by J. Daniels
“Kidding. Totally made that up.” I curl my fingers around my shoulder strap. “I’m out. See you in forty.”
“Thirty!”
I smile at the two voices behind me.
“My time starts when I get to the mall. Later, bitches!”
The shop door chimes, drowning out their protests.
I grab my things out of the dressing room and move past the racks of clothes in the direction of the registers.
My left hand holds the items I’ll be purchasing.
Light gray fitted pants, white tank, and pink sports bra.
My right, the items this store needs to just go ahead and burn. There’s no way in hell any woman looks good in these obnoxious patterns. And the one pair of pants made me itch so bad, my thighs are flushed in streaks of pink from my nails.
Who works out in a wool blend? Why is that material even an option?
I keep the clothes separated as I drop them on the counter.
“I’m keeping these. Can you put the rest back for me? I’m on a time crunch.”
“Sure thing.”
The woman behind the counter begins scanning the tags. I glance at my phone, noting the time.
1:16 P.M. I might just make it in thirty.
A paper taped to the back of the computer monitor grabs my attention as I’m slipping my phone away.
Hot Yoga with Mason King.
I quickly read the information, my eyes focusing, locking in on certain key words.
Deep healing.
Deep stretching.
Deep breathing.
Deep. Deep. Deep.
A throat clears. The woman behind the counter points at the flier. “You should’ve seen the guy who dropped that off. He had this accent,” she pauses, mouthing the word “wow.” I quietly laugh as she grabs a bag and drops my purchases to the bottom.
Wow is right.
The memory of Mason’s accent sends a pulsing current through my body, warming my blood with a delicious heat that pools between my hips. His voice was deep and rich, a bit husky.
Especially when he lowered it and moved his lips against my cheek.
“Don’t make me come looking for you.”
My pulse thrums below my ear. Again, I focus on certain words, maybe the only words I want him to say.
Make me come.
“I’d shove my husband in front of a bus for a man with an accent.”
I startle at the woman, my mouth falling open. Blush creeps up her face.
“Easy, Barb.” I squint at her name-tag. She laughs with a hand to her mouth. “When I hear on the news about some poor man who met his untimely death getting run over by a Greyhound, I’m going to know exactly where to point the cops.”
I hold out my credit card and she takes it.
She shakes her head through a grin. “I’m just saying. You should’ve seen him. Heard him. If I didn’t think I’d break a hip, I’d take his class.”
She swipes my card and hands it back to me with a receipt to sign. I slide my card back into my wallet. After scribbling my name, I glance once more at the flier.
The handwriting is surprisingly neat. All capital letters, evenly spaced. Most men I’ve noticed have atrocious handwriting. Joey’s penmanship looks like a person in the midst of a seizure taking a pen to paper. But not Mason’s. Even his attempt to replicate his sign on the top of the page is more than an attempt. It’s spot on in design. The letters perfectly bolded, the lines sharp.
“Here you go.”
I look up and take the bag Barb is holding out for me. “Thank you. I’ll tell your future husband you said hello at his class tonight.”
Her face burns a deep red. Stuttering, she responds with, “O-Oh, I was just kidding. Really. I would never leave my husband, let alone kill the poor man. He’s lovely. We’ve been married for seventeen wonderful years. Sure, he doesn’t always remember to take out the trash, but Lord knows he makes up for that with his grilling skills. The man could give Bobby Flay a run for his money. Have you watched his TV show? It’s very entertaining.”
I smile at how flustered poor Barb has become. Her words flying past her lips a mile a minute.
Like you’re any better. You nearly face-planted at the sight of Mason.
“Relax,” I chuckle, stepping back and ignoring my ridiculous inner thoughts.
Clearly, it was the heels, not his stellar physique that made me stumble. I was in a hurry and trying to avoid getting hit by traffic. He just happened to look back at me the exact second I lost my footing.
Coincidence. That’s all it was. Not directly related to his perfect, fuck-me face.
“Your secret is safe with me. I won’t say a word,” I reassure her.
Turning, I move past the next woman in line and make for the exit.
An animated voice calls out behind me.
“Look! This is the class I was telling you about. God, that guy. I almost vomited all over him when he spoke.”
Stopping next to a rack of water bottles, I look over my shoulder in the direction I just came from. The other chirpy blonde chimes in next.
“I’ve never been this excited to work out before. We need to get there early so we get a good spot. I want front row. Prime viewing seats.”
I laugh under my breath.
Jesus. Okay, so Mason has an effect on every woman. At least all the ones within the Chicago city limits.
Get there early? Fight other bitches off for prime viewing seats? I’m not worried about either one of those.
I’ll have the best view of Mason after class is over.
Joey approves my purchase as soon as I get back to the shop. Not that I needed him to, but it is always a nice ego boost when your fashion savvy friend announces how flawless you’re going to look in an outfit that leaves very little to the imagination. He then lamely suggests I go back to the store and return the items before they get torn from my body after he gets a look at the receipt I forgot about.
I stow the items away and pretend not to hear his rantings. Talk of creditors, addictions, and something about his car payment costing less than my yoga pants go on around me as I busy myself with work.
