Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Clark

I AM GOING TO kill Megan for this.

She’s been begging me to go to her stupid yoga class with her for months. I held strong, but she’s my only real friend at work, so eventually I cracked. Which is how I find myself going through the miserable exercise of walking into a café that apparently mixes cats and food and drinks and yoga. That must be some sort of health code violation, but Megan says this place opened a couple years ago and has only exploded in popularity ever since, even with its out of the way location in the small town of Tripp Lake, Washington.

Warmth envelopes us the moment we get through the double doors leading from the hall and into the café. A faint scent of coffee settles in my belly. The café side is ordinary enough, with a coffee bar staffed by a guy who’s scowling at his phone and several small tables with chairs. Bright afternoon sunlight streams through the large windows at one side of the café, warming the wooden floor. A cat tower rears up in the center of the room, like an entire tree built right in the middle of the café. It’s massive, with several nooks and crannies for the cats to hide in. Several peer down at us, curious and bold as they lord over us.

“Come on,” Megan says. “The yoga studio is in the back.”

When she says “studio,” she means the other half of the room. It’s clear back here, with no tables, just a big open space. We’re some of the last to arrive, and have to grab mats and set up at the back corner of the group. That’s fine by me. I want to go unnoticed, get through this and get the hell out of here.

A man sits at the front of the class. He’s cross-legged on his mat, hands on his knees and eyes softly closed. When he opens them, they’re slate gray, a startling contrast to the sunny afternoon washing through the windows and the brilliant smile he dons as he takes us in. His blue-dyed hair sits piled on his head in a bun, perhaps to keep it out of the way, perhaps because this guy is the epitome of “man bun.” He’s shirtless, and of course his body is perfect. Smooth, toned, with a little smattering of hair that suggests his natural shade is brown. When he stands, his tight yoga pants cling to his legs, and I have to look away before my gaze strays to inappropriate places. Not that the guy seems to care. “Shame” is apparently a foreign concept, but he’s so damn young. Even if he wasn’t the instructor and I the student, it would be weird for me to check him out like that.

The murmur of conversation fades. Everyone sitting on mats around me quiets in anticipation.

“Greetings, everyone. Should we begin?” the teacher says. “I’m River, and I’m so happy to be on this journey with you today.”

Good God, this guy is a walking stereotype. A beautiful stereotype, sure, but he could be right out of promotional material for Burning Man.

He waves, and everyone starts standing around me. When I remain seated, Megan gives me a pointed look, and I rise reluctantly to my feet. I chose an old T-shirt and some baggy sweatpants for this, but suddenly I feel underdressed around all these people in their designer yoga leggings.

We start with standing poses. Apparently you can stand still and breathe in time with the rest of the class and that counts as yoga. It’s much easier than my usual workout routine. I’m not even breaking a sweat. Sure, when River has us bend at the waist Megan can reach her toes and I’m not even close, but what do I need to be that flexible for? The weights and treadmill at the company gym keep me plenty fit without making me contort myself into pretzels.

After all the standing, River makes us do this strange series of lunges. Forward, back, hands to the floor, now both feet back. “Down dog” is what he calls this last one, but it mostly feels like sticking my ass in the air for no good reason.

A bubble of laughter titters through the room. I’m facedown, my hands planted under me and hips up in the air, but I turn my head and find a woman giggling a few mats over as a little orange cat tries to climb up her legs. A larger adult cat has gotten on a man’s shoulders. It stays there even when we ease out of “down dog” and into “cobra,” heads up, hips on the floor, chests open.

I guess this is what these people come here for. The cats steal the attention away from River, who doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He only intervenes to rescue the little orange kitten, who’s so small he could get trampled as we switch positions. He nuzzles the cat, setting him on his own mat, where he happily attacks his own foot.

“Okay, now let’s work on the other side,” River says.

We go through all the lunge poses again, landing right back in that compromising “down dog” position that puts our butts in the air. It’s almost relaxing, except suddenly someone’s hands are on my hips, the touch startling despite how light it is.

“Do you think you can lift your hips a little higher?” River says. He’s speaking softly. This isn’t for the class, it’s just for me. When the hell did he come over here? Why did he come over here? Why is he focusing on me? What about the rest of the class? Panicked questions flit through my mind.

