Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

  I placed my hands at the top of my mat for Crow and the arm balance series I was working on.

  The other girls were doing deep hip openers and forward bends.

  My least favorite poses.

  For a moment, I had the heart-freezing thought that I made a total mistake joining this studio, that we were too different, but then I reminded myself I’d been teaching at Bloom for months and my classes were popular. Many of our students liked the option of moving faster or slower depending on their mood or energy level.

  So, I tried to ignore the other girls and the sense that I was doing something wrong and I ran through my practice as I normally would. By the end of the hour, I was breathless and sweating. They were all serene and quiet.

  Like I said, different yoga planets.

  “I love yoga,” Crystal sighed after we’d done our bowing and meditation. Well, they had done the bowing and meditation, and I’d sat there wondering if Jake was still outside.

  “I’m going to pop into Buzz and get a Green Goddess smoothie. Anyone else?” Jennifer asked.

  I was the only one who didn’t jump at the chance to get my daily dose of chlorophyll. I waved the others out the door and snuck in the back to pour a chilled can of Diet Coke into my coffee mug. Wowee, did it taste good.

  Some girls love yoga. I love Diet Coke.

  They returned deep in conversation.

  “I think wider is better than longer.”

  My head whipped up. Were they talking—

  “Wider makes me think pudgy, and that’s just wrong,” Crystal said.

  “Longer can hurt.”

  “Not if he knows what he’s doing.” Crystal grinned. “Then it’s extra good.”

  Yup. Seems like they were talking penises.

  “At this point, I’d take any kind of candy stick,” Jennifer sighed. “I’m in a serious dry spell.”

  Candy stick?

  “What about the electric kind? All pleasure and no dick.”

  I nearly spit out my Diet Coke.

  “A vibrator is always happy to see you,” I added.

  Crystal pointed at me. Good one.

  “I want a real man,” Jennifer plopped down. “Big where it counts: big smile, big heart, and big cock.”

  My gaze flicked outside. To Jake. Everything about him seemed so mountain man. It was hard to imagine his candy stick would be any less…rugged.

  It took me a moment, but I found him. Standing at the edge of a shadow, pointing up at something on the building.

  My pulse throbbed.

  He was so sexy. He just was sex.

  The girls must have noticed my preoccupation, because Jennifer purred, following my gaze. “Now there’s someone who doesn’t need to be plugged in. Jake Marshall is a prime specimen of a man.”

  “I bet he’s super in bed,” Crystal said.

  “How can you tell?” I asked before I thought better of it.

  “Ah, young grasshopper,” Crystal teased, referencing an old Kung Fu show. “The true have no need for proof.”

  “I wonder what type he is.”

  “Type?” I asked.

  “There are four kinds of men,” Jennifer said, holding up four fingers. “The Player, who will say anything to get what he wants. The Houdini, who is good at the disappearing act, usually after he gets some action. Mr. Right Now, the guy who will never go to the next level. And Mr. Velcro, who attaches himself to you and gets really annoying.”

  “What about Lazy Guy, whose room is a mess and still lives with his mom.”

  “Or Mr. Narcissist.”

  “Mr. Recently Divorced.”

  “What about Mr. Right? Doesn’t he exist anymore?” I asked.

  No one said anything for a moment. The girls were a picture of thoughtfulness, gazing into their laps or off into the distance. I didn’t think my question was all that unique, but it sure brought a stillness to the room.

  “I think he does exist.” Crystal was the first to answer. “Though maybe not for everyone.”

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” Annette agreed. “I’m not sure I want a Mr. Right, to be honest.”

  “But if you met him, you might feel different.” Jennifer got a faraway look in her eyes. “Maybe true love exists in something like a different dimension. We can’t even imagine it until we’re smack dab in the middle of it. Any maybe not even then, not if our minds are closed to it.”

  “Sounds kinda scary,” I said, thinking of the weird episodes of The Twilight Zone my friend in Vermont used to watch. “Have any of you been in love? Like in love, in love?”

  Each woman shook her head no.

