“Timing,” he mutters.
Zena, a willowy attractive lady in her late forties, leaves her mat and walks around. She works for the university in the catering department, and since I pick up the odd job with them, we’ve known each other a while.
She stops at Dillon’s mat. “Hello, handsome. You sure brighten the place up.” She cocks her hip, a smirk on her face as she takes him in, appreciation in her glance.
He grins broadly. “Came with Serena. She insisted. How’s my form?”
“Excellent,” she replies.
I snort. “He’s my stalker.”
Dillon rolls his eyes. “Pot, kettle. You were waiting for me at the Oreos and don’t deny it.”
“Well, he’s in for a treat,” Zena murmurs to me and pops a questioning eyebrow. Do you want to tell him? her face says, and I shake my head. Nope.
A laugh tinkles from her as she moves on. “Carry on, then. Welcome to class, Dillon. Invite your football friends.”
He smiles. “She knows me, Serena, and it’s dark in here.” There’s triumph in his voice as he whips off his shirt and tosses it to the side. His skin is golden, his pecs firm…
“Cat pose, class,” Zena calls.
I ignore him—dang, so hard—and maneuver into the pose on my hands and knees, arching my back to the ceiling. He watches, lips pursed as he attempts to mimic me, only his bulk doesn’t allow for much arch and his hands are in the wrong place.
“Hey, Kitty, try again,” I murmur. “Round your spine toward the ceiling.”
“Meow,” is his response.
I bite my lip.
“Make sure your knees are set below your hips, everyone, and center your head in a neutral position with eyes on the floor,” Zena says.
“How do you get your back up that high?”
“Practice.” I stifle a laugh as he tries again and fails.
“Ladies, this pose will gently warm up your pelvic floor and open your hips—which is crucial for a top-shelf orgasm, the kind that reverberates through your body for several seconds. Flexibility and relaxation are key, especially if he goes in for round two. That’s the best, isn’t it?”
A round of yeses comes from the ladies.
Dillon starts. “Hang on. I thought this was a yoga class?”
“For ladies,” I chirp. “Zena is all about using yoga for, um, the bedroom. Usually it’s only women in here, and the men who show up tend to never come back. You don’t do exercises like this at lacrosse practice?”
“No, and don’t think I’m not keeping tabs on every time you call me a lacrosse player. So far your debt is so big I don’t think you’ll ever pay it off.”
“Hmm, how will I repay you?”
His eyes glitter. “A kiss for every infraction—”
“I owe you one and you haven’t collected.” Maybe I’m a little miffed about that.
Zena says, “On the exhale, round your spine up toward the ceiling. Yes, that’s it…engage those abs and warm up your core…open your body, feel the heat…”
“Why are you smirking?” Dillon asks a few reps later.
“Because you make a very large cat.” I scoot over and touch his spine with light fingers. “Now let your stomach drop to the floor…right, now back up…you got it.”
“Can you do the splits? ’Cause that’s cool—”
“Shhh,” comes from the older lady on the other side of Dillon.
“Well? Can you?” he whispers.
“Oh, Dillon, my body can do anything.”
His eyes heat; I stick my tongue out at him.
“Alright, let’s move to downward facing dog, my favorite for spicing up the bedroom. In fact, as an inversion pose, it clears your head and gives your face a glow that’s irresistible to your partner. When you’re feeling frisky, I suggest ditching your bed and trying this on the floor,” Zena says in a saucy tone.
I move into the stance, adjusting my body into an A shape, my hips in the air.
My eyes dart to him as he aligns his body and sinks his heels to the mat. He looks magnificent, his leg muscles taut, his forearms bunched and tight.
He pops an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be looking at your navel.”
“Yeah? Then why are you staring at me?”
“You’re staring at me.”
He laughs as his eyes glow at me. “Champagne. Is it crazy that I love how you spar with me?”
I shrug. “What is up with you and champagne?”
“It’s your eye color, like sunshine.” He bites his lip, his face flushing. “I kind of, um, well…”
“What?” I cock my head.
His face grows redder, embarrassment growing. “I may have thought about popping a cork and pouring it on you, you know, um, when we, um, make out some time in the future. Maybe.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t get anything right with you. Kill me now.”
Oh. He’s getting it right. He’s part smooth charmer, part uncertain college boy, and it ticks all my boxes. Help.
“Move to the happy baby position, class,” Zena says. “We all know what a baby looks like when they lie down and hold their feet.”