by KD Robichaux
He reaches over and takes my hand from where I’ve got a death grip on my thigh, holding it between his much, much bigger palms. “I’m so proud of you, Astrid. This is going to do wonders for your health, physical and mental, if you’ll just come. That’s all you have to do. Force yourself to come to the gym; that’s all it will take to be that first step toward healing. And once you’re here, once you’re already in the building, you’ll think to yourself ‘Well, I’m already here,’ and the rest will just fall into place. The biggest struggle for most people getting started with an exercise routine is just getting up off the couch to do it. But then if you make it part of your daily schedule, after a while, it’ll feel like something is missing if you don’t do it.”
I nod in understanding. “I get that. When I danced, I had classes four times a week. And even when I’d only miss one lesson, it threw my whole world out of balance.”
He squeezes my hand. “It takes anywhere from eighteen to two hundred and fifty-four days for a person to form a new habit. But on average, it takes sixty-six days for a response to become automatic. That’s it. In just a little over two months, coming to this gym will just be a part of life that you won’t even have to struggle with. Can you just promise me to keep that in mind? And I’ll promise to keep you motivated. Even if I have to come embarrass myself in front of an entire roomful of people.”
I do look at him then, and his laser-blue eyes are twinkling at me. How could I possibly say no to that? “I promise,” I whisper, and the sound of people approaching behind me is the only thing that pulls me away from his penetrating gaze.
“Doc!” a girl who is clearly the instructor, judging by the T-shirt embroidered with the gym’s name and logo, the headset she’s carrying in one hand, and the set of keys she has in the other that she uses to unlock the glass room in front of us. Aren’t there like… child labor laws in this state? She looks twelve. Tiny, with an amazing tan, and a super short dark pixie cut hidden beneath a black beanie. “What are you doing here and not over on the manly machines?” she prompts, deepening her voice and puffing out her chest when she says manly. I feel one corner of my lips lift at her teasing him, when he could so easily smush her like a bug.
“My girl wanted to try out a barre class for the first time, and I promised her I’d come with her, so here I am,” he replies, and I feel my whole body flame when he calls me his girl. I want to correct him, but as my eyes turn toward the other women who followed the instructor—Destinee, I recall—down the hallway to the Group Exercise room, all of them fit and beautiful in different matching sets of sexy sports bras and leggings that leave nothing to the imagination, each and every one looking him up and down and eye-fucking him as he stands from the bench…
I keep my goddamn mouth shut.
“Oooo, a newbie. Nice! I’m Destinee,” she introduces, holding out her hand, and I shake it as she uses the other to pull the door open for all the other women to file into the room, the shameless hussies doing everything they can to catch Neil’s eye, but as I look up at him, a frown pulling down my brows and lips, I see he’s only watching me, a little smirk on his face.
Great, the asshole knows I’m jealous.
I face Destinee once more. “I-I’m Astrid. I uh. I used to be a dancer, but I—”
“Bup-bup. No, ma’am,” she cuts me off. “Once a dancer, always a dancer. Now, continue.”
I smile, loving how this tiny girl seems to be a force to be reckoned with. “I’ve been out of practice for about a decade.”
She nods. “Normal workout routine?”
“None.” I wince.
“Got it,” she replies. No giving me shit. No making a face of disgust or disappointment. No judgment whatsoever. Just… got it. “So this will be a great introductory class for you, because there’s lots of stretching and warm-up in the beginning before we really get into the more challenging stuff. And then once that begins, I’ll show the class all sorts of modifications—or ‘mods’—for each move. There are usually three levels to every move, a beginner, intermediate, and advanced version of the same exercise. You do what you feel comfortable with. And if you need a break to catch your breath, then get some water or do child pose, or whatever you want. I ain’t gonna call you out for it. That’s not how my class works. I encourage; I don’t break down.”
My God. I. Love. This. Girl.
She’s married. To the woman at the front desk, remember?
But… she looks—
Before I can finish the argument with myself, she pulls her black beanie off her head and uses it to gesture us to precede her through the door. And at the crown of her head is a thick light-gray streak that stands out against the rest of her ultra-dark brown hair. So now I have absolutely no idea how old she is. Looks twelve but old enough to have gray hair?
I don’t have time to think about it before I feel Neil’s hand on my back once more, leading me over to where the equipment is. When I look around, everyone is setting up their places along the edges of the huge room. All the walls are mirrored except for the back one that is floor-to-ceiling windows treated to keep the room from getting too hot. And running along all the mirrored walls is a double dance barre at two levels of height.
“You’ll need a yoga mat and one set of hand weights. Threes if you’re beginner, and fives if you think you can handle it. They. Will. Get. Heavy. Even for you, big guy,” Destinee calls to Neil, and all the women giggle, making me stabby.
Neil pulls me toward him, holding out a set of the three-pound neon-green weights and leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Use it as motivation, goddess.” When he stands back up tall, I stare up into his eyes, trying to figure out what he’s trying to tell me without so many words. And it’s not until a tall brunette woman with big fake tits “accidentally” bumps into him, brushing her chest across his arm, that I realize what he means.