  “Me neither,” I sighed. “Though I thought I was at one point.”

  “Haven’t we all,” Jennifer muttered.

  “Well, I think he’s out there, for all of us.” Crystal brightened the room with her usual good mood. “Though not at the same time, of course. Not a four-way.”

  “Now that would make any man fall in love.”

  “Speaking of, are you going to teach your tantra workshop for Yoga Week, Crystal?”

  I’d never seen Crystal frown before, but apparently she could look good and pissed. “Tantra is not all about sex.”

  “I know, I know.” Jennifer held her hands up. “I’m sorry. I’m just teasing.”

  “So, yes, I’m going to teach a tantra class. Not sex tantra, but real tantra. I’ll bring in the full force of Shakti.” Crystal draped her long hair behind her shoulder as she talked. “I was raised in my parents’ workshops, but I’ll bring in something new.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what Crystal meant by that, exactly. Were her parents tantric yoga teachers? I knew that the sex part was only that, a part of tantra. But it was a rather big part, at least in the West. To be truthful, I was not that familiar with the other parts. I should go to her workshop too.

  “Just the word tantra will bring in students,” Annette said.

  “Though hopefully not the weird kind,” Jennifer muttered.

  “I’ll make certain the flyers are appropriate and provide accurate information,” Crystal pressed on, undaunted. “Maybe I’ll say, ‘This is not a sex workshop.’”

  “Then put your picture underneath,” I laughed. “All men will see is SEX and your hotness.”

  Crystal sighed. “Tantra really is not about sex.” Then she was quiet a moment. “Well, not all about sex, anyway.”

  Okay, I was definitely going to her workshop.

  “I’ll be boring and teach a prenatal class with a focus on using yoga in labor,” Jennifer chimed in.

  Another good idea. My stomach dropped. I wasn’t prepared for my part of this conversation. I’d drawn a total blank about what to offer for my portion of Yoga Week. I’d seen all these great posters around town, and it was obvious I didn’t have the right stuff to compete. I didn’t have the right body, the right words, the right yoga pants. I was way too mainstream. Not to mention, I just didn’t have anything that special to teach. I’m not saying I was a bad teacher—I was decent as far as that went. I knew my stuff; my students were safe and well cared for. But, I wasn’t like some guru or something. I didn’t have some big understanding to impart. The thought of pretending like I did made me feel nauseous.

  “Prenatal is a good draw,” Annette agreed. “I’m going to teach a yoga nidra class. My workshops are consistently full, and I have a large mailing list at this point.”

  “I’ve never done yoga nidra before,” I said, stalling. “It’s like a deep relaxation, right?”

  “It’s a state close to sleep, but not sleep. It helped me when I had insomnia.”

  “What about you, Hannah?”

  I froze. I actually felt my body stop moving. “I’m, ah, I’m not sure yet.”

  “Hey, by the way, thanks again for painting the boarded-up window. It looks awesome.”

  “No problem.” I loved seeing my artwork on the outside of the building. More than one student asked about it. It made me feel like a piece
of me was right there, under the Bloom Yoga sign. It had been a while since I’d felt like this, like part of something. And I didn’t want to lose it. But I had no idea how to translate that to Yoga Week.

  “We’ll have to hang your painting inside when the window is replaced,” Jennifer added.

  “So, what are you thinking about for Yoga Week, Hannah?”

  “Um…” Nothing. I was thinking about nothing. I was thinking about how I didn’t fit in to the Boulder yoga world. I was thinking about teaching a class on hiding the evidence of your mediocrity—soda in a ceramic mug, appropriate use of words such as “grounded” and “blissed out,” and how to learn to enjoy the taste of raw ginger. But I didn’t think they would appreciate this humor. “I could teach something like inversions. Or breaking down the parts of the sun salutation.”

  I could tell by the expressions on the girls’ faces that these ideas were not up to snuff.

  I had that clutching fear in my chest, the one that said I’d be found out. Exposed for the fraud that I was, pretending to belong where I didn’t.