Dylan leaves after we close up for the night to eat dinner with Reese’s parents. I think I’m in the clear when Joey slips out of the shop and heads in the direction of his car.
Good. One less person to get rid of later.
Grabbing my bag, I head upstairs to get changed.
A nervous energy buzzes through me. My skin feels hot at the thought of Mason’s hands on my body, his lips moving over mine. Questions swirl in my head as I hastily get dressed.
Is his touch gentle? Will he use my body like he has a right to it? I’m sure he’s a disciplined guy, his physique gives that away, but does he always maintain a level of control when he fucks? Or is that the only time he allows himself to be reckless and unrestrained.
Do I want him that way? Rough and wild? His hands moving me how he wants. Taking what he needs.
As I’m securing my hair back with an elastic band, the loft door swings open, snapping my attention off the wall mirror.
Joey appears in the doorway, now dressed in workout clothes and sneakers.
I’m quickly annoyed at the sight of him, until he whistles appreciatively at my outfit and motions for me to spin.
“Well, you look ready for sex.”
I give him a sly smile. “That’s what I was going for.”
Joey moves to stand beside me. He smiles at my reflection. “There’s a line half-way down the block for his class.”
I meet his gaze in the mirror, my hands frozen in my hair. “What?”
“Yup.”
“Half-way down the block? Seriously?”
“Yup.”
Scowling, I grab his hand and head for the door. “Let’s go.”
Fuck! What if the class is already full? I knew Mason would have a crowd at this thing, but that many people? If I have to wait another fucking day to bang this guy . . .
I don’t even allow myself to finish that thought as we walk outside. I refuse to entertain that possibility.
Joey locks up and joins me on the sidewalk.
“See?” He gestures across the street at the parade of women, his palm outstretched in the air. “I almost ran over three of them when I went to park.”
“Maybe you should’ve.”
That would’ve been ideal. At this rate, if I go to the end of the line I’ll be lucky to get in on a class next week.
Joey grabs my elbow and pulls me off the sidewalk after a truck passes. “Nervous?” he murmurs, dropping his head.
I slowly look over at him. “Of?”
“I saw how flustered you were after talking to him yesterday.”
“What? No I wasn’t.”
I think back to the minutes in the shop which immediately followed that interaction.
My quick consumption of a cupcake. Hardly the breakfast of champions.
I shake my head. “You’re delusional if you think I was affected in any way by a kiss on the cheek.”
“Or an accent.”
I nod. “Right.”
“Or the body of a Greek God. No way would you have reacted to a combination of the three.”
I glare up at him. “Why are you here again?”
He smiles.
Excited chatter fills the air around us as we step up onto the sidewalk. The line forms just outside the door and continues in front of the large studio window, completely obstructing my view of the inside.
“Excuse me?” A woman at the front of the line points behind her. “The line begins back there, around the corner.”
“That’s nice,” I reply, pairing my sarcasm with my fakest smile. I look up at Joey. “I’m good right here. You?”
He stretches his arms above his head. “Fantastic.”
The woman scowls, then turns to her friend. Behind her, the door opens and Mason steps outside.
Hushed “oh, my God’s” and “that’s him” are spoken. People further down the line step out to get a better view of the man captivating everyone’s attention.
God, he’s practically edible.
Dressed in loose shorts that hang low on his hips and a sleeveless tee, Mason surveys the crowd with wide, stunned eyes.
Did he really not think he’d have much of a turn-out? Does the man not own a mirror?
He steps further out onto the sidewalk. A hand flies through his blonde hair. “Evening, ladies. This is quite a shock.”
Joey obnoxiously clears his throat.
Mason acknowledges him with a quick, apologetic nod, then our eyes meet. The air leaves my lungs. He looks like he wants to say something, possibly walk over to me, please, God, walk over to me, but he shows restrain and instead, levels me a stare that has me contemplating public sex.
I gather a shaky breath. Joey chuckles next to me.
“Shut up,” I whisper.
Mason turns back to the crowd. “Right. Unfortunately, due to building capacity, I won’t be able to squeeze all of you in tonight. But, I’m a man of my word. You will all get your free lesson. Check out the class times on the door, yeah? First twenty-five in line get to attend tonight. I hope to see the rest of you at another class.” He motions for me and Joey to come forward.
“Hey, they aren’t even in line,” someone calls out from the crowd.
“They signed up yesterday,” Mason explains, keeping his eyes on me as I move closer. He holds his hand out to Joey. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t see ya standing over there. Good on you for coming.”
Joey shakes his hand. “I usually don’t go unnoticed. You’re clearly straight.”
Mason smiles, shifting his eyes to mine as he drops his hand. “Hello, gorgeous. How are you?”
“Ready to collect.” I grab Joey’s arm and lead him inside, looking back at Mason over my shoulder.
He pulls his gaze off my ass when two women walk over to him.
I claim a mat in the center of the room and toe off my shoes and socks.
Joey does the same next to me. “Christ, it’s hot in here. I’m about to take off my shirt.”
Mason steps into the room, closing the door behind him.
“Me too,” I murmur.
That should help get things moving in the right direction.
