“Awkward, right?” Jori said when Rae didn’t answer immediately. “I know. How about something less awkward—help getting back to your room.”
Rae shook her head.
Jori clapped her hands over her mouth as if she could take the words back. “I didn’t mean help getting back to your room like I was inviting myself in or anything. I meant drop you off at your door. No going in the room.”
Too bad, because she was adorable. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Jori said. “But tell me something. How long has Kaoli Morgenroth been conning you with that wiggle move?”
“What wiggle move?” Rae said, even though she suspected she knew. Kaoli did have a certain stripper-pole style. What surprised her was that Jori had noticed. And what did she mean, conning her? The days when Kaoli could con her into anything were long past.
“You know, the wiggle. She sticks her chest out, she wiggles what she’s got, she kisses you on the forehead, and you agree to do whatever she wants, like create some cool dance steps for her and oh, I don’t know, do her laundry. I’ll bet it works on all the girls.”
Jori was joking, but it didn’t sound like a joke. Underneath her light tone she sounded angry, and Rae was not in the mood to be judged.
“How would you know? You’re straight.”
“I’m…” Jori looked at her quizzically. “What makes you think I’m straight?”
“I saw you in the lobby leaving with that guy, flirting with him.” Touching him. Clinging to him, laughing up at him. There was no way Jori was going to pull that innocent act like Kaoli always had, convincing clueless Rae that her relationship with her boyfriend wasn’t important.
“Axel? We’re not dating. I’m just helping him convince his parents he has a girlfriend. I’m his stunt date.”
Rae didn’t believe her. Pretend to date a man? A lesbian would freeze men out, not flirt with them and pretend to be their girlfriend. Ah, but note she never said she wasn’t straight. She only said she wasn’t dating Axel. She was cryptically vague, and it was probably deliberate. Which normally would be a point in her favor on the gay side, but not this time. Rae couldn’t afford to fall for another straight girl who thought it would feel good to soak up a naïve little lesbian’s devoted attention. It wasn’t worth it.
“I don’t care if you’re straight.”
Jori’s eyes widened. “That’s very broadminded of you, sunshine.”
“Straight, not straight, whatever. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s not a secret. Axel did me a huge favor and I’m paying him back. I’m not sleeping with him.”
“You don’t have to explain.” She didn’t want her to explain. She didn’t want to know.
Jori hesitated, then shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t sleep with him if I wanted to.”
Straight. Just like she thought. A straight woman with a misleading gay vibe, but straight nonetheless.
Then why did she keep thinking Jori would never put up with being pinned beneath that bear? Or whatever man she really was dating.
“Men, women…we’re all just people,” Jori said.
Until it’s time to choose, of course.
“Some more attractive than others,” Jori added, still grumpy but showing no sign of leaving. “Especially when they give me the sexy death glare.”
So maybe she wasn’t straight. Maybe she was bi. Like Kaoli. Rae did not need a rerun of Kaoli.
Jori gathered up her shampoo and conditioner. “If you change your mind about needing help getting back to your room…to, you know, the hallway outside the door to your room…I think I’m right down the hall from you…Were you going up to your room right away? Because I was going to shower before I get dressed.”
“I’m showering here, too. My room has a bathtub that’s hard to step into. The showers here are easier.” Easier, yes. But now she felt awkward about stripping off her swimsuit, suddenly acutely aware that the locker room was empty except for the two of them.
“I’ll wait for you after you’re done.” Jori disappeared into one of the individual shower stalls and drew the curtain shut behind her.
Problem solved. Rae removed her swimsuit and hobbled into the empty adjoining stall, careful not to slip on the wet floor, cursing the pain in her leg.
“You okay?” Jori asked over the sound of running water.
Her knee, Rae reminded herself. Jori was asking about her knee. Jori was over there in the very next stall completely naked with her hands rubbing shampoo out of that sexy shock of hair, eyes closed, face tilted upward, and thinking about…Rae’s knee.
