Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
His dark eyes survey the room, quickly landing on me. I smile and give him a brief nod, expecting him to make apologies and exit, but instead, he scans the room again. “It appears I need a mat,” he says, his voice all smooth and masculine as his eyes return to me. “Where can I get one?”
I try to respond and find my mouth has gone dry. I try again. “This is hatha yoga class.”
He nods once, his bearded face tipping down, giving me a better view of the thick stylishly-tousled golden brown hair on his head. “I was told you supply mats.”
Alerted by his deep voice, the entire class—all women—have turned to watch the man, as if he’s an alien species who’s just landed on Earth. It’s not unheard of for a man to join the class, but it’s rare, and they’re usually accompanied by a wife or girlfriend.
They’re also not usually as good looking as this man is.
I head toward the far side of the room and gesture for him to meet me at the storage closet in the corner. “Oh wait. Please take off your shoes. You can stow them in there.” I point at the cubby just behind him.
All eyes are still on the man as he kneels to untie his sneakers. He pulls them off, puts them on a shelf and starts toward me again.
“And your socks, too,” I say.
A couple of snickers are audible over the low chanting in the song playing from the room’s speakers. Lines crease the man’s face as he peels his socks down, revealing well-defined calves covered with fine, curling hair that looks like it would be soft to the touch.
When he bends to put his socks on top of his shoes, my eyes track the bottom edge of the quad muscles on his very powerful-looking thighs. The man must do a lot of squats.
Bare-footed now, and with brows more furrowed than when he first entered, the yoga newbie meets me at the closet, where I direct him to the shelves that house the loaner mats. I hold back a shudder as he selects one from the top of the pile. The club claims that they clean and disinfect the mats, but I haven’t seen proof, and I’m not the only person who’s dubious about this; aside from this man, everyone brings their own mats to class.
“You’ll want to grab a block also. Maybe two. How’s your flexibility?”
His response is something close to a grunt as he reaches for a pair of blocks. He may not be the most eloquent man, but he smells good. My nose fills with a clean, woodsy scent, making me imagine that he just took a shower in the middle of a forest.
“Take a spot in any open space,” I tell him before returning to the front of the room.
Now, the glances from all the women in the room are furtive. They’re still checking him out, but they’re trying not to be obvious about it. With everyone else already seated, the man towers over them as he makes his way to a clear space and sets up his mat in line with the people around him.
He looks around at others as he lowers himself to his knees. When his butt hits the mat and he attempts to mimic the cross-legged position that most of his neighbors are in, it’s immediately obvious that it’s not going to work. All of those thick muscles are in serious need of a good stretch.
CHAPTER 2
MILES
Ifucking hate yoga.
This is my first time doing it, and I already know I fucking hate it. So far, class has consisted of hunching over in an uncomfortably cramped position, with foam blocks wedged under my knees as if I’m a car getting my tire changed. Oh, and breathing. Lots of breathing. How does this qualify as exercise?
But I’ve been told I need to be more flexible. And even though my critics are referring to my personality and not my body, I decided to give yoga a try.
I may be rigid, but I’m all about personal improvement. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, yada yada yada.
I’m far from convinced that yoga’s going to be helpful in any way, but I can’t regret coming to this instructor’s class. The girl is hot, and those skin-tight pants make it impossible to stop checking out her ass.
But her big, beautiful brown eyes are also pretty appealing, and the tanned skin beneath her tight crop top makes me wonder how she would taste if I were to run my tongue over that particular area.
“Exhale…” She draws the word out in what most people would take as a soothing tone. Myself, I’m imagining making her moan in that same sexy voice and then hearing her cry out my name.
Fuck. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a woman. I should have rubbed one out in the shower this morning, because yoga’s not working out the pent-up energy like actual exercise does.