After adjusting the thermostat on the wall, Mason moves to the front of the class. The room goes silent.
“Right. Everyone ready to get started?” he pauses, smiling at everyone’s enthusiasm. “The most important thing to remember in my class is I want you to take your time. Understand that you have the rest of your life to make this perfect, yeah? Yoga is a great way to improve flexibility and strength, but also, it benefits the mind and the spirit. I want you to concentrate on your breathing. Breathe through every pose. You might not get everything today, and that’s all right. I’m here to help you. If you need to step away and get a quick drink, or if you’re feeling like you need a break, take it. It’s going to get very warm in here . . .”
“It already is,” Joey announces, fanning his face. “Any objections if I start stripping?”
A few women giggle. Others make similar comments about the temperature in the room.
“By all means.” Mason reaches behind him, grabs his shirt, and pulls it off with one hand. He tosses it aside. “I hope nobody minds. I normally don’t wear a lot of clothes when I do this.”
“Oh, dear God,” someone behind me murmurs.
I stare at the hard lines of Mason’s body. The thick cuts of muscle in his arms. His broad, lightly-tanned chest.
He wants me to concentrate on breathing while he looks like this? What is he fucking crazy?
The man has an eight pack. Eight. Pack.
He looks directly at me. “Ready?” he asks, tilting his head with a coy grin.
I nod, a lot. Joey elbows me and I finally get myself under control.
Mason leads the class through a few basic breathing exercises. Thank God. I can’t seem to remember how to properly work my lungs anymore. With the slowly rising temperature in the room, Mason’s glorious body, and the knowledge of my impending orgasm minutes away, it’s a wonder I’m not getting rushed to the hospital by ambulance for lack of oxygen to the brain.
“Now, release the hands and come out onto all fours,” Mason instructs.
“Hello,” Joey whispers. “All fours, yes please. I should’ve dragged Billy to this.”
I lift my head and watch Mason.
“Hands underneath the shoulders. Knees underneath the hips. Inhale, drop the belly, and look upwards.”
Our eyes lock.
“Exhale, push the floor away, and look down at your navel.”
My spine arches. I close my eyes and hold the position.
Mm. This actually feels really good.
“Inhale, look up.”
He smiles. My hand nearly slips out from under me.
“Shit.” I wipe my hand on my pants leg, removing the sweat that’s built up on my palm.
“Stop distracting him. I’m really into this.”
I narrow my eyes at Joey.
“Last time. Exhale, press away.”
I drop my head and slowly breathe out.
The next series of poses doesn’t allow for eye contact, so I’m able to get through those without any difficulty. Sweat beads up on the base on my neck and down my spine. My muscles are loose and warm.
I feel amazing. I’m actually really enjoying this.
Several women have to step outside to get some air while others gulp water from the cooler in the corner. I don’t need a break. I don’t want one either.
Mason instructs everyone to lie on their backs. He moves between the mats, his voice growing closer.
“From here, bend the knees, place the feet on the floor. I want you to lift your hips off the mat. Try and reach for your heels with your fingers.”
He looks down at me as I struggle to grab my heels. With a huff, my back hits the mat.
&nb
sp; “Little help?” I smile up at him.
He drops down to his knees beside me. “You’re doing great. Have you done this before?” he asks, grabbing my hips, his fingers pressing into my back.
“Nope. First time. I’m very motivated to please my instructor.”
His mouth twitches in the corner.
“Ready?”
“Oh, hold on. Not yet.” I grab the hem of my shirt and strip it over my head, leaving me in only my hot pink sports bra.
His lips part with a rushed exhale. He looks beautiful, eyes wide and wild.
“There. That’s better. I was burning up in that.”
I watch his neck roll with a swallow, the heavy bob of his Adam’s apple I want to run my tongue over and taste. His hands shake as they move over my skin to resume their grip.
“Devil,” he whispers, leaning down and lifting my hips. “Stay after class.”
Yes.
His hands leave me. I hold the pose as he moves around the room, meeting my gaze every few steps.
Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bouncing on my feet as the class dismisses. I wave to Joey as he slips out the door, then take a moment to fix my disheveled pony.
I shouldn’t bother. It’s about to get a whole lot messier.
Holding my discarded tank, I wait for Mason on my mat as he walks a few stragglers to the door. He closes it and turns the top lock. Taking his shirt, he wipes it across his face, removing the sweat.
“Great class,” I tell him as he walks toward me.
An honest observation. I never thought I’d actually enjoy working out, let alone yoga.
His mouth stretches into a proud smile. “Yeah? I thought it was all right. I was a bit nervous.”
“Why? You made it easy. Nobody seemed to have trouble keeping up.”
“Except you.” He stops in front of me, looking between the shirt in my hand and my face. “Or, was that just a ploy to get me to touch you?”
I shrug. “I don’t think I need a ploy. I think you want to touch me.”
“I do.”
“And here I am. Touch away.”
His eyes, the color of autumn, do this shift from playful to something else, something darker.
Make me come.
My fist tightens on my tank.
All too soon his smoldering gaze is gone, swiftly darting across the room.
“I need to shower. Will you wait? My room is just upstairs. I’ll be quick.”