SKYLER
I riseto my feet in the center of my yoga mat and clasp my hands together. “Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey. I hope to see each of you again soon.”
My students clap and murmur a hearty reply and begin packing up their things. Turning to my own bag, I dig through my stuff and pull out my phone and a homemade protein bar. I have about fifteen minutes until my last class of the night starts—just enough time for a quick snack-slash-energy boost.
The delicious flavors of cherries and dark chocolate explode on my tongue as I bite into the protein bar. It’s a heavenly combination, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. Over the past week, ever since the night Ben and I had sex right here in the studio, I’ve been bringing him homemade snacks and bagged lunches. I meant everything I said about getting him excited about food. He’s still pretty ambivalent toward my veggie sandwich wraps, but he’s fallen in love with my dad’s recipe for cherry-chocolate protein bars, and I can understand why. They’re easy to fall for, just like Ben...
I know it’s too soon to be thinking along those lines, but I try not to make a habit of lying to myself. We’ve been seeing each other for about a week now, and so far we’ve managed to keep our budding relationship below Moodie and Barbie’s radar. From the outside looking in, I don’t think anyone can tell that we’re more than colleagues, even if Ben does drive me home after every shift.
The instant we’re out of the parking lot, his hand is on my thigh, and then it’s Daddy and Baby Bird until one of us has to leave the next morning. I love having Ben in my tiny apartment, sharing my bed, taking up space, making it feel like more than just a place to house my things while I’m in school. I’m not sure if it’s because of the whole daddy thing, but when I’m in Ben’s arms I feel...at home.
I’ll admit, juggling work, school, and this sort-of relationship with Ben has distracted me from posting on my blog these past few days. However, the latest photo I posted—the one of Ben and me doing yoga—has received more likes and comments than all of my previous posts combined. My readers are positively smitten with my “beefcake yoga buddy.”
Same, y’all. Hard. Same.
Even with the success of the post, I haven’t asked Ben to take any more pictures, but I want to. In fact, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the different poses we could try, each one more scandalous than the last.
I’m pulled from my salacious daydreams by the sound of the studio door opening. The first handful of students for my next class file into the space, talking and laughing among themselves.
“Welcome,” I greet them. “Please find a spot anywhere you feel comfortable. We’ll begin in just a few minutes.”
I finish my protein bar as the rest of my students drift in, taking the opportunity respond to a few comments on my most recent blog post. At the start of the hour, I tuck my phone back into my bag and take a deep breath to center myself.
“Okay, everyone,” I say, trying to calm some of the chatter. “Thank you all for joining me. My name is Skyler and I’ll be guiding you through our yoga session this evening.”
I’m in the middle of my intro when a straggler slips through the door, and my thoughts stumble over themselves.
What the fuck is Nate Whitney doing in my yoga class?
“Um...” I gulp hard, fighting to minimize the shock seeping into my tone. “As I was saying, t-this is a beginner’s class and each of the poses can be modified to suit any fitness level...”
My gaze trails him around the perimeter of the studio as he grabs a mat and settles into the back row, like he’s done this a million times. But I’ve never seen him in this gym, let alone the yoga studio. I have no idea why he’s here, but from the way he’s smirking at me—without a trace of surprise on his smug face—I’m willing to bet he’s not here to balance his chakras.
As flustered as I am on the inside, this is still my job. I have a responsibility to the rest of my students to make this a positive experience for everyone. With a fortifying breath, I push on, leaning hard into my script and the muscle memory of having run through these poses a thousand times.
“We’re going to start on the floor with our legs crossed and our hands on our knees.” I sit down on my mat to model the position. “Focus on keeping your back straight and your shoulders back. With each breath you take, feel your chest open, centering you here in this moment.”
After a quick breathing exercise that does little to calm my own racing thoughts, I direct everyone to stretch their legs out in front of them and their arms overhead.
“Remember, you want to feel a slight stretch, but it shouldn’t hurt. If something hurts, ease up on the stretch or take a break and then jump back in with a modified position. I’ll be demonstrating modified versions of certain poses as we go along.”
I continue leading the class as though Nate isn’t here, though I can practically feel the chill from his cold stare as I move around the room, helping people adjust their posture. After a brief balancing workout and some sun salutations, I guide everyone into table pose—on hands and knees—and spend a few minutes focusing on back stretches. I end the class in shavasana, with everyone lying prone on their mats, relaxing—
Everyone except Nate, who braces himself on his elbows, eyes trained on me.
“That’s the end of our time together,” I say quickly, not a second later than I must. “Thank you all for joining me, and I hope to see you again soon.”
I immediately start packing up my bag, figuring I’ll head to the bathroom and hide out in there long enough for Nate to get bored and leave. While the rest of the group rises from their mats looking thoroughly refreshed, Nate takes his sweet time gathering up his things. As I shoulder my bag, a shadow falls over me.
“That was quite the lesson, Skyler,” Nate says. “Wasn’t nearly as difficult as my regular workout, but not everyone has the stamina for that level of intensity.”
I clench my jaw and suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Nate might be a shithead, but he’s also a customer. I should at least try to be professional.
“Thanks, Nate,” I respond flatly. “Glad you enjoyed it. Now if you’ll excuse me...” I start to walk past him, eager to end the conversation before it starts.
“You forgot a pose, though.”
Reluctantly, I stop halfway to the exit.