Breathless (Yoga in the City Book 1)

by Leigh LaValle

Hannah: Size 6 dress. 7 shoes. But I don’t even know if I’m going.

  Annette: You’re going. Okay, ladies. Pandora’s Closet Re-Sale Store. Tonight at 7. Bring wine.

  The girls were already at Pandora’s Closet when I arrived, as if they had planned an intervention. A Yes-you-are-going-on-this-date-and-you-will-look-gorgeous-and-like-it intervention.

  They had already filled a dressing room with possible outfits. Piles of dresses, skirts, sparkly things, things with bells. Scarves. And shoes. Lots of shoes.

  “She looks nervous, ladies.” Anette plopped a glass of wine in my hand. “Too much purple?”

  I gulped my wine. “No. It’s not the clothes, it’s this date.”

  Crystal held up a blue dress. “What on earth could be more natural than jumping on Hottie McHottie Pants? The chemistry between you two is sizzling.”

  “I just—I don’t know how.”

  Everyone froze. No one even breathed.

  “Not like that,” I exclaimed. “I mean, I don’t know how to jump his bones and not get emotionally involved.”

  “Why can’t you get involved?” Jennifer pulled out a green miniskirt and brown boots. “Here, try these on.”

  I undressed down to my bra and underwear. And drank more wine. “He’s leaving town in eight weeks for this huge expedition thing in Alaska. Besides, he’s not the long-term-boyfriend type.”

  “It’s okay to just have fun,” Jennifer said. “We’re modern women.”

  I pulled on the skirt and boots. “Fun. I like the sound of that. Eight weeks of fun, and then we go our own ways.”

  Annette held up her glass in a toast. “Here’s to eight weeks of hot sex.”

  Heat snaked over me. “I toast to that.”

  “No on the skirt, yes on the boots.” Jennifer handed me a retro-print dress.

  “You ladies will have to teach me about casual, fun dating,” I said. “And this dress is cute.”

  “But not The One.” Annette handed me a little black dress. It didn’t fit over my hips.

  “I meant to ask, Hannah—do you think you can fix the fan in my bathroom?” Crystal asked. “Put this on.”

  “I’ll definitely try. I have time tomorrow. Thank you all so much for being here. I owe you.” I slipped into the pencil skirt and hot pink top she’d handed me. “Maybe too business-y?”

  “If your business it to look hawt.” Jennifer fanned her face. “You’ve got great curves.”

  I took a gulp of wine. “I can do this.”

  “Yes, you can, girlfriend.” Annette nodded.

  Jennifer patted my shoulder. “If anything goes south, you have us to help.”

  I looked at the girls, my friends, and felt better.

  Then I thought about Jake, how he looked at me. How he saw me. Really saw me. I gulped more wine. “Fun. Casual.”

  “Doing new things and growing always feels weird. Just check in with yourself.” Crystal closed her eyes and brought her hand down her face to her belly. “Ask yourself, honestly, what you really want.”

  That was easy.

  I really wanted Jake.

  Really, really wanted him.

  Jennifer handed me a red silk dress. I already loved it. And, at thirty dollars, the price was right.

  I slipped it on, and we all sighed.

  “That’s it. That’s The One.”

  The spaghetti straps were just the right length so the simple V-cut bodice showed cleavage but not boobage. It hugged my torso, then flared out into a slinky, swishy skirt that ended above my knees.

  I felt like a million dollars.

  “Red strappy sandals?” I asked.

  “If a girl is going to go red, she might as well go all the way.” Crystal nodded her approval.

  Annette nodded. “We good here? I saw some shoes I want to check out.”

  “We’re good. You ladies are the best,” I said, and meant it.

  Jennifer topped off our glasses. “I’ll recycle this.” She took the wine bottle, and they all left.

  I was changing back into my street clothes when I heard voices from the back room.

  “Hi, Sally.”

  “Jennifer! It’s so nice to see you. Thanks for bringing your friends in.”

  “No problem. You have the best thrift store in town.”

