“Get over it like that.” He snaps his fingers in the direction of the beachy cutie. “Or like that.” He snaps his fingers at a McDreamy looking brunette farther down. “Or you can even get over it like that.” He snaps his fingers five times at a group of guys who look like they’re here on spring break.
“I don’t know.” I back up from the window and walk backward to the bed. “I mean, ice cream waffles sounds pretty amazing right now.” I lean back.
Benji grabs my hands and stops me from plunking my ass down into the fluffy blankets.
“You promised me you’d try. If you sit around moping all day today, then you’ll spend the whole vacation like that. What do you have scheduled for today? Let me check.” Benji picks up some paperwork shuffled on the desk.
“What’s that?”
“Your itinerary. You booked a bunch of this stuff as part of the package. Let’s see. All right, here it says you’ve got yoga at ten and then at three we have … oh no.” His face pales.
“What?”
“No, no. Nope, sorry.” He shakes his head. “There’s no way I’m going parasailing. Me and heights aren’t friends. No sir, not happening.”
“What? What about seizing the moment, making memories, forging down new paths …”
“Yeah, I said that shit to get your ass out of bed. Not so I could get strapped to some oversized kite and flung to my death in a Hawaiian sky.”
“I’ll tell you what.” I stand back up and look into his eyes. “Promise me you’ll do the parasailing thing with me and I promise you I’ll get to yoga and try to make this a celebration instead of acting like it’s a funeral.”
Benji frowns and the deep vertical lines he hates appear between his eyebrows. He chews on his bottom lip, like he only does when he’s about to give in on something. “Oh, fine.” His sculpted shoulders drop and he sighs. “But,” he points at me, “you’re putting on your Lulu’s and getting your limber on, right? And you’ll really try to put the bad aside and embrace the moment?”
The loving concern he has for me practically shines from his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Friends like Benji are one in a million. I know he only wants what is best for me. “I promise.”
“Good, I’m proud of you.” He pulls me in for a hug and I smile. He sniffs down at me and turns his head away, “Whoo! Seriously, step one, get yourself in the shower. You smell like the day after a raging house party. Whew.” He puts an arm’s length between us.
I sniff down at myself and have to agree with his assessment. It’s pretty bad. “Great, so shower, yoga, and get on with the rest of my unmarried life. Did I miss anything?”
“Nope, not a single thing.” Benji’s eyes twinkle. “That’s the whole list.”
“Oh, and parasailing.” I point at him.
“Shit.”
“Okay,” I suck the salty ocean air into my lungs, “let’s do this.”
3
Cohen
“Welcome,” I talk over the hum of chitchat and it quiets down. Everyone has their mats rolled out, they sit in various poses and turn their eyes to the front of the room where I’m standing. “I’m Cohen and this ol’ puppy dog of a guy with the big brown eyes is Marco. He is shadowing me and helping me teach these classes while he works toward getting his certification.”
Marco flashes his signature toothy grin and lifts his hand up in a frozen wave. “Hey.”
The group greets him. Some wave back, some nod their heads, others flicker their eyes over. Yoga classes at the hotels tend to attract two kinds of people. First, because they always have to be first, are the Type A’s. The second are the Yogasmics.
I glance around the breezy studio at a few of the typical type A’s. Stone-faced, wearing the most expensive versions of spandex available on their shopping apps, these women are always extremely precise. Rigid. Almost robotic. The ones who treat each stretch like a competition because they can’t help themselves. For them, life is a competition and if they aren’t in first place, they’re dead last.
“So, if everyone would stand up and root your feet onto your mats, we’re going to start with a gentle reminder to connect with your breath, let go of your thoughts and feel your presence in this space. Press your hands together at the center of your chest and close your eyes. We’ll take five cleansing breaths together,” I instruct them. Already the type A’s are aggressively filling their lungs, determined to suck up the most possible oxygen.
“Let the tension ease from your body on the exhale. Each breath in is a revival, an awakening of your senses. Smell the salt in the ocean air.” I take a deep breath in the open space and squint through my cracked open eye at the water. I’ve lived on this island for six years and I still can’t get over the way the inky blue depths mix with the teal rolling waves.