“I hate how weak I am. My muscles are gone.” She couldn’t wait to have two calves that were the same size again instead of one that had wasted away until it was skinny and useless. She turned on the shower.
“You’ll get your strength back.”
She’d better. She needed to get it back ASAP or her job was history.
Jori raised her voice over the noise of water droplets splattering on tile. “Maybe if you went back to your physical therapist and let them help you…”
Her physical therapist? The one who had frowned at her ankle’s range of motion and told her that her joints wouldn’t be so unstable if she wasn’t so excessively flexible, then sent her home with a printout of exercises to do on her own—exercises any decent athlete would already be familiar with? On her way out, Rae had thrown the printout in the trash. Dancers were supposed to be flexible. If her flexibility was off the charts—charts that had no doubt been designed with football or hockey players in mind—then something was wrong with the charts, not with her.
“She doesn’t understand dancers.” If she did, she’d have understood that being flexible didn’t mean she wasn’t also strong.
“Then find another one,” Jori said. “One who can help you.”
Rae glared at the shower wall. Jori had a lot of faith in those people, didn’t she?
“One who specializes in dancers,” Jori added.
Did people like that exist? She’d never really considered the possibility. Maybe she should have. After all, her surgeon had done a good job. Had treated her like a real athlete. Maybe there were other people who would, too.
Although at this point, she didn’t really need help. She just had to keep working hard.
When she emerged from the shower, Jori had already changed into dry clothes and was blow-drying her fauxhawk. Rae hobbled past her and caught a blast of hot air from the blow-dryer. The smell of burnt hair mixed with a whiff of cocoa butter body lotion. She should have kept her dressing room blinders on and not looked, but Jori was dressed, and honestly, it didn’t even occur to her to be good. With Jori’s arms over her head and her comb pulling through her tuft of hair and her skin flushed from the heat of the shower, she looked soft and pink and blond and feminine, not at all the image she projected when she taught. Blond, yes. Huggable, yes. But not vulnerable. Seeing her like this made Rae want to reach over ever so gently and smooth her cotton tank top, slide her hands down her sides until she reached the hem, help her out of her top, and…yeah, that was inappropriate.
Rae toweled off and kept moving, whipping on a camisole without bothering with a bra. The cami stuck to her damp skin and the hem rolled under itself and jammed, leaving her navel exposed, but she was in too much of a rush to fix it so she just left it there. Underwear was easy enough to step into, but her pants weren’t, even though they were stretch. She needed to get them on before Jori turned around and saw her sitting on the bench, struggling awkwardly to maneuver her weak leg into the leg holes. She hated being reduced to a toddler’s skill level at getting dressed. If only she’d brought a skirt. A skirt she could pull on over her head and yank down to her waist instead of trying to guide her foot into a flimsy target without moving her knee wrong. Even shorts might have been easier, but she preferred not to have to see her surgical scars, even when the summer heat made
shorts a logical choice.
“Wow, look at those abs,” Jori said as Rae stood and finished pulling her uncooperative pants the rest of the way up. Apparently Jori didn’t have the same qualms about looking, and didn’t care if Rae knew it. “I know you just said you don’t think you have any muscle, but…wow. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.”
“Thanks.” Maybe her abs were okay, but the rest of her?
Jori turned off the blow-dryer and kept her gaze fixed commendably on Rae’s eyes. “That’s a compliment, you know. You don’t have to look embarrassed.”
Rae zipped up her pants. Jori’s gaze flickered downward for an instant and Rae’s hand froze on her waistband, as aware of her as if she were unzipping her pants.
Jori was straight, Jori was straight, Jori was straight…
She so didn’t believe that anymore.
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Now if you had a hairy stomach, that would be embarrassing.”
“Excuse me?”
