Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

  “Green building. Yup. We’ve finally got some traction in the market.”

  “That cousin of yours still hasn’t fired you, seeing as you keep leaving town?”

  “He can’t. I’m a silent partner in the business.”

  Doctor Thomas sat back, brows raised. A boy like me, born east of town, wasn’t flush with cash.

  “I sank my discharge money into the business,” I explained. I’d gotten extra pay for being blown up.

  “You like your work?”

  “Love it.”

  “But still you leave.”

  I loved my job and I loved my home. But it wasn’t enough. My head wasn’t screwed on straight. I’d seen some fucked-up shit on duty, and there was a restlessness in me I couldn’t explain.

  The mountains called to me.

  The wide-open spaces. The huge scale of the world. Distances took on a new meaning.

  “How about a girl?” he asked, prodding with his questions and his fingers.

  “Yeah. I’ll take a girl. You have one around here somewhere?” I swiveled my head from side to side as if some girl in a bikini was going to pop out of the closet.

  My joke fell flat. But I didn’t want to talk about Hannah. She was all up in my head. Messing with me. And she wasn’t mine, not yet, anyway.

  The good doctor ignored my sarcasm and made some notes in his chart. “Keep up with the foam roller. You still have a lot of scar tissue.”

  “That thing is a torture device.” And it didn’t seem to be helping. I’d hit a plateau with all of it. Physical therapy. Stretching. Free weights. Cardio.

  “Your scar tissue is pulling on your fascia and ligaments. You’re all bound up. We have to get more movement.”

  “But I move all the time.”

  “It’s a different kind of movement. Scars are funny things. They’re helpful at first, but then they become a liability. Keep up with the stretching. I’ll send a note to your PT.”

  The doctor patted me on the shoulder and left.

  I glanced down at my knee, at the raised mess of hard, red tissue that crisscrossed my leg.

  My leg looked bad, but they weren’t the worst scars I carried. Not by far.

  I dreamed about Hannah that night. About her legs and her ass and her sassy mouth. I woke up with her on my mind. I wanted to see her, but I was spending the day at the office, doing design work. I opened my phone to check her teaching schedule—maybe I’d just happen to stop by when her class was over.

  Power Flow with Hannah Roberts. A fitness-based approach to classic yoga focused on linking conscious breath with a vigorous flow. In this class, students build strength, flexibility, and concentration while refining alignment and meeting new challenges.

  Her class sounded interesting. It couldn’t hurt to try it, maybe I’d even learn something new. That afternoon I escaped the office early and dragged my ass to Bloom Yoga.

  Hannah wasn’t there when I signed in. One of the other girls—Jennifer, maybe—just smiled, made me sign my life away, and told me my first class was free.

  I kicked off my shoes and grabbed one of their mats. The studio was nice. Now that I wasn’t looking at it as a prospective buyer concerned about HVAC systems and asbestos abatement, or a building owner concerned about safety, I could see the place.

  It felt calm, obviously. Wood floors, high ceiling with recessed lighting, and walls painted a mellow blue with some kind of vine or paisley pattern stenciled around the edges. There were plants and rocks and a few Indian statues.

  But there was only one other dude there. And all the women were doing warm-up stretches like their bodies were made of rubber.

  This wasn’t going to be good.

  I put my mat down in the back of the room, hoping Hannah wouldn’t even notice I was there.

  Then the heat kicked on, and the girls started whipping off clothes. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea after all.

  Hannah came rushing into the room out of breath.

  “Whew, I made it just in time,” she panted, taking off clothes as she went. She unzipped her hoodie to reveal a tight little tank top underneath.

  How did I never consider the benefits to yoga?

  “I went for a walk and got lost in my own neighborhood.” She sent a beaming smile around the room, then froze when she saw me. She turned away, plopped her phone into the speaker system, and mood music filled the room.

  “We’ve been working on backbends, appropriate as we come out of the darkness of winter and into the season of light.” She walked through the room, visually checking to be sure everyone was ready to begin. “Are there any questions or requests?”

  “My neck and shoulders are tight,” a man said, and the room laughed. Was that a yoga joke? I didn’t get it. I mean, everyone’s neck and shoulders were tight. Maybe that was the point.

  “I liked the standing series we did last week,” an elder blonde said. “It was simple enough I could practice it at home.”

  Hannah lit up. “Great! We’ll do it again today, so you can review it. I love that you’re bringing your practice home.”

  She stood in front of the room like there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

  Then we began.

  And the shit show started.

  She had us lie in this little ball thing on our knees, and already my muscles protested. She was talking about breathing and focusing, but I just counted down the seconds until I could get the hell out of the position.

  We stood up and ran through something she called Sun Salutations. Well, run wasn’t the right word. Hannah kept using the word “flow” but I was hardly flowing. I bumped along like an old Chevy on a dirt road. Grinding my gears and falling into every pothole.

  And I was sweating. Good God, it was a million degrees in the room. My hands were slipping on the mat and my mouth was parched.

  We moved on from the Sun Salutations to the standing series that Hannah had mentioned at the beginning of class. My legs shook and big, tough, strong guy that I was, I struggled to stay in the positions. Not to mention my arms just didn’t do what she told us to do.