My eyes flicker over the crowd and I spot a few of the yogasmic types that tend to sign up. They are my second kind of customer. These ladies act like if a religious experience and the most intense orgasm of their lives had a baby it would come close to how doing yoga in Hawaii makes them feel. In their organic cotton genie pants, their dreamy eyes shine as they search for meaning in each and every breath. They usually love their dogs more than anyone they’ll ever open their hearts to and live deep inside their heads.
How do I know? It all comes out in yoga. People’s motivations, their passions, the private battles they wage in their minds. All those secrets we tend to bury deep inside all wiggle out and spill onto our mats when we walk into the first sun salutation.
I mean, that’s one reason, but there’s another reason too.
“Great, now, with your right foot, step forward. We’re coming up into Warrior one pose. Feel the energy as you press your back heel into the mat and open your chest, pointing your chin to the sky.”
When I first moved to Hawaii, I took tourists out on dolphin swims. Everyone thinks dolphins are these sweet, splashing, smiling mammals of the sea. They’re like ocean puppies and everyone wants a selfie with them, but guess what? Dolphins are just trying to get some ass. I’ve seen shit you can’t unsee out there with my own eyes.
Stuff like when horny Flipper still had a creepy grin on his face while he wrapped an electric eel around his dick and seemed to get his rocks off when it gave him a shock. Yeah, they’re not only down to fuck, they’re kinky. Anyway, there’s only one thing on earth hornier than those little bottlenose pervs of the sea and that’s a single woman on vacation.
So, yeah, after six years of living in Oahu and the last four being a yoga instructor for women trying to escape their lives for seven to ten days, I’ve learned a thing or two about the kinds of ladies who show up for my classes.
There was a full year in there when I was out of the game. I put out my retirement sign and thought I was gonna settle down. Sometimes you can want something to work so bad, you ignore all the little warning signs on the crumbling road. Next thing you know, your relationship is taking a header off a cliff, Thelma and Louise style and all you can do is soar through the air and wait for the impact.
I don’t miss Brandy. Controlling narcissists are hard to miss. However, there are times, like at the end of a long day, when I go home and I miss having someone to be real with. Someone to Netflix and chill with, but who also wants Netflix and popcorn nights too.
Walking around the room with Marco, each of us helps steady women in their poses. The one I’m helping smiles up at me with a deep shade of red lipstick. It perfectly matches her bright hair. “Ohhh,” she purrs, “that feels much better.” Her eyes might as well be little dicks because they are fucking the shit out of me.
And there you go. A perfect example of why it’s so hard to find a real person. The forever girl you want to plan your life around. Those ladies aren’t showing up in my classes. I’m starting to think those ladies are impossible to find.
The clearly type A lady suddenly folds over into a downward dog I didn’t instruct the class to move into and she wobbles her ass up at me like a cat in heat. “Mmm,
so much better.” She sighs blissfully.
Like I said, there’s nothing hornier than a single lady on vacation. Every single week I’m surrounded by new faces, new bodies of every shape, color, and size, new smiles and new personalities. It’s easy, it’s fun, and it works … for now. Someday I’d like to have more. Someday isn’t today though.
Suddenly, the crashing ocean waves, deep breathing, and eye-fucking are all interrupted when the studio door flings open. “Fuck,” a woman yells out and then slaps her hand over her thick lips. “Oh, shit, I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you already started,” she rambles, her cheeks burning.
The blaze of pink is cute, but her wide hazel eyes are what get me. They almost look too big for her face, like someone drew her for a Disney movie that never got made. She blinks at me, frozen, like Bambi’s mother before the hunter ruined all of our childhoods forever.
“I should go, sorry again.” She starts backing up toward the door, fumbling for the handle.
“No, please, join us,” I reassure her.