He tugs at my hips, encouraging them backward, and I do everything in my power not to think about the fact that a hot, shirtless younger man is holding my hips, but it’s been awhile since anyone’s touched me, let alone like this. The last time someone was grabbing my hips from behind—

That thought is not going to help me, and I don’t let myself finish it. I push into my hands and try to lift my hips so River will move on and leave me alone. It doesn’t quite work the way I’d hoped. River seems satisfied enough with the position of my hips, but then he kneels beside me so he can see my face. His is way too close suddenly. It gives me too clear a view of the silvery gray of his eyes. Seriously, who has eyes like that?

“Try not to hunch your shoulders toward your ears,” River says softly. “You can relax here. You aren’t at work. You’re in a safe space connecting with your body. That’s it. Let them ease down.”

I do as I’m told, mostly so he’ll go away, but I do find that when I stop instinctually hunching my hips go even higher and my bend gets a little deeper. It kinda feels nice.

River stands again and presses a hand right in the center of my back, between the shoulder blades. As he pushes down, something pops, and it feels like a year’s worth of tension releases all at once.

“Oh,” I sigh. Out loud. Involuntarily.

The sound bursts out of me as the tension releases, and I only hear myself a moment later, when I want to run screaming from the room for basically moaning in front of all these people — and the hot yoga teacher.

River simply pats me on the back. “There you are. It seemed like you really needed that. Good work.”

At last, he moves on, but the shame burning in my cheeks doesn’t fade even when River returns to the front of the class. He takes us through a sitting sequence next to let us rest our arms. I can’t say I really commit to the movements. I’m too busy trying not to think about that hand on my back, that touch at my hips. I really shouldn’t get so fixated on it. Am I really that pathetic at this point in my life? A man in his thirties shouldn’t turn into a horny teenage boy from one little touch through clothing.

I really need to start dating again.

I barely manage to keep from scoffing aloud. I haven’t dated in years. There’s been no time as I’ve risen up the corporate ladder at work and taken on more responsibilities, but tell that to my idiot body. It still wants … well, someone like River. Attractive. Masculine. Yeah, that about covers it. The list of demands is pretty short.

Not that I’m going to give into them. I’ve settled into my management role at work, but that doesn’t mean I want to ruin it all by getting on some stupid dating app and swiping right on the first pretty face I find. Besides, they’d all probably think I’m an old man at thirty-two. Aren’t those apps for young people? If I seriously wanted to meet someone, I’d need to go to the right bars on the right nights, but that life is behind me. It’s way too late for me to go looking for love. I made my choice, and it was work. I’m fine leaving that other stuff behind.

At least, I say I am, but the phantom of River’s fingers on my hips lingers throughout the remainder of the class. I try to shake it off, but it sticks to my skin like cobwebs as he takes us through some stretches on the ground, then more standing up, then some awkward partner thing I do with Megan. At the very end, he has us all lie on our backs with our eyes closed and simply breathe and focus on relaxing every muscle. It’s insufferable, and I crack an eye open to see if anyone is actually doing it. They are, and what’s worse, River catches me peeking. Instead of scolding me for it, he simply smiles, and I shut my eyes as quickly as I can.

Then, at last, he dismisses us. A flurry of movement rustles the yoga room as people roll up their mats and collect their stuff. The coffee machine in the other half of the café hisses as some of the students go immediately for a treat. The cats who climbed all over us while we stretched retreat, many climbing back up into the branches of the cat tree.

I roll up my mat quickly, but I have to wait on Megan while she talks with another student. Finally, she turns back to me.

“Well, how was it?” she says.

Awful , I want to say, but I hold that back. I won’t get anywhere antagonizing her. I should keep it together until I can get out of this stupid café.

Megan laughs at my expression. “That bad, huh? You are so dramatic. It was just yoga.”

Well, there goes my hopes of keeping quiet until I can escape.

“It was fine,” I say.

Megan rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Thank you for giving it a shot anyway. This teacher is really good. I thought if anyone could convert you, maybe he could.”

He’s certainly good at what he does. Even I can’t deny that. At the mention of the guy, my eyes flicker toward the front of the room. I instantly wish I’d squashed the instinct. River’s gray eyes lock with mine, and a moment later the shirtless yoga teacher is rising. No, not just rising. He’s walking straight toward me and Megan, and his eyes never once leave mine. I want to run, but my feet are bolted to the floor as a cold wave of dread washes through me. Can this day get any worse?