“Oh, excuse me,” she says breathlessly through her equally big and fake lips. “Sorry, just trying to get my weights.” She shoves between us, knocking me back a step, and I watch Neil’s nostrils flare and his brows lower when he sees it, pissed on my behalf—or is it more?
Shockingly, my normal automatic response to just take it, to cower, to apologize for something I didn’t do doesn’t take over. Instead, I make us both feel better, stepping up to him and raising up on my toes to place a kiss where I can reach—the side of his neck—and take the weights from his hands. “Thanks, baby,” I chirp, and the stunned look on his face would make me laugh if I weren’t trying to mark my territory in front of this bitch.
My territory?
“Places, everyone,” Destinee calls, ending the all-out cat fight I’m suddenly willing to throw down for at this moment if it were to escalate any further.
Neil grabs us two yoga mats off the wall, and we make our way to an open spot big enough for the two of us. When I take the place closer to the back of the room, sliding out of my flip-flops, he takes hold of my hips from behind and lifts me into the air, making me squeak before setting me back on my feet on the mat in front. As I spin around to glare at him, he spreads his feet wide on the black mat and crosses his huge arms, challenging me with the lift of his brow to try to move him.
I huff out a breath and stomp my bare foot once before turning around to face the front, where Destinee is up on a little one-step-up stage. There’s sound equipment on one side, and as she places the headset on her ear and adjusts the mic, she hooks the pack to her black basketball shorts and blows.
“Check. Check. Can y’all hear me in the back?” she asks. And when everyone murmurs a dull-sounding affirmation, she calls out more excitedly, “I said… once more, for the people in the back!”
“Yes!” we all yell this time, a smile pulling at my lips. Such a commanding presence from such a miniscule person. She makes me want to be here just to be in her company. I could get used to this. I picture her and her wife together, seeing how fun a pair they probably make. They just… make sense.
“All r
ight, all right. If you’ve never done this class before or had me as an instructor for any of the others I lead, my name is Destinee, and I’m here to kick your ass. You ready?”
I laugh along with everyone else, feeling my heart start to pound, and I look left into the mirror right next to me to see my eyes are bright. It’s the closest I’ve seen them to the way they used to be, pre-Brandon, back when I was in love with being in love, back when I believed true love actually existed. Neil moving behind me catches my eye, and I watch his reflection as he takes off his tennis shoes and no-show socks then sets them next to my flip-flops that are still by his mat. When he stands up once more, he meets my stare in the mirror, and he gives me a heart-stopping smile as he pulls his drawstring bag off his back to set it down.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
I face forward, closing my eyes for a moment just as Destinee starts to lead us through a shoulder stretch, and I can feel Neil’s eyes on me. If I don’t get ahold of my growing desire just being in his very presence, I’m going to embarrass myself. I’m wearing tiny biker-style workout shorts, some I’ve had since high school when they were worn in a real dance studio. And it’s up to only that three inches of fabric plus my seamless thong I’m wearing beneath them to contain my arousal.
“All right, let’s get those legs warmed up,” Destinee says, and I follow her example. “Let’s start with some relevé pliés. Stand with your feet in first position, heels together, toes turned out, legs straight. You can either keep your balance using a light touch to the barre, or you can use your arms before you. Stand up taaall; there we go,” she says, looking around the room and checking everyone’s posture. “Suck in those bellies, as if you’re trying to make your belly button touch your spine. And here we go. Up on your toes, now down. And bend your knees out over your toes. Now back to center. Good. We’ll do twenty of these. Up… center… down… center. One. Now up…”
I follow along, my legs skipping right past warming up and crashing straight into fire shooting along my thighs and calves. But I push through, and when she reaches twenty, I fall to my heels and shake out my legs. I face the barre for a second, reaching out to keep my balance with one hand as I lift my right leg behind me and grasp it, giving myself a little stretch before switching hands and legs.
“You good?” Neil murmurs, and I smile at him in the mirror with a nod.
“Parallel plié pulses next. Face the barre, both hands light for balance only. Don’t hold on to it for dear life or you’ll wear out your arms. Good. Now stand with feet together. Now up on the balls of your feet and bend your knees like you’re sitting in a chair. Down as far as you can go and squeeeeze those thighs together. Looking good, ladies. Oh, and gentleman,” Destinee calls with a chuckle, and I look at Neil in the mirror, watching him smile with a shake of his head.
His arms look purely obscene they’re so freaking sexy, stretched out before him as he lightly grips the barre. And I have to hold in a whimper, forcing my eyes straight ahead in the mirror to focus on my form.
“Lift up only halfway, staying up on those toes… and then sink back down. Good!” she instructs, and I blow out a slow breath, feeling the fire in my legs start to make me sweat. “Twenty of these. Ready? Up… and down. One. Up…”
If I wasn’t concentrating so hard on getting through the set, I’d take a moment to appreciate Neil’s impressive form. The man apparently never skipped a leg day. And although he’s broken a sweat along his hairline, he’s not even breathing heavy, while I’m over here sounding like I’m trying to power a windmill.