  “That’s because you’ve stocked me with designer clothes. I have a check for you somewhere. That Stella McCartney brought in a good price. And the Chanel suit…”

  The voices grew muffled, as if they had walked deeper into the back room. I hurried into my shoes and stepped out of the dressing room. What was Jennifer up to? I fussed with the clothes I had tried on and discarded, arranging them on hangers and trying to listen in to Jennifer’s conversation. Where did she get all these designer clothes to sell? If she was doing something illegal, I needed to know. We were business partners after all. But breaking the law just didn’t seem like her. She was the organized, business-minded one of the group.

  Little snippets of conversation floated to me. Name brands like Coach and Prada and Manolo Blahnik. Then the voices quieted, and the door to the back room opened. Jennifer and the owner stepped out. The owner, Sally, gave me a bright smile, but Jennifer’s face paled.

  “I’ll bring this up to the cash wrap.” Sally took the red dress and shoes. “Don’t worry about the rest. We’ll put it back.”

  She sailed off, and I stood in the dressing room with Jennifer, staring at her.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “You heard.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Only a little.” I waited but she didn’t say anything. “Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her hand over her face. “Now that is a loaded question.”

  “Look, I’m not going to pry. It’s none of my business. But Coach, Chanel, those are expensive brands.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Is it legal?” I asked softly.

  “Of course!” she cried out, shocked.

  I nodded. “Then it’s forgotten.”

  “You won’t say anything to the others?”

  “Say anything about what? Nothing happened.”

  Jennifer exhaled, and her shoulders dropped. There were lines around her mouth I hadn’t seen before. “Thanks, Hannah. You’re a good friend.” She gave me a side hug, and we walked out into the main shopping area.

  “Will you look at this!” Crystal whipped out a gorgeous, long patterned wrap dress. “Someone is selling a Diane von Furstenberg. I’ve always, always wanted one.”

  I squeezed Jennifer’s shoulder, and she sighed, almost like a laugh. I had the distinct impression the dress had been hers.

  We walked over to the counter.

  “So, no necklace?” I asked the girls.

  “Definitely not.”

  “And no underwear,” Crystal called from across the store.

  I imagined being naked for Jake, and molten lust surged through me.

  It was only Tuesday, and our date was Thursday. How was I going to wait that long?

  Chapter 18

  Jake

  I grabbed some sausages and two packages of smoked salmon from the cooler, then turned the corner of the grocery aisle.

  I froze like I had a gun trained on me.

  Mrs. O’Donnell. Cody’s mom.

  She was standing at the butcher counter, probably buying something for her weekly Sunday dinner. She hadn’t seen me. Not yet.

  I backed into the coffee aisle, blood rushing hard, muscles pumping. I didn’t move.

  Cody… The last time I’d seen him… I pushed the thought back in the box and slammed it shut. Not now. Not fucking now.

  Never weakness.

  The heavy smell of coffee made me nauseous. I had to breathe through my mouth.

  But it didn’t matter. Mrs. O’Donnell spotted me anyway. Her cart came careening around the corner toward me, and I was caught.

  I tensed everywhere. She was that kind of mom—the kind whose hugs made every hurt come to
the surface. And this hurt, this one we shared, was pretty fucking big. The biggest.

  And she was crying. Or trying valiantly not to, but there was a telltale shine in her eyes. “Jake,” she said on a big sigh, her lips forced up at the edges.

  I stepped around my cart and hugged her, and she hugged me back, tight. And I refused to let myself soften.

  I was the lowest kind of SOB possible.

  “We’ve missed you.” Her voice was tight. Hurting.

  I did that to her.

  “I couldn’t come.” I was choking. Buried in the avalanche.

  “I know, honey. I know.” She patted my back. She was comforting me, when I should’ve been the one comforting her.

  I stood back and clenched my jaw. I was a rock.

  “He wouldn’t want you… Cody… He would want—” She couldn’t finish her sentence.

  I didn’t want to hear the words anyway. I didn’t deserve them.

