hear from your husband this time. He’s been unusually quiet today,” Stratford says, interrupting my stuttering as he looks up from his phone and over to Everett.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Out of all the things Everett and I have discussed over the last week, we never talked much about future plans for the camp. It didn’t seem necessary. Like I told Amelia earlier, he fit back into this place perfectly. He remembered everything from when he used to work here, he knew the history of the place and everything about the back office, and there wasn’t much of a point.
Everett’s eyes finally meet my panicked ones, and he pushes away from the wall with a nod.
“Actually, sir, I’ve been contemplating the idea of adding a self-defense class to the list. It’s not only something I think adults need to learn, but even the older kids who attend the camp. It would be a great way to build their confidence. Make them feel like warriors, when most of them are feeling so scared and weak,” Everett explains, walking across the room to stand next to me.
“Hmmm, I like the sound of this. Show me a few things,” Stratford orders, waving his hand between Everett and me.
Without a word, Everett moves behind me, the front of his body pressed against my back. I can feel his heat and smell his skin and my heart stutters in my chest when he reaches around me and grabs my arms, pulling them up until they’re pressed in close to my chest.
He leans his head down until his mouth is right by my ear.
“Just follow my lead and do what I say. Keep your arms up where they are,” he whispers, his warm breath floating over my ear and making goose bumps break out over my skin even though I’m still hot and sweaty from the yoga demonstration.
I can’t speak. I can’t even nod that I understand. Before I can take my next breath, Everett’s strong arms band around me and he yanks me back against his chest, squeezing me tightly to him.
“This is called the Bear Hug. A very common strategy for an attacker sneaking up on someone from behind,” Everett explains. “Hard to get out of if your attacker is larger than you, but not impossible.”
Blah, blah, blah. That’s all I hear right now. I can’t pay attention to anything when I can feel every inch of Everett’s body against mine. I can feel the muscles of his chest against my back and the beat of his heart. My ass is nestled into his groin and it takes every ounce of control I have not to wiggle against him.
“Now, raise your hands, keeping your elbows bent at a ninety-degree angle, with your palms straight up.”
My eyes start to close, when I suddenly hear my name.
“Cam. Raise your hands,” Everett whispers in my ear.
I shake my head to clear it, trying to remember the instructions he just gave without asking him to repeat himself, and I admit I have no idea what’s going on right now because he’s distracting me with all this touching and breathing in my ear.
“This won’t break you free, but it will allow you some freedom of movement,” Everett states as I raise my hands, making sure to keep my elbows bent like he instructed.
“Next, take your right foot, and move it back until it’s between my legs and behind my right foot.”
I do as he says, pushing my ass even farther into his groin as I move my leg into position, and that’s when I feel it, and I have to swallow back a groan. He’s hard. And there is no way he can hide it in those track pants he’s wearing. I want to smile and let out a whoop, but he just goes right on with his instruction. No stuttering of his words, no labored breathing, no shaking hands or arms, no forgetting where he is or what he’s doing—all things I’ve been struggling with. Nothing to indicate this has any effect on him whatsoever. Here I am, a ball of nervous, lust-filled, can barely remember my own name ridiculousness, and he’s calm as a cucumber. He’s a guy. I’m a woman. Replace me with any damn woman and he’d probably have the same reaction.
“You’ll then lift your leg that’s behind mine, jamming it into my knee and making it give out, throwing your attacker off balance and loosening his hold on you so you can get away.”
I’m so ticked off by his calmness that he’s already moved away before I can do what he says, slam my knee into his, and then maybe even turn and bring it up into his crotch for good measure. He crosses his arms in front of him, his face showing no emotion at all as he starts to tell Stratford about a few other moves. He clearly thinks I’m out of my element because I’ve been letting him take the lead
Little does Everett know, I’ve been taking self-defense classes with Amelia for two years.
Game on.