  But the poses felt awesome, like they were working my leg muscles in a new way. For all my time in the gym and at PT, I’d never stretched like this.

  Finally, Hannah came over to me.

  “How are you doing, soldier?” she asked.

  This shit is fucking hard. “Tolerably.”

  “I can see you have an injured knee. Anything I should know about? Any pain? Liability?”

  “Nope.” Now there was a joke.

  “You want to keep your knee over your ankle, to protect the ligaments.” She moved my leg back, and it started shaking again. “You can bring your feet closer together. It’ll help you stay in proper alignment.”

  But no one else’s feet were closer together. If they could do this, so could I.

  We switched sides, and she wandered off to touch a few of the sweaty, half-dressed women. I can’t say it wasn’t awesome. Then she came back to me.

  “How’s your knee holding up?”

  A trickle of sweat slid down into the valley between her breasts, and I wanted to lick it.

  “I think it’s okay. Good, actually.”

  “Great. You don’t want to feel anything under the kneecap or behind the knee.”

  She traced my scarred knee with her hand, and I had to work not to flinch away. I don’t let anyone touch my bad leg, but her hands were soft, and they helped my muscles relax and stop shaking so bad.

  “All the work is in the supporting muscles.” She touched my thigh and my calf. And I was hot in a whole new way. My cock woke up to the possibility of some other kind of slick, sweaty yoga with Hannah.

  I swallowed. “Got it.”

  I bumbled my way through the end of class and practically started snoring in the lying-down position at the end.

  Then class was over, and everyone was rolling up their mats and heading out the door. The room was steamy by now, and Hannah’s skin was flushed a
nd moist. Like she had just been fucked. She propped the door open and said good-bye to the students, stopping to chat and answer questions.

  I lay back down on my mat, closed my eyes, and waited for the room to clear. Fresh air flooded in from the open door. I breathed it in like a drowning man.

  “Hi.”

  I opened my eyes. A blonde was smiling down at me, her lips pink, her blue eyes full of welcome. “Yoga is the best, isn’t it?”

  I sat up. Hannah was still across the room, chatting with students by the door. Her back was to me, thankfully. “Yeah. Class was great.”

  “My name is Jessica.” Usually, I loved beautiful, confident girls. What guy didn’t? But right now, I needed her to leave before Hannah got the wrong idea. Because Hannah was the one I wanted.

  “I’m Jake,” I replied.

  Too late. Hannah had turned around and was looking in my direction.

  Shit.

  Not looking at the blonde, I started to roll up my mat.

  “Maybe I’ll see you in class again sometime, Jake.”

  “Thanks for saying hi. Have a nice day, Jessica.” I gave her a quick glance to be polite but didn’t watch her leave, just kept my eyes glued to my mat, like rolling it up took deep concentration.

  I heard the door close and looked up. Finally, I had Hannah all to myself.

  “First yoga class?” she asked as she approached me.

  “Was it that obvious?”

  She laughed. I liked the sound of her laugh. It was warm and real, and made me think of her flushed cheeks.

  “You did great. Seriously. You’re obviously in good shape, I mean…” She glanced down my body, and her voice trailed off.

  Yeah, I was going to fuck her.

  She lowered down beside me.

  “Honestly, that was hard,” I said. “I can run and bench press and do sit-ups, but a beginner’s yoga class? Hell, no.”

  “It’s a steep learning curve, like snowboarding. But once you get it, and you will, it all falls into place.” She placed her hand on my leg, just below my scars, and rubbed her open palm over my ligaments. “Your knee still all right?”

  “Yeah.” But my cock could have used some rubbing. “If it bothers me, I’ll ice it later.” And down another bottle of ibuprofen.

  “Hopefully you won’t feel anything.”

  Oh, I was feeling something all right. Just not in my knee. My cock was getting thick and heavy with her hands on me.

  “I need to shower,” I growled.

  She sat back, probably startled by my gruff tone. “We have showers in the back, if you want. I teach my classes a little warmer. I think it help the muscles and fascia open, and it gives a little boost to the detox process.”

  We both stood. I picked up my yoga mat and turned to face her.

  Her eyes landed on me, slid down my chest, then flicked away. She placed her hands on her hips, took a breath, smiled, and looked at me again. A second later, her gaze darted away, a new flush on her cheeks. My shirt was glued to my chest, and I’m sure my hair was sticking out at crazy angles, but I wasn’t getting the sense that she was turned off by it. The opposite, in fact.

  The room was cooling off, but the air between us was heating up.

  Her nipples jutted out of her tight top, and I undressed her in my mind. I peeled off her little top and pants. In my fantasy, she didn’t have on a bra, just a sexy little G-string. I carried her to the shower in the back room and—

  “Well, come back again.” She clapped, startling me, as if she could hear my thoughts. “And let me know if you have any concerns. If you want to talk more about your knee and how yoga could help, you know where to find me. It’s important you make the proper modifications. The poses are awesome, but they’re powerful in both a good way and a bad way, kind of like magic, really. Well, not like a witch or something, just like, you know, strengthening and that kind of stuff.”

