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“You should be fine. It’s just a beginner class. I think the one Caleb came to was intermediate.”
“I’ve got this, then.”
“We’ll see. You ready to roll back over and continue this massage?”
“As long as you promise not to avoid me for another week.” My eyebrows lift.
“Promise.”
“All right, you hold the sheet and I’ll flip back over.”
She does and turns her face away. I flip over and place my head back in the circle at the end of the table.
Mission accomplished.
TWELVE
Collins
Acouple of days after the massage, I meet Ansel at the yoga studio.
I’m excited to go back to something that I used to really enjoy, but those nerves I had before the wine-and-paint night are making an appearance again.
God, have I really become such a hermit that going to a yoga class feels overwhelming? Maybe this is exactly what I need, exposure therapy of sorts.
Ansel steps in the studio and removes his coat, leaving him in a T-shirt and shorts. I meant to mention to him not to wear athletic pants since it’s hot yoga, but it looks like he either did some research or thought of it himself.
I’m wearing a pair of dusty green biker shorts with a matching sports bra. Over the top, I have a thin, white, long-sleeved sweater that I’m sure I’ll be ditching in a few minutes once I get too hot. Even in the heated waiting area, I’m not comfortable standing around in biker shorts and a sports bra.
“Hey, you ready to do this?” I smile at Ansel.
Truth is, I’m curious to see how he fares tonight. Not that I’m entirely confident in my own performance. It’s been years since I’ve done yoga, though I’ve gone through spurts where I do some basic stretches before bed to keep myself limber.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re doubting my athletic ability?” He narrows his eyes playfully.
I raise both hands. “I never said such a thing.”
“Hmm, not sure you have to.”
A woman who appears to be around our age with her red hair pulled back into a ponytail comes out into the waiting area. “All right, everyone, the studio is ready. Please come in and set up your station.”
Ansel curses under his breath as the woman goes back into the studio.
I turn to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s Rachel Lindsay. I broke up with her in junior year and immediately started dating her cousin, and she’s never let me forget it.”
I bite my lip to not laugh in this serene area.
“Remember I told you about Mrs. Galloway catching me making out with a girl in the art supply closet?” he says, and I nod. “It was her cousin.”
“Well, if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions coming back to bite you in the ass.”
He rolls his eyes in a good-natured way. “Just so you know, this still isn’t going to affect my performance.”
“Want to put a wager on that?” I place my hands on my hips.
Ansel grins. “Name it.”
