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He smiles.
“I’ll show you some asanas. You’ll probably need to take your jacket off. You’ll need to move a little easier.”
He nods and sheds his jacket, then starts removing the arsenal on his belt. A pair of handcuffs, his collapsible baton, three spare magazines of ammunition, his radio and earpiece. He leaves his weapon holstered on his hip, but undoes the top few buttons on his dress shirt and pulls it over his head. “Should I take off my shoes, too?”
I’m barefoot, and my toes are curling into the carpet. “It will be easier for you if you are.”
Shoes and socks come off, and then he’s standing in front of me in just his suit pants, undershirt, and holstered weapon.
We start with the adho mukha svanasana. I show him how to place his hands and how to press against the floor with both his fingertips and his heels to ease the weight from his wrists and ankles.
“Press your hips to the ceiling. Try to lengthen your spine.”
We raise our hips together, side by side behind the sofa. His legs are long and straight, and the knurls of his spine rise through his T-shirt.
I want to run my hand down his back. Run my lips down his back. Press my cheek to his shoulder as I wrap my arms around his waist.
His eyes meet mine.
“Breathe deeply for five seconds.”
The pose requires ten seconds of steady breath work, but if I can manage five seconds with him beside me, I’ll claim victory.
From there, I guide him into the ardha kapotasana. “Lift your left knee to your chest, then bring it down to the floor like you’re about to sit cross-legged.”
I demonstrate. His lips part as I move, his eyes glued to my flexing thigh.
His movement is shaky, and he wobbles, almost falls, but gets his leg down, folded and lying flat in front of him.
“Now slowly lower yourself as much as you can.” I end up in the splits, one leg straight behind me, the other folded forward, my back straight with my hands resting on my ankle.
“Wow.” He’s frozen, half-down, half-up, like a crumpled piece of paper about to blow over in the wind. “Merde, you’re flexible.”
I smile. “How low can you go?”
“Not anywhere close to that.”
“Try to lie forward. Bend your back leg if you need to, like a windmill.”
He nods and, carefully, gets himself down. Both knees are bent, but his hips are flat, and he’s belly down and lying over his knee. “God, I can feel things stretching I never knew could stretch.” His voice is almost a groan.
“It really opens up the glutes and the lower back.”
His eyes flash and, again, drift over me, lingering on my hips, my legs, my ass. He closes his eyes and rolls his face to the mat. “How many breaths?”
“Ten.”
We breathe together, inhaling and exhaling in the same cadence. His hair falls forward, obscuring his eyes. I should focus on my breath work and the grounding of my body, but I don’t. Instead, my gaze wanders over Reese. Over the tight cotton across his shoulder blades and the way his undershirt rides up in the back, revealing the soft, hidden skin there. His suit pants are straining, clenched around his thighs and his round, firm ass, and—
I clench my teeth and shut my eyes. “Okay, let’s stretch that out.”
Into the utthita ashwa sanchalanasana, a forward lunge with your arms extended over your head. Lengthening after curling tight can be a rush, and I always feel like my legs are longer, my back straighter. I reach, chin up, eyes closed—
Reese stumbles. His legs are shaking, and his center of gravity is off. His arms wave, almost pinwheel, and then he falls into me.
My arms wrap around him and bring him in as we go down, softly hitting the carpet in a tangle of limbs. He’s half beneath me, one arm around me in an instinctive protective hold, one thigh slipped through mine like we’re about to grapple. When we land, he rolls, pushing me down to the carpet and looming over me. Chests together, his arm under me, my thigh pressed against his hip.
Time stills.