“Oh, I don’t want to disrupt the class.” She bites her lip and even though I’ve seen a thousand girls bite their bottom lips, it does something inside me. A little rush of adrenaline shoots through my body, racing down my nervous system like an electric charge, from my clenched jaw all the way down to, well … let’s just say this energy isn’t appropriate for a yoga class.
“Too fucking late,” the type A goes from purring to growling and deepens her bend farther into the down facing pose like the biggest look-at-me cry for attention I’ve seen in a while.
“Whatever.” The newcomer sniffs, her feelings clearly took a shot, but she brushes it off. “I knew I should’ve stayed in bed today.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. There’s a spot right here for your mat.” I point to the floor in front of me. “Everyone is getting ready to transition into a tall mountain pose.” I say the last part louder, so the entire class can hear me, including the woman who started doing her own poses without my say-so. Everyone moves their bodies, almost in unison, while the new girl sets up. “Please, I’m sorry, what’s your name?” I walk toward her.
“Joss,” she answers, her eyes still locked on me.
“Joss,” I repeat, smiling. “I’m Cohen. I’m instructing this class and I’m going to have to take it as a personal insult if you don’t come in and join us after all this.” I reach her and tenderly touch her elbow. “Come on, you don’t want to start your day by disrupting and insulting, do you?”
“No. I might get bad karma or something.” She laughs. “Okay, I’ll do the class.” She relaxes and heads over to the spot I pointed out.
Joss quickly gets herself set up and in the same position as everyone else and I get the class to bend into a downward dog. Officially this time. The moment with Joss is over, but I can’t stop glancing over at her, even as I help the other women in the class. I try to redirect my focus, helping Marco give pointers to a lady.
“Oh, no!”
“What the hell!”
The studio fills with howls of surprise. I turn around and Joss, clearly unbalanced, topples into the chick next to her. And that chick falls into the next lady. And that lady crumples into another and, well, it keeps going until the entire row falls down like a human domino line.
“Are you okay?” I rush over to Joss.
“Is she okay? You’re kidding, right?” An elderly lady with a silver pixie cut and anger flashing in her eyes frowns at me.
“I, uh, this is so embarrassing. I’m a bit dizzy. I’m not really feeling well,” she tries to explain.
“Seriously?” another lady chimes in.
“Okay, you need some fresh air. Come with me, let’s make sure you’re all right.” I guide Joss from the tangle of legs and anger splayed all over the studio floor. She quickly grabs her mat and retreats, happy to escape. “Marco, can you finish the class?”
He perks up and his endless smile grows wider than ever. “Of course!”
“Great, c’mon.” I hold out my hand and she grabs it, easily making her way back to her feet.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
4
Joss
Cohen gently clasps my fingers in his hand and leads me out, down the hallway, past the breakfast bar and outside to an empty patio. The humiliation from my colossally clumsy fail is no longer the reason my cheeks burn bright. My eyes dart back and forth between the ropy muscles in Cohen’s forearm as he guides me out of the hotel and his round, firm-as-fuck ass.
“Some fresh air will help.” He turns around suddenly and my head snaps up as my eyes rush to his face. My cheeks are practically on fire when he gives me a knowing smirk.
“Thanks,” I mumble, averting my gaze out to the spectacular white sand beach. “I think I should’ve skipped yoga.”
“Then you would’ve stolen the best moment of my day.”
“What, when I crashed into everyone in your class like a bull in a china shop?”
“No, although it was pretty funny. I mean meeting you.”
I’m guessing this isn’t the first time he’s said those words, but I don’t care. Not even in the slightest. After getting my ass left at the altar by a fiancé who didn’t even seem to want to kiss me for the past four months, I’m not looking for a happily ever after with Prince Charming. I’m looking for Prince Charm-me-the-fuck-outta-my-clothes.
“Thank you.” I look down at the patio stones.
“You know, sometimes when your chakras get out of alignment it can make you dizzy. It happens a lot when our heart is out of balance with our third eye.”
A battle between my mind and my heart? Sounds familiar. I’m not getting into all that with him though. Coming on this honeymoon with Benji was supposed to be a way of starting over. A rebirth.
