My eyelids drift closed as the space between our faces lessens, only to snap wide open when my entire world is turned upside down.
Literally.
A pained groan eases out of me like air out of a leaky tire. My dazed eyes blink up at the sun after the yoga lady, that I now know is no angel, slung me over her hip like I was a pesky toddler and flipped me to the ground. The hard, hard ground that isn’t doing anything for my aching body and head. I suddenly feel every single one of my thirty-eight years.
Any trace of good humor I once possessed is now gone, and when her angelic face hovers into my sight, I scowl up at it and growl out several colorful Cantonese curses that I picked up on the set of the last movie I produced.
Those tempting pink lips part, her brown eyes flaring wide. The meaning might not be clear, but the connotation of my words is. She stumbles back a step.
Suddenly the familiar chords of Feel Like Makin’ Love fill the air, mocking me, and I scramble to my feet, narrowing my eyes at the young woman in front of me. “Not likely,” I mutter, swiping my sunglasses off the ground and stalking over to her phone. I stab a finger at the screen, silencing the music.
“Hey!” she cries out, hurrying over to me and grabbing the phone. “What’s your problem?”
“Everything!” I bellow, my fists clenched tightly at my sides, feeling the sharp twang of my last nerve giving. That analogy of a toddler is apt. I’m tired, cranky, and would love to vent all my woes, loudly, and to the world. Even worse, I know my problems are nothing compared to others.
But I don’t care about that. I care about me and the fact that I’m in the middle of nowhere, Virginia, with a throbbing headache and a bruised ego.
My ego trumps everything and I point a finger at her and take a slow step toward her.
To my surprise, she holds her ground, crossing her arms over her chest and bringing my gaze zeroing in on the faint shadow of cleavage revealed by the tight sports bra.
“My problem,” I sneer, “is that I’m here for peace and quiet and you’re being too damn noisy!”
Her arms drop, her upper teeth raking over that full lower lip for a moment and causing my heartbeat to ramp up.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize my yoga music was that loud.”
“Yoga? I thought that was supposed to be peaceful, meditative, and quiet. Emphasis on quiet.” I look down at her, but not that far down, as even in bare feet she’s not too much shorter than my own height of five foot eleven. “You were playing rock music. Yoga needs bird chirping and rushing water noises.”
A wide smile spreads across her face. “That’s boring. Music brings me peace. The yoga moves are for my body, the rock is for my soul.”
For my soul.
Yes. That resonates in me.
When was the last time I did anything for myself? Not alcohol, not random hook-ups, not even this stupid so-called vacation. Something that brought me joy.
I can’t remember.
And that’s so bloody depressing that I want to slink back to my cabin and order another bottle of Jack to drown in. But not before I wipe the cheerful smile off this woman’s face.