Jori was definitely not making an effort to look her in the eye anymore, but was quite blatantly checking out her bare abdomen. If only she’d been faster and taken the few seconds it would have taken to untwist her cami, she wouldn’t look half-dressed. Rae yanked on her cami but couldn’t get the hem free.
“I mean, of course you don’t, you’re a woman. You don’t have that trail of hair going down.” Jori leaned closer and squinted. “You don’t, right?”
Rae flushed. Jori did realize her head was unnervingly close to her waist, right? Which was right above her…her…
She could say the word. To herself. Just not when Jori was this close to…
“Some women have a few fine hairs,” Rae pointed out.
Jori straightened. “But not like men. Which is a good thing, in my opinion. I don’t get why women think that’s sexy.”
Rae debated whether she should answer that one or not. Surely Jori knew. “Because it’s, like, pointing to…?”
Jori smiled and fluttered her eyelids. “You know it.”
Rae flushed again.
“It’s leading the way.” Jori lowered her voice to a suggestive pitch that had Rae’s abdominals clenching. “Personally, I can find it without help.”
* * *
Beyond the yoga barn lay a network of dirt paths with please-do-not-enter offshoots to the owners’ private cabin, the maintenance yard, and other areas of the property. Eventually the paths joined and became a nature trail leading farther into the woods. It was a good place for Rae to practice walking because the uneven ground challenged the stability of her ankle without actually being hazardous.
Her knee wasn’t doing so great, but her ankle was feeling strong, so she ventured out into the afternoon heat without her crutches. She could do it. She wouldn’t go far. And if she mastered her balance on dirt, the locker room floor would be easy. It had better be, because limping in front of Jori had been an embarrassing experience she didn’t want to repeat.
It was cooler in the shade of the woods, but it was hard to enjoy it because her knee already hurt. Then her ankle, which had started out fine, weakened and throbbed and—God, no—wobbled. Her breath caught in her throat. She could not twist her ankle and set her progress back. She would not. She refused.
Best to return to the lodge before things got any worse and she was forced to crawl back. If crawling was even possible. Maybe she’d manage slithering. She really didn’t want to find out. Perhaps leaving her crutches behind might have been a mistake. Well, not to worry—she hadn’t reached that point. Yet. She had a massage scheduled in an hour, though, so she really did need to get back. If she was early she could hang out in her room or park herself in the lobby and wait. It wouldn’t kill her to sit and do nothing but rest for a bit. She could always practice ankle flexes if resting became too tedious.
She spied a fallen tree branch a little way off that looked sturdy enough to use as a walking stick, so she slowly—cautiously—stepped off the path and grabbed it. It was a good height. The bark was uncomfortable in her palm, but the relief of having something to lean on was so great that she barely noticed. The stick was perfect, and with its help, she made it back to the lodge without cursing.
In the lobby, Sierra—her host—was on the floor playing Twister with a preschooler whose wispy blond hair was escaping from a ponytail that had started that morning on the top of her head but was now listing to one side. The girl’s foot was sliding off one of the vinyl playing mat’s red circles. Sierra, yoga teacher that she was, was balanced in a beautiful position that looked a lot like something she’d seen her students do. Downward-facing dog pose?
“Are you babysitting?” Rae asked.
“Just watching Baylee for a few minutes until her mother gets back.” Sierra quirked her head up but didn’t move from her upside-down position. “Are you coming to the party tomorrow night? Everyone’s invited.”
“What party?” In the short time she’d been here she’d learned the place was constantly abuzz with scheduled guest activities, but Rae had other things to worry about than keeping track of it all.
“It’s a chance for the workshop attendees to show off the costumes they’ve been working on all week.”
“Costumes?” Seriously, Rae could not keep track.
“For Creative Sewing?”
“Right.” It was always something around here, and not just yoga: Painting the sacred journey. Songwriting for the soul. Drumming, which had been loud enough to hear across the entire property and made her miss dancing with an ache that had kept her in a foul mood for days. Apparently it went on all year, as each week a new group of women descended on the Mountain Laurel Center to feed their obsession with whatever the theme of the hour was.
