Love of the Game

by Lori Wilde

  “Who has the time?”

  “You do. Now.”

  “I see your point. Let me give it some thought.”

  “Since you don’t have a hobby, we’ll do mine.”

  “Which is?”

  “Yoga.”

  He groaned.

  “Stop complaining. I gave you a chance to come up with something you enjoyed. You didn’t, so we do things my way. I’ll change into my yoga clothes and meet you outside on the lawn.”

  “You carry yoga clothes around with you?” he asked, his pulse leaping at the thought of seeing her in yoga pants.

  “I keep a change of clothes in my car.”

  “You had this yoga thing planned all along.”

  She gave him a “maybe” shrug and a whisper-smile. Oh, she was a sly one.

  “Do I need to wear anything special?” he asked, sitting up on the massage table.

  “You’re good in those sweatpants, but you can put your T-shirt back on. And grab a yoga mat from the closet.”

  Five minutes later, he had a yoga mat spread out on the back patio a few feet from the swimming pool, the morning sun reflecting off the water, scattering prisms of light over the ground. He smelled chlorine and coconut-scented sunscreen.

  Dressed in black skintight yoga pants, a black and red tank top layered over a red sports bra, Kasha glided out of the house as if skating on a cloud, and frankly, he couldn’t stop staring at her. The woman was a walking wet dream.

  She carried a purple tote bag with a yoga mat sticking out of it. She unrolled the mat, bent over to spread it on the ground.

  He studied her boldly as she bent over. The yoga pants looked brand-new and clung to her curves, and he thought, I’m in love with those pants.

  She straightened and came to stand on a spot in front of him at the end of her mat, and indicated he should do the same on his mat, and then she led him through a series of poses in what she called a grounding process.

  “Turn off whatever is bothering you,” she soothed. “Close your eyes and just be here now.”

  Yeah, like that was so easy.

  But the more she talked, the more the sound of her voice lulled him, and before long, he wasn’t thinking about anything except for breathing the way she taught him to breathe and holding the poses.

  Even the hot sexual thoughts banked to a low simmer.

  Okay, maybe this yoga thing wasn’t so nutty after all. In those few minutes he felt more calmed and controlled than he’d felt since … well, since he couldn’t remember when.

  They were doing side arm stretches and he was swinging along at a steady clip, when she cautioned, “Easy does it. Explore the edge, but don’t go over it.”

  “Explore the edge? What does that even mean?”

  “Feel the power of the stretch. But if there’s the least bit of actual pain, back off.”

  He grunted, and stopped extending as far as he could.

  “Good job,” she encouraged him.

  “I feel like I’m revving my engine with the transmission in park.”

  “Then back off more.”

  “If I do that, I’ll barely be moving.”

  “Then barely move.” She slowed her own pace to demonstrate.

  “At this rate my shoulder won’t heal until I’m eighty.”

  Her smile was enigmatic, slight and light.

  “What?” he asked, mimicking her movements, rotating his body from side to side with painstaking motions that were actually starting to feel really good in his shoulder.

  “I was thinking of what you’ll be like at eighty.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’ll be winning wheelchair races down the hallway of the nursing home and goosing the nurses not smart or fast enough to get out of your way.”

  “I don’t know whether I should feel flattered or insulted.”

  “Your choice,” she said. “Arms straight out at your sides, shoulder height, palms up.”

  “This isn’t hard,” he said.

  “Not yet.” There was that knowing smile again, as if she held the keys to heaven and she wasn’t going to let him in until he proved himself worthy. “Make tiny little circles with your fingertips as if they were paintbrushes, and you were painting the walls.”

  “That I can get into.”

  “Slow down.”

  “You’re starting to sound like an echo.” He snorted.

  “I’ll stop repeating myself when you hear me.”

  “I don’t see how this is helping much. It’s just stretching, and not very strenuous stretching at that,” he grumbled.

  “Last time I checked, I was the therapist and you were the patient. Why don’t you just let me do my job?”

  “Great, fine, okay.” He chuffed out a breath and slowed his movements. “Ow, this is getting harder.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Are you always such a tough taskmaster?”

  “Close your eyes,” she said. “Focus on what you’re doing, nothing else in the world matters but painting those walls. Nothing else exists.”

  “Um …” He cleared his throat. “Your voice exists.”

  “Widen the circles,” she instructed, ignoring that.

  “Right. Focus. I’m focusing.” Except that he wasn’t. His shoulders were burning, and her lavender-sage smell was tangling up in his nose, and her voice was heating up his blood. He dropped his arms.

  “Arms up,” she said, perky but insistent.

  “They’re tired.”

  “I know. Mine are too. Arms up.”

  Grunting, he raised his arms. “Is this painting almost finished?”

  “The longer you complain, the longer it takes.”

  “You’re punishing me?”

  “Don’t have to. You’re already punishing yourself by focusing on your discomfort. Just focus on what you’re doing, ignore everything else.”

  “Like when I’m pitching?”

  “Exactly like when you’re pitching.”

  They exercised together for a while longer, Axel obeying her commands, keeping his eyes closed, and moving with intent and purpose. And when she told him it was time to get on his back for floor stretches, he was surprised to discover thirty minutes had passed.