“Great job. Staying right where you are, we’re moving into our arabesque attitudes. This works those booties, so make them count. Feet in first position, keep those chests lifted, and extend your left leg out behind you, straight as you can get from the hip. Pointed toes… oh look at you, Astrid, with your pretty ballerina feet. See? Told you once a dancer, always a dancer,” she calls me out, and instead of feeling embarrassed, my chest swells with pride at the praise, and it’s all the motivation I need to get through this next set.
“Either keep both hands light on the bar or you can stretch one arm out ahead of you, same side as the lifted leg, palm facing down. Now, here comes the fun part,” Destinee says wickedly, and more than a few of the women in the room let out a groan. “Keeping that left leg up, bend just the left knee to cross your calf behind you. If you were to look over your right shoulder, you should be able to say hi to your foot.”
“What the fuck?” I hear Neil murmur beside me, and I look at him in the mirror and can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes when I see the puzzled look on his face.
So, he doesn’t skip leg day, but he’s not the most flexible man in the world.
“So you do have a flaw,” I singsong low, still following along with Destinee’s instructions as she counts us to twenty.
His eyes meet mine as he struggles to keep his leg high behind him. Still, there’s a twinkle of good-natured competitiveness in his expression. “And what’s that?”
“Not very bendy,” I reply, switching legs when she tells us to.
Neil does as well but never takes his eyes off mine when a dark and sexy mask filters over his face. “Not the one who needs to be, goddess.”
My core clenches at the images that one statement incites, and I lose my balance, stumbling to the side as he chuckles.
“Take a water break when you need it,” Destinee calls to the room, clearly having mistaken my sexually induced clumsiness for needing a breather.
“There’s a bottle for you in my bag,” Neil tells me, and I decide to take that break after all. I lower to my yoga mat and crawl over to where his bag is beneath the barre, up against the mirror, trying to ignore the fact that I’m on my knees while he stands over me. I squeeze and tug the toggle down the set of strings and loosen the opening of the bag, reaching inside and pulling out a bottle of water, grateful he brought me one because I had most definitely forgotten to grab one before we left.
I set the bag back in its place and twist the cap, closing my eyes and taking a long drink of water. It’s not until I hear a low growl directly above me that I tilt my head back farther and open my eyes, seeing Neil bent at the waist, his arms outstretching as he holds onto the barre, staring down at me. I swallow thickly, my mouth going dry at the heated look on his face even though I just drank half the bottle of water. I glance down, realizing he can see right down the neckline of my tank top, which must’ve elicited that feral sound from his delicious body.
And then—now knowing I unintentionally got him back for the dirty, bendy images he put inside my mind—I do something I never saw myself being capable of, suddenly feeling wholly feminine and… powerful. I look back up at him with a little smirk, unblocking his view from above, and use the inside of my arms to press my breasts up and together as I twist the cap back on the water.
“Fuuuck,” he groans, and I giggle as I put the water down next to the mirror and back away on my hands and knees until I’m on my yoga mat once more.
“Oh, it’s not that bad, ya big baby,” Destinee calls, and I let out a single snort of laughter as I get back to what she’s instructing.
With my newfound bit of confidence, the rest of the class passes much faster. Me finding methods to bend and move in a way that I know is making Neil sweat more than what he would just by doing the workout. I barely notice how hotly my muscles burn, because my mind is elsewhere, showing off for him, my muscle memory dusting itself off and clearly yelling Put me in, Coach! I balance, and lift on my toes, and bend, and twist, getting into the moves like Destinee is, instead of just doing them stiffly and carefully.
But it’s not until she has us stand facing forward on the mats, our legs as wide as we’re comfortable with, and then tells us to place our palms flat on the floor that I know all my teasing was a mistake.
“Now, using your hands on the mat, walk your palms backward through your legs and try to touch the back of your mat, puuulling your he
ad closer to the floor,” she instructs, and I sink lower, concentrating on my breathing… until I feel it.
My eyes pop open, and from upside down and between my wide-legged straddle, I see Neil watching me, his eyes molten blue lava as he stares at my ass.
No.
Not at my ass.
As he licks his lips and his nostrils flare, sweat dripping profusely down his temples, his white tee clinging to his ripped, huge body as he sits on his mat, the bottle of water halfway lifted to his lips but stopped midair, I know he’s not just staring at my ass.
He’s staring at the very center of me. The core of my body, and from his eye level and nearness, I know… I just know… he can see I’m wet, and not from sweat. And from the way he breathes in deep, his eyes going half-mast, I have to wonder if he can even smell my arousal. The arousal I caused my-damn-self by taunting him, provoking him, showing off for him for no other reason than I love how he looks at me in that heated way. A way no man has ever looked at me before—like he wants to eat me alive and protect me all at once.
I barely hear it when Destinee urges, “Keep breathing, and just sink into that position.” And it’s a good thing, because it makes me realize I was holding my breath while I stared at Neil, staring at my pussy.
I feel lightheaded, and not because I’m turned upside down on my head. I used to hold this position in a handstand for minutes on end. It’s because the look on his face doesn’t do anything to hide just how tightly he’s having to white-knuckle grip the reins of his control, because he clearly—oh… so clearly—wants to either launch himself forward face-first or take hold of my hips and pull me back toward his awaiting mouth.