“There are leftover supplies on a table in the back of one of the multipurpose rooms if you want to make something to wear.”
“I don’t think—”
“I made my costume yesterday,” the girl—Baylee—said.
Great. The kid was going to guilt her into sewing something that wasn’t a dance slipper’s elastic.
“What did you make?” Rae asked. It wasn’t the child’s fault Rae was grumpy. It was her ankle’s fault. And her knee’s.
“It’s a surprise,” Baylee said.
“See?” Sierra said. “You’ll have to come to the party so Baylee can show you her costume.”
“Do you want to play Twister?” Baylee asked.
“Uh…” Rae stammered.
“You’d be good at it,” Sierra said, all too eager to con her into joining them.
“I’m kind of having a little trouble with my leg right now.” Rae lowered herself into an upholstered chair that was conveniently right there.
“If you can’t stand on your leg you can do handstands,” Baylee suggested.
“Excellent idea. Maybe next time.” Rae rubbed her knee. Sitting had been a mistake, because sitting meant she would have to stand again if she wanted to continue to her room, and standing was the last thing she wanted to do now that she’d taken her weight off her leg.
Baylee snatched the spinner board from the floor and set it in motion. “Left hand on blue.”
“I think that spin is for you, Miss Peters,” Sierra told Rae with a smirk.
“Sierra—”
“I’m not getting my hand over to blue,” Sierra said.
Right. Like Little Miss Yoga Instructor couldn’t easily reach any spot on the mat.
“But I bet you could,” Sierra said.
Rae sighed. She heaved her exhausted body out of the chair and gingerly lowered herself to the floor and placed her left hand on a blue circle.
A few spins later Rae was sitting in a semi-split with her right foot on red and her left foot on green, her legs comfortably straight so she wouldn’t risk bending her knee wrong, and laughing as she tried to convi
nce Baylee and Sierra there was nothing in the rules that said she couldn’t keep her derrière on the ground—the game only disqualified players for falling, and since she’d started out on the floor, she hadn’t technically fallen.
“Sitting makes the game harder,” Rae insisted.
“Only for people who can’t touch their toes,” Sierra said.
“I can touch my toes!” Baylee jumped from her pose to demonstrate. She stuck her head between her knees and beamed with pride, oblivious to the fact that her knees were ridiculously bent.
“This is the last time I play Twister with someone as flexible as you, Baylee,” Rae grumbled.
“Because you’re not used to not winning?” Sierra said.
Baylee giggled.
“Your turn, Sierra,” Rae said.
Baylee spun for her, but before she could call out her move she got distracted by something and popped up with a yelp of excitement. She barreled past on her little feet, heading for the double doors at the entrance.
Rae leaned back and looked over her shoulder to see what had caught Baylee’s attention. It was Jori, sauntering toward them with a sexy grace that made it hard to believe she wasn’t a dancer. Was Jori another one of Baylee’s babysitters? Or…no, she couldn’t be this girl’s…
“Mommy!” Baylee shouted.
Jori scooped her up and swung her in a circle. Yes, apparently she was the girl’s mother.
“Mommy, can we go now?”
Jori hugged her and lowered her to the ground.
“Oh hi,” Jori said, spotting Rae. “I see Baylee talked you into playing.” She turned to Sierra. “Thanks for watching her.”
“Anytime.” Sierra rose from another one of her yogic poses and retrieved the box the game belonged in.
Jori bent to pick up the playing mat, but Rae beat her to it, then busied herself folding the mat into a small square.
Jori had a daughter. She didn’t know why it should be a surprise, but it was. She’d been so sure Jori was flirting with her. But flirting didn’t mean anything. Not that having a kid meant anything, either. But then there was that man she’d seen her with… Not that that meant anything, either. But the signs were adding up, and even though part of her was urging her to ignore those signs, she knew what they meant.
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