  “We’re winding up already?” he asked, surprised by his disappointment that it was almost over.

  “Half an hour is long enough for your first yoga session. Roll over onto your stomach.” She demonstrated, rolling over onto her belly, and giving him a great view of her gorgeous rump sheathed in those yoga pants.

  He tried his best not to stare, failed utterly.

  “Pay attention to your breathing,” she chided. “Not my butt.”

  He closed his eyes, but he could still see the shape of her round fanny burned into his retina. He opened one eye, peeked over at her, found her staring at his ass. “Focus, Sphinx.”

  “I am,” she said, not looking the least bit guilty for having been caught ogling his butt. “I’m the therapist, my job is to study your form.”

  “If telling yourself that makes you feel better, go right ahead. I know the truth.”

  “It is the truth.” Her voice was maddeningly calm. What would it take to get a rise out of her?

  “But if I look at you—”

  “You’re gawking.”

  “You make it sound so cheap.”

  “Not cheap. Predictable. Now ground your pelvis against the floor, and raise both legs in the air.”

  “Have you ever noticed how provocative some of these yoga poses are?” he asked.

  “Predictable.”

  “I feel so common,” he joked.

  She ignored that. “Now raise your arms out in front of you like you’re Superman flying off to save Lois Lane from some baddies.”

  He raked his gaze over her as her chest lifted up off the floor, while her hipbones stayed firmly rooted against the yoga mat. “For it’s hip-hip and away I go,” he teased.

  “That’s Underdog, not Superman.”
r />   “What’s the difference?”

  “One’s a dog, one’s a man … oh … I see your point.”

  “Aha!” Axel crowed. “You do have a sense of humor.”

  “And release the pose,” she said mildly, not letting him get to her. “Time for Superman to land.”

  “Aah, and just when I was beginning to enjoy the flight.”

  “On your back in Savasana.”

  “What’s that?” He sat up.

  “Corpse Pose.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s a pose of total relaxation. Of surrender.” She flipped onto her back, legs slightly apart, arms at her sides, palms facing up.

  “Vulnerable position,” he commented, still sitting.

  “I had trouble with it at first too,” she said. “Just try it.”

  “You did?”

  “Being vulnerable is not my strong suit,” she admitted.

  “And yet here you are, all laid out in Sa-whatever-vana.”

  “You’re avoiding the process. You’ve done great today, it’s been a successful morning, don’t blow it.”

  “All right, all right.” He swung around, lay down on the mat next to her, unable to tell her the real reason he didn’t want to lie down faceup. What if he got aroused again?

  But her eyes were closed and she looked so peaceful, a barely-there smile curling up the corners of her lips. She was right. It had been a good morning.

  He rested on the mat, his shoulder muscles feeling tired but no longer aching the way they normally did when he pushed himself with free weights or the machines. It was a peaceful tired, a good kind of tired, and for the first time since his injury, he truly felt hopeful that everything was going to work out.

  Kasha lay beside Axel feigning calm. A hundred different thoughts popped in and out of her head. Some yogi she was. Couldn’t shut down her mind chatter for a two-minute Savasana.

  Snap out of it. Get straight. Breathe.

  But whenever she inhaled, she could smell his scent—slightly musky now from the exercise—and she could feel heat radiating off his body, could hear his breathing too, the deep, masculine sound as he filled his lungs, held it for a beat, and then let it go long and smooth.

  The sound lulled her, made her feel as if she were being rocked by gentle ocean waves. She realized they were breathing together, and it was not the patient following the therapist, but the other way around. She had fallen into his breathing pattern.

  Alarmed, she held her breath.

  And then he held his too.

  Ah good, back in charge. Today had gone well. A little massage. A little yoga. As long as he did what she told him, he was going to have improvement in his range of motion.

  That sure of yourself, huh?

  Terrific. Doubting herself? No room for that. She had to make this happen. Not only for her sake and for Emma, but for Axel’s as well. If he didn’t learn how to slow down, he was going to blow his arm out for good, and that would be the end of his dreams.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head to study him.

  Even at rest, he looked like a man on the verge of springing into action. Maybe it was all those hard-packed muscles glistening in the sun. God, he was gorgeous. If she wasn’t his therapist …

  But she was. No place for unprofessional thoughts in this relationship. He needed her help, and that’s what she’d give him. That’s all she would give.

  “What now?” Axel mumbled in a sleepy voice.

  “We’re going to do a guided meditation called yoga nidra.” She sat up. “To put you in a state of deep relaxation.”

  He opened one eye. “What do I have to do?”

  “Shh, just keep your eyes closed and listen.” She sat cross-legged on her mat. “The military uses a version of yoga nidra called iRest to help heal servicemen and women with PTSD.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Just remember, you’ve got my career in your hands.”

  Yes, that was the nerve-wracking part, but she was confident she could help him. “I’m going to place a special buckwheat pillow over your eyes to block out the light.”

  She fetched the pillow from her tote bag, reached over to settle it over his eyes. She tried to do it without touching him, but he shifted slightly, and her fingertips brushed against his forehead.