  She was babbling, and she knew it. She clamped her mouth closed, gave me a little wave good-bye, and turned toward the front of the room.

  But she wasn’t going to get rid of me that easy. “What about doing yoga, just us?”

  She whipped back around to face me, her mouth open in a surprised O.

  Perhaps I’d said it wrong. “I mean I pay you.”

  Nope. Not getting better. At all.

  “I mean—”

  “You mean like a private lesson?” She saved me.

  “Yeah. Where you can teach me. The alignment and that stuff.”

  “Um.” She flicked her gaze over me, then looked wildly around the room. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”

  “Why not.”

  “Well, um, maybe someone else could help you better than I can.”

  “But I want you.” I let the words linger. A pulse of something hot passed between us.

  “Yes. I’m not sure… I mean, you’re kind of my landlord, and it’s not good to mix business with…”

  Pleasure. She couldn’t say the word.

  “Business,” I said, not letting her off the hook. “It’s not good to mix business with business, because that’s what this would be.”

  “Well, you know, these things can get complicated,” she said, breathy and sexy as hell. I wanted her, and I wasn’t going to give up.

  “You mean to say it’s not good to mix business with pleasure.”

  She flushed, like I knew she would. “Yes, that too.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t take the risk. I’m happy to have you in class, but I feel you would be better served in a private lesson taught by one of my colleagues.”

  “Like Crystal?”

  She coughed. “I was thinking more along the lines of Peter, who teaches across town.”

  “A man.”

  “Well, yes, Peter is a man.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you’re very”—she waved her hand up and down my body—“distracting. And it could compromise the integrity of the sessions.”

  I grinned. I didn’t try to stop it. “You’re attracted to me.”

  She swallowed. “Wow.” Her voice was stronger now. “You’re just going to go there.”

  “Why beat around the bush?”

  “I don’t know. Because I just want to ignore it.”

  “It being that you’re attracted to me.” I stepped closer. “You want me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you should work on that ego of yours.”

  “We never finished that kiss, Hannah.” She didn’t say anything and I reached out with my free hand and traced the side of her neck down to her shoulder. “Have you forgotten?”

  Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. “No.”

  “Then—”

  “I wish I could. Really wish I could,” she emphasized. “But I can’t.” She met my gaze, as if willing me to understand, which I didn’t. Not at all. I brushed her cheek, then let my hand fall to my side.

  I put my mat away and made my way out the door, already plotting my next move.

  Chapter 5

  Hannah

  Jake was the shining star of my thoughts, but he didn’t come back into the studio that week. It was probably for the best. I’d been entirely too distracted by him in my class, all sweaty and hot, his muscles bulging, his jaw set in concentration as he flowed through the poses. Not to mention that sexy little chat afterward… I melted every time I thought about it.

  Which was why I needed to keep him at arm’s length. I couldn’t repeat past mistakes and date a guy who had the ability to break more than my heart. Namely, my bank account.

  I had everything to lose this time.

  So, I pulled out my trusty journal with my trusty lists. I discovered after my mom died that lists kept me sane when the world was falling apart. They gave some sense of order to the whirlwind of my life. Living alone in the world as I did, a girl needed some hard-and-fast guidelines. I’d written this particular list in my lowest period, when I�
�d had nothing but my car, a few hundred dollars, and the open road. I’d been terrified, alone, and shocked by how quickly I’d lost everything.

  Top Ten Guys I Shall Never Again Date:

  Guys who have power over my finances or living situation

  Egotistical guys who think they are God’s gift to women

  Guys who think they never make mistakes

  Guys who don’t want to settle down

  Cheaters

  Guys who are not that into me

  Users

  Guys who want me to do things for them that they won’t do for me

  Guys who are like Peter Pan and won’t grow up

  Guys with hairy feet

  I copied the list onto a fresh page and highlighted Guys who have power over my finances or living situation and Egotistical guys who think they are god’s gift to women. I probably could’ve highlighted a few others, but the top two would do as a reminder for now.

  No dating Jake Marshall. Nope. Not gonna do it.

  But keeping him at a distance didn’t mean I couldn’t stare at him. Friday morning, he was right outside the unbroken window at Bloom and hard to miss in his perfectly fitting jeans, navy polo with the company logo, and aviators. He was cleaned up. Maybe he was going to the office later.

  My leg started to burn, and I moved from Dancer to Half-Moon Pose.

  Like I said, Jake was a distraction. I couldn’t even practice yoga without thinking of him. Searching for him. Wanting him.

  I switched to my other side. He was still out there, on his phone now, and looking in the yoga studio window. Could he see me? My heart swooped.

  I lowered through a plank, down dog, to a child’s pose. I couldn’t have the guy, and I needed to stop torturing myself over him. I wouldn’t sit up until I’d convinced myself of this.

  Not for you, Hannah.

  But he’s so hot.

  Not for you, Hannah. You know how this ends.

  Finally, I rolled up to sitting. Crystal, Annette, and Jennifer were also doing seated poses. But they moved so slooooooooow. I estimated I’d whipped through twenty poses in the time it took them to do five. It would make me crazy to go at their speed. We were all doing a classic practice, but we were coming from different yoga planets.