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“Halfway lift. Inhale.”
I lift my torso to a flat back.
Ansel makes the smallest sound. Not a grunt, but a mix of displeasure and discomfort.
Do not look. Do not look.
“Exhale. Fold.”
I look.
He’s bent in half with his fingertips nowhere near the mat. They hover somewhere around mid-shin, his face a mask of concentration with a firm expression as if he’s trying to convince his body to do something it’s not supposed to do.
He catches me looking. “What?” he whispers.
“Nothing,” I whisper back.
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m not.” But I’m barely keeping my enjoyment contained.
“You’re laughing inside.”
I shake my head, amused, then shift my attention to the front of the class.
“Now let’s move into downward dog.”
I’m just getting into position when a thump rings out. I open my eyes and swivel my head. Ansel is on his stomach, flat like a starfish with his cheek pressed to the mat, facing me, and his arms splayed out on either side.
“Are you alive?” I whisper.
“Define alive.”
A laugh punches out of me before I can stop it, and the woman in front of me gives us a dirty look. I press my mouth shut and stare at my mat.
“Now walk it back up,” Rachel says.
Once I’m standing, my eyes veer to Ansel, still splayed on the floor. “You’re missing the end of class.” I keep my voice soft.
“I’m communing.”
My chest moves up and down with a silent chuckle. “With the floor?”
He rolls to his side and looks at me. “With my regret.”
I follow Rachel’s instructions for the last few movements, my muscles enjoying the gentle stretches. When I glance at Ansel, he’s still watching me. Not smiling or joking, just watching.
I shift my gaze to look forward again before sitting on my mat, hating that my belly is doing that butterfly thing. Doesn’t it know Ansel is the last man that should make it flutter?
THIRTEEN
Ansel
Rachel gives me the once-over and a sharp nod as Collins and I walk out of the yoga studio into the waiting room.
Everyone thanks her as they walk past, but I don’t bother because what I just experienced was a form of torture. I like to consider myself fit—I work out five times a week at the gym, I run on the treadmill—but I was not prepared for whatever the fuck just happened in that room.
Who knew stretching could be so strenuous?