  A couple walked by us. The woman turned to stare, pretending to look at the coffee selection. Like she could feel what was going down there in Aisle Three of the co-op.

  Mrs. O’Donnell’s face was ringed with worry as she studied me. “We don’t want to lose you too, Jake.”

  “I go to the mountains a lot,” I muttered, as if I could conjure some of that wide-open freedom into this moment. As if I could box up Aisle Three and push it off the cliff.

  She sighed. “I’m making a roast on Sunday. Will you come?”

  I used to go to Sunday dinners at their house all the time. I could well imagine the scene. Megan and Billy and Rob and whoever else would be there, watching whatever big game was on.

  “Thank you for the invitation.” I didn’t want to lie to her. And just this… I swallowed hard. “Maybe another time?”

  “I’ll hold you to that, Jake Marshall.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled the same. And, despite some deepening wrinkles, she looked the same. A kindly, warm, round, loving Irish mother. A grieving mother.

  I’d put that hole in her heart.

  I turned and got the hell out.

  I sat in my truck for a moment, collecting myself before I drove home. My thoughts were pinging around all over the place. Mrs. O’Donnell, Cody, Brian, the VFW, the Carter Project, my upcoming trip, my knee… Eventually my thoughts settled on Hannah.

  Hannah.

  She would tell me to try some of that yoga breathing shit. I did what I could remember and breathed in three parts. Up and down my torso. After just a few moments, I no longer felt like I needed to punch something.

  I pulled out my phone to text her.

  Jake: That yoga stuff works.

  Hannah: Of course it does. That’s why it’s been popular for thousands of years. What’s up? Your knee hurting?

  Jake: No. The breathing.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t want her to know I was losing my shit.

  Jake: What are you wearing?

  Hannah: lol. Seriously?

  Jake: Totally serious. Tell me it’s skimpy and silky, even if it isn’t.

  Hannah: OMG. Are you spying on me? How do you know what I’m wearing?

  Jake: Want me to come over?

  Hannah: Alas, but I’m not home.

  Jake: I’m crushed. I’m in my truck already, ready to arrive at your beck and call.

  Hannah: You’ll just have to wait. I do have something skimpy and silky to wear Thursday. ;-)

  Jake: I like the sound of that.

  Hannah: Are you really in the car? You’re not texting and driving, are you?

  Jake: I’m not that stupid. I’m in the parking lot of the grocery store.

  Hannah: You’re doing yoga breathing at the grocery store? Everything all right?

  Jake: It’s all good now.

  I grinned at my phone, excited for our date, feeling alive again.

  Jake: See you in the AM, cutie.

  Hannah: Bye, hot stuff.

  I smiled at her sarcastic endearment and put my phone away. I drove home and turned up the tunes. The sky was in that weird double-weather place. It was sunny and raining at the same time. Liquid sunshine, my grandma used to call it.

  I arrived at my condo, my jaw set, my mind made up. I put my groceries away and pulled a metal box down from the top shelf of my closet. It was issued to me by the army and had the appropriate hard, cold weight that matched the memories it contained. I hadn’t opened it in years, not since I was in the military hospital, learning to walk again.

  I cracked open the lid and peered inside, half waiting for a bunch of ghosts to come blasting out and eat my face, like in that Indiana Jones movie when they opened the Ark. But it was just some random old shit. Letters, photos, and dog tags.

  I poured myself a whisky—double—and sat down in front of the box. Then I laid out the mementos on my kitchen table, one by one. Some of the old photos made me laugh. We were so young. So ignorant.

  “Young, dumb, and full of cum.” That was written on the bottom of one photo. Cody was in the middle, with a shit-eating grin on his face. He had one arm around me and one around Sgt. Pepper. I was posing with my AK-47 like some kind of Rambo. We looked happy. And stupid. And alive.

  Sgt. Pepper killed himself last year. Peter Pellinger was his real name. I didn’t go to the funeral. I went to the Canadian Rockies for a week instead.

  I took a sip of whisky—smoky and biting. Then I flipped through more photos. Cody and me on a tank, Cody and me in our bunk, some French chicks we met, the other guys in our platoon—Sgt. Pepper, Wilson, Dennis, and C-Note.