  Singed. Dammit!

  Axel sucked in his breath at the same time she jerked away and lost her balance, falling backward onto her mat.

  Thank God, he couldn’t see her. She righted herself and brushed a dusting of perspiration from her upper lip with the back of her hand. She could not keep reacting so viscerally every time she touched the man.

  “Kasha?” he murmured.

  “Still here.” She cleared her throat, and found herself smiling. “Sink down into the mat. Feel the earth supporting your body.”

  Her own body grew heavy, leaden, as it often did during meditation, but this was different somehow, as if she were tuning in to his rhythms, experiencing the sensations with him.

  And in those sensations, she blossomed, and grew.

  This was nuts. Absolutely nuts. She was imaging a connection that wasn’t there. He was a client. She was his therapist. So what if he was a hunk? It was a line that could not be crossed.

  She guided him through the meditation, modulating her voice low and tranquil, hiding her emotional turmoil with soft words, and soon he was breathing slowly and deeply, snoring slightly, completely and utterly relaxed, maybe for the first time since he was a child.

  The magic of yoga nidra; it had the power to still the most turbulent mind. Considering the crazy way Axel made her feel, maybe it was time she started practicing the technique on herself.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kasha had no more than walked into her house after her day with Axel than her cell phone rang. It was the lawyer.

  “Hello Mr. Johnson,” she said.

  “Got your message,” Howard Johnson replied. “I know the six weeks are up, and you still want to pursue custody of Emma. But while that’s admirable, before you take that final step, I think it wise for you to first spend some time with your sister outside the group home setting.”

  “Why?”

  “To fully understand what you’re up against.”

  “I appreciate your concern.” She kicked off her shoes at the back door, savored the feel of the cool tile under her bare feet. “I’m in the medical profession, and I’m well aware of Emma’s challenges.”

  “Being aware of the challenges and living with them on a daily basis are two different things. You are essentially taking on a parental role.”

  “I know that.”

  “She’s a child in an adult’s body.”

  “I can handle it.” Kasha trailed into her bedroom.

  “Even so,” the lawyer said. “I encourage you to take this extra step. Let me put the wheels in motion, and make arrangements for you to take Emma home with you for an overnight stay and see how you two click outside of a controlled environment.”

  Kasha blew out her breath, took out her earrings, and set them on the top of her dresser. “I’d really rather just get this process started. I know I want her.”

  “Do you have a bedroom set up for Emma? Have you hired someone to look after her while you’re at work?”

  “Not at the moment, but neither one of those should take me long to set up. I can handle those details while you’re drawing up the paperwork.”

  “Your job is in Dallas. You’re going to have to move there eventually. Have you thought about how such a move will affect Emma?”

  “There will be more opportunities for Emma in the city,” Kasha said. She had thought about it a lot. In Dallas there would be services for Emma that didn’t exist in Stardust. It was another reason she’d taken the job with the Gunslingers. “It will be an adjustment, but we can weather it.”

  “Your heart is in the right place, Ms. Carlyle. But have you considered whether or not Emma will be happy living with you? As excited as you both are
to have found each other, you are virtually strangers.”

  Kasha sank down on the end of her bed. More than anything in the world she wanted to share her life with Emma, her only living blood relative. And only part of it was making amends for her biological parents’ sins.

  But the lawyer had a point. In the end, she wanted what was best for Emma, not herself. She had to make sure she was doing this for the right reasons.

  “You make a good case,” she admitted. “Please make arrangements for me to take Emma for a few days.”

  “Smart decision,” Howard Johnson said. “I’ll move forward with that, and we can get together with Emma’s foster parents for a time that’s convenient for both of you.”

  Kasha hung up, and paced her bedroom.

  It was time to tell her adoptive parents about Emma. Dread over digging up ancient history had her avoiding this conversation for too long. She needed their guidance as she went forward with gaining custody of her half sister, and the longer she waited to break the news, the more hurt they would be that she hadn’t confided in them from the beginning.

  Why hadn’t she confided in them from the beginning?

  In the bathroom, she undressed to her underwear and stood examining herself in the mirror. Studied the thin vertical scars carved into the tops of her thighs. Traced them with her finger. Counted them out.

  There were a hundred and three of them, each an ugly badge of shame.

  Old now.

  Silvered.

  They’d been there for so long that most days, she barely noticed them. But she was permanently marked by her past. The scars were a constant reminder of where she’d come from, and where she never wanted to return.

  And on some level she was terrified of slipping back there. Even though logically she knew she’d come out on the other side of her trauma, a primal fear lurked deep in the recesses of her brain.

  “It’s okay. You’re all right,” she soothed. “You beat it.”

  Shaking off the fear, she showered, and dressed and headed over to her parents’ house, guiding her Prius over the railroad tracks that crossed Main Street. She drove past Timeless Treasures, her parents’ antiques store, and took a left to round the block.

  The closer she got, the higher the guilt tower grew. In this neighborhood the houses were older, mostly frame—Craftsman and farm-style, Victorians and Cape Cods. In the yards sat garden gnomes or metal cutouts of pink flamingos or Texas flags.