  “Those could work,” Jennifer said into the silence. “But they could be…bigger. What is it in your heart you most want to offer?”

  I swallowed. My mind was blank. I had absolutely no freaking idea.

  Crystal patted my knee. “We’ll work on it together. We have time.”

  “Um, okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Let’s start this afternoon,” she pressed. “I’ll show you my favorite place to hike.”

  “Sounds great,” I lied.

  It was hard to stay hidden when someone like Crystal went looking for you.

  At three o’clock that afternoon, I was back at Bloom. It was starting to feel like I lived there. Jake was nowhere to be seen, and his crew had cleaned up for the weekend.

  Crystal was locking up after her class. She gave me a big hug when she saw me. I awkwardly hugged her back, then pulled away.

  She held on to me tighter. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Pull away, keep your distance.”

  “Um, because I’m done with the hug?”

  She scoffed, still holding me. “That was barely a hug. Are you uncomfortable?”

  Duh. “Yeah.”

  “You haven’t been hugged enough.” She laid her head on my shoulder, and it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I guess I just don’t properly appreciate hugging.” I put my arms around her again, just to try.

  “I think it’s nice to hold and be held. To touch. We don’t touch enough in our culture.”

  I tried to relax and feel whatever it was she was feeling. I imagined I was supposed to feel warm and melty somehow. But I didn’t. I felt antsy, twitchy, like my muscles were ready and loaded to fire at any minute. Like the general out front was holding his sword in the air, and I was watching, prepared to pull the trigger at the barest signal.

  See? There was totally something wrong with me. I couldn’t even girl hug. Instead of feeling all warm and lovey, I was thinking of war metaphors.

  “Just take some breaths.” I could hear the amusement in her voice. I tried to do my yoga breathing, deep, full, three-part breaths. My shoulders relaxed.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  Well, I felt a bit better, but still, I was ready to be done with this hug. Now I was just starting to feel annoyed.

  Crystal patted my back and let go. “We’ll keep working on it.”

  “Okay.” Great.

  We hopped into Crystal’s car—a Prius, of course—and drove out of town a few miles into the mountains. I pulled on my new hiking boots—no more sprained ankles for this girl—and followed Crystal into the woods. The trail was gorgeous, full of wildflowers and singing birds. The fresh air and the big mountains and the wide blue sky were pure magic. I imagined this could be my new life. I could be like the plants, sending down roots, finding the deeper water. Flowering in the spring sunshine.

  We hiked around an alpine meadow and back, about six miles round trip, enough that I was pretty dusty, sweaty, and tired.

  “So, what did you mean about your parents’ tantra workshops?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound naive.

  “Oh, you don’t know?” She flashed me a smile, squinting playfully. “They’re fairly famous in the world of Western spirituality. Articles in the Yoga Journal, annual retreats at the Omega Institute, that sort of thing. Their specialty is modern Western tantra.”

  “Oh, wow.” Were my eyes as round as they felt? “That’s, um, unusual.” In my mind, all I saw were old people twisted around in awkward positions having sex. I glanced up at the blue sky, trying to think of something else.

  “It’s not all sex.” She laughed as if she could see my thoughts. “That is such a perversion of the truth of tantra yoga. There is a sexual component, and they do teach that, I won’t lie. But tanta is truly a teaching about the energies of the body. The sensual experience of life and the enjoyment of our sensory experience. It promotes self-awareness and healing. Many of the classical practices don’t have anything to do with the bedroom. I mean, sex is just one function of the body, but there are many others, like taste and sound and touch.”

  “And here I always thought it was about the Kama Sutra,” I joked.

  “You would think so, based on what is the popular belief of tantra these days.” Crystal shook her head. “Sex sells.”

  “Does it…does it work? The sex part.”

  “Oh, girl. You have no idea.”

  My mind had an idea…lots of them.

  And all of them pertained to the man who was now running down the trail toward us. Without a shirt on, all sweaty and muscly and gorgeous.

  Crystal sucked in her breath. “My goodness.”