“Yeah, I mean, maybe.” I shrug. “But I think it’s probably the skull-splitting hangover,” I explain, and he laughs. I do too, and for a moment this feels so comfortable, I actually relax and give him a genuine smile.
“Ah, the old ‘yoga with a hangover’ routine. Been there, done that, I give it zero out of five stars.” His blue eyes twinkle.
“I’m pretty sure only ‘Christmas morning with a hangover’ is worse.” I rub my temples.
“No, I can do one better.” He crosses his arms and throws his shoulders back.
“What’s that?”
“Scuba diving with a hangover. Let’s just say, once you’re underwater, if you’ve gotta puke, it ain’t pretty.”
“Ugh.” I laugh, closing my eyes like it’ll block out the image. “Yep, you win,” I agree.
“No, I lost. Trust me.”
We both let the roar of the rolling ocean take over our conversation, but it doesn’t feel weird. There’s no awkward need to fill the space between us with pointless noise. It’s nice to enjoy the silence with someone. No nervous chatter or cringey forced conversation. The salt air swirls around us, like it’s trying to whirl us a bit closer together, so who am I to deny Mother Nature? I step back toward Cohen and our arms press against each other.
“Listen, I know this is gonna sound like a line, but,” he cringes and little lines faintly kiss the corners of his eyes, “there’s an observatory not far from here, they usually keep it closed for university kids and scientists to use, but once a week it’s open to the public, tonight to be exact,” he explains and matching dimples appear in each of his sun-kissed cheeks when he flashes a smile.
I can’t stop my lips from returning the favor, tugging up in the corners of my mouth. Cohen combs his fingers through his wheat-colored, shaggy hair and an invisible string feels like it’s cinching us closer together. It’s like a cord, tugging me by the belly button, sending tendrils of tiny tremors twisting through my body. In some places, the sensation fizzles out but in others, it lingers, teasing my lungs into taking shallow breaths, my skin to flush with heat, and my pussy to remind me exactly how long it’s been since I’ve been properly laid.
A long
damned time.
Yeah, it does sound like a line. But since I already willingly swallowed the bait, I’m happy to let him reel me in on that line. “Are you asking me on a date?” I meet his eyes and there’re those dimples again. My heart does this little flippy thing that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager and saw my biggest celebrity crush, Zac Efron, without a shirt on.
“Oh, well, that depends now?” He leans into me, his eyes locked on mine. My thighs clench and my skin puckers into goose bumps despite the heat of the climbing sun blanketing my skin.
“Yeah? On what?” I match his gaze, staring up at him.
“On what you’re looking for,” he drawls. “Maybe a gorgeous girl like you is looking to get away from feeling like life is all one big Tinder hookup. If that’s the case, I’ll be Saint Cohen. He’s the patron saint of matching the twinkle in pretty girl’s eyes up with the stars. Good guy. Keeps his hands to himself. A perfect gentleman.”
I try not to look disappointed at the suggestion, but my lips puff out a bit at the idea. Especially the part about his hands.
“What’s behind door number two?” I tilt my head, smirking.
“Oh, well, it’s not Saint Cohen.” His finger drifts to my shoulder and slowly slides down my arm, he’s standing so close, neither of us look away. His voice softens and, for a second, I’m sure he’s going to kiss me.
“No?”
“No. If it’s a date, then you get the real deal: Wild Cohen.”
“Wild Cohen, sounds … intriguing.” I breathe.
“Mm-hmm.” He bites his bottom lip and I almost melt right into the patio. “Wild Cohen is still a gentleman, but he’s got an adventurous streak.”
“Is that so?”
“Sure is.” He nods. “And he most definitely doesn’t try to control his hands.” His finger cups my chin and I’m silently begging him to steal a kiss from my lips.
The door to the patio flings open and we both jump back. I frown over at whoever has the nerve to thoughtlessly interrupt one of the sexiest moments of my life. It’s the guy Cohen asked to take over for him in the yoga class.
Honeymoon Rebound Page 2