  And behind the photos, a collection of Cody’s scribbled notes and silly jokes. He’d leave shit everywhere. Tuck it into your pillow just to get you in trouble during inspection. Leave a joke in your shoe, just for fuck’s sake. He was a prankster at heart. And funny as shit.

  Life is like my dick…just hanging out, chilling, then a woman makes it hard.

  The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.

  Never hit a man with glasses. Hit him with a baseball bat.

  The most important thing in life is to be yourself. Unless you can be Ironman. Always be Ironman.

  The guy had no evil in him. Just jokes. One time he got a serious Alpha Charlie, or ass chewing, because he would only reply to the second lieutenant in Madonna lyrics. It was after our first mission when we’d come under enemy fire. We were all jacked up. Freaked out. Cody broke the tension and took the fall.

  He was a fucking great guy.

  I rubbed my hands over my eyes, but I didn’t stop looking. I’d taken the memories out, and there was no putting them back, now. It was sunshine and rain at the same time.

  I drank more whisky, fell asleep on my couch, and woke up with a crick in my neck and a bad attitude. Something had been let out of its cage, and it was pacing around inside me. It was Wednesday morning, and I missed my private lesson with Hannah. I yelled at the guys on the job. I underestimated the need for a drill bit and fucked up a piece of drywall, then generally stomped around and cursed a lot. The guys grumbled for me to get it together or go to the office and give Brian some of my sunshine. But I told them to fuck off, and I started hammering some stuff while the “noise hours” let me.

  It wasn’t until later, when Hannah’s class let out, that some of the weight lifted off me.

  I waited outside and watched a parade of women leave the studio.

  “She really is such a great teacher,” an older lady said to her friend.

  “I like how she explains things so I can understand, without all the mumbo jumbo.”

  Two younger girls came out, each eyeing me up. They put their heads together, murmuring and staring at me. But I didn’t care. I only had one woman on my mind, and I needed her.

  “Jake!” Hannah lit up with a grin when she saw me. “Come in.”

  I took off my dirty work boots, and she locked the door behind me.

  She gave me a long, se
arching glance. “You feeling better? Sorry you were under the weather this morning.”

  I shrugged. “You and those yoga pants.” All my agitation had sparked my desire, and I was hot for her.

  She must have seen something in my face, because she retreated to the back of the studio.

  She glanced over her shoulder at me with a flirtatious smile. “I don’t really own other pants.”

  I followed her deeper into the studio. She blew out a candle, rolled up her mat, and did that woman thing where, with a few touches, the room was all neat and tidy. I prowled after her into the back of the studio, away from the windows.

  “You have a very intense expression on your face,” she said, turning toward me. “I don’t know if I should be afraid.”

  “Never.” I took a step toward her, and she took a step back. “You never need to be afraid with me.”

  But something inside me was howling and clawing, and it was like she was the only thing that could soothe me.

  Her breathing kicked up, and her face flushed. “What happened last night?” she asked. Her tongue darted out across her lower lip, and I backed her up, trapping her against a wall. I planted my hands on either side of her head.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.” My voice was a low growl.

  Her gaze flicked down to my mouth, and that was all it took. I bent down and claimed her lips with mine. She was so hot. I tilted my head and kissed her deep, sweeping my tongue into her mouth. Needing her.

  She clasped her hands in my hair and thrust her tits up into my chest.

  Fuck.

  I pressed my hard cock into her belly.

  She nipped my lips and tugged my hair.

  I lost my mind. Grabbed her ass and lifted her up against the wall. Ground my cock against the warm center of her.

  I was ready to tear her clothes off and fuck her right there, in the darkness at the back of the yoga studio. My fingers found her nipple through her soft yoga top. She made some breathy moaning sound that was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. I yanked one strap down and grazed her nipple with my teeth. She arched into me and cried out.

  My hand went to the fly of my pants. I was going to bury myself in her. She would feel so fucking good.