  My goodness indeed.

  Jake was coming down a smaller side trail, his shoulders taking up the entire path. But he wasn’t bulky. He was just strong. Lean. His broad chest tapered down into a six-pack and narrow hips. The outlines of his muscles bunched and released as he approached us at a fast jog. The man was a machine—I’d never seen anything like him.

  I raked my eyes over him and got that mushy melty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  His shorts were long but didn’t hide the crisscross of angry scars on his right leg.

  The skin was puckered and stretched around his knee at odd angles. He’d obviously been through some major surgery, probably more than one.

  Jake waved, and my feet slowed of their own accord, scuffling in the dust, waiting where the two paths met. He stopped in front of us, his bare chest rising and falling with his breaths.

  “Hi,” I said. I didn’t know where to look. His face, his arms, his chest, his legs… I wanted to touch him everywhere.

  “Hannah,” he rumbled in his deep voice. I wanted to sing. La, la, la, he knows my name and it sounds sexxxy.

  I grabbed my water bottle from the side of my pack and took a drink instead. I was being ridiculous. I mean, of course he knew my name.

  He shifted his attention to Crystal, and I deflated a little. She was tall and blonde and gorgeous. Way more in his league than I was. “Crystal.” He nodded.

  “Hi,” she said, her chipper self.

  I didn’t say anything. Crystal was everything men wanted, and I was just me. I waited for their flirtation to begin. But it didn’t. I glanced up, and my gaze locked with his. His brown eyes focused and intense, he was staring at me. My heart beat in my ears. My palms began to sweat. The last time I’d seen him, he’d reminded me of our almost-kiss and talked about pleasure.

  “I didn’t know you ran on this trail.” I said this like I knew him so well. Like he’d been holding this information back from me. “I mean, obviously, you run a lot. You’re in great shape. I just figured you ran in the mornings or something. You must be tired after carrying heavy stuff all day.”

  “Sometimes I’m stuck behind a desk for ten hours. I try to run fifty miles a week.”

  �
�Fifty miles? Wow, that’s a lot of miles. We just did six miles, and I’m pretty pooped out.” Pooped out? Ugh. I glanced at Crystal, silently willing her to talk so I could shut up. I didn’t know what it was about this guy that got me so flustered.

  She must have seen the pleading in my eyes. “Where does this trail go?” She motioned with her hand to the woods he’d come out of. “I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before.”

  He wiped the back of his wrist across his forehead. My eyes snapped down to his bare

  chest.

  I knew that chest, the feel of it beneath my hands. I wanted to explore him further. Trace the elegant lines of muscle that sculpted his broad shoulders, his biceps, and even his forearms. His hair would be wiry, there, where it was lightly smattered across his hard pecs, trailing down his six-pack to his low-slung running shorts.

  I was staring. I flicked my gaze back up to his. The right side of his mouth was pulled back in an amusement. “It goes around the valley and up the back of Green Mountain.”

  “You just ran up the mountain?” I blurted. “Like, just up it?”

  “Something close to that.”

  “Impressive.”

  His smile widened, revealing deep brackets on the sides of his mouth. He tilted his head. “It’s been hot this week. I hope you’ve been sleeping okay, Hannah.”

  He was flirting with me. I mean, he was, wasn’t he? I put my hand on my hip and hoped I looked saucy and cute. “Yup. Been sleeping in the nude. I forgot how good it feels, sliding into the sheets.”

  His brown eyes darkened, and his gaze moved over me like he was imagining me naked.

  Crystal glanced between us, her brow raised.

  “Well,” Jake cleared his throat, “nice to see you, ladies. Have a good weekend.” He winked at me, then he took off down the trail.

  Crystal and I both turned and stared at his backside. He was blazing down the trail toward the parking lot at a fast clip, kicking up dust behind him.

  “Hmmm,” Crystal said. “Seems that Hottie McHotterson has been cornered.”

  “I haven’t cornered him. I mean, he asked me out but…” I let the sentence trail off, not having any idea how to end it.