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CHAPTER EIGHT
I close my eyes and enjoy the slight pull of my calf muscles as I breathe into a deeper downward dog pose. Butt in the air, fingers splayed on the huge beach sarong I found in the bathroom of the bungalow, my breath pushes out through my nose, and I try to focus on something other than the fact that Nina hasn’t picked up any of the times I’ve called.
Or how much it bothers me that I’ve not seen Sonnie since our unexpectedly fun brunch three days ago. What kind of distraction doesn’t distract?
Unless you count now.
The man himself sits on his half of his porch, shirt off, feet propped on the wooden banister, chair tilted on its back legs. If I didn’t know better, I might think he was meditating.
I scowl up from my towel and snort. Who does that?
Who cares?
Yoga. Back to the yoga.
I get through five salutations in record time, sweat trickling between my breasts, my muscles aching. I push through and start over again. I will not look over there. Air snorts through my nose. I won’t. My movements speed up.
Flynn was wrong. I don’t need stillness. I need movement, and music, and a shed load of sex.
Don’t. Look. Closing my eyes, I blow yet more air through my nose and lift one leg behind me while stretching my arms out, superman-style in front of me. My planted foot wobbles. I breathe in deeper. I can do this.
Flynn’s probably laughing his ass off at me right about now. Me. Trying to find my Zen, while my neighbor has so clearly found his without me. “Meditating sucks, Flynn. You hear me?” I shift my attention to the cloudless sky. “It sucks.”
As if I’d been shoved from above, I promptly lose my balance, wobble, flap, then finally topple onto my ass. “Seriously?” I flop back onto the towel, throw my arm across my eyes to block a funnel of sunlight that’s broken through the palm leaves above me then sneak a peek towards the bungalows.
I may groan. I definitely curse.
Now? Really? He’s looking now?
Not ten minutes ago when I pulled off a perfect headstand? Not fifteen minutes ago when my one-leg tree pose didn’t so much as wobble?
Not three days ago when I thought he’d be a more constant distraction than an occasional visitor.
Brain brain shakes her head. We don’t care about shit like that. We’re only interested in occasional visitors. I glance back towards the bungalows despite myself and Hoo-ha sighs at the sight of him getting to his feet and stretching his arms above his head, back arched, abs tight, that V of muscles tensed just so. Before brain brain can warn otherwise, I grab the sarong and make my way up the sand towards him.
Fortune favors the bold. And I definitely do bold.
The powder-soft sand heats the bare soles of my feet as I cross the small stretch of beach between us.
Done stretching, Sonnie folds his arms and leans a shoulder against the post that separates our porches. “Stan.” His gaze slides down my body before it settles on my face. There’s something missing though. Something different. The crinkles around his eyes seem faded somehow, the easiness of his smile tighter, forced even. “I’m pretty sure yoga is supposed to be relaxing.” The corner of his mouth quirks, but even his dimple seems to have lost its sparkle.
“You sound just like my yoga teacher.” I throw my sarong onto my side of the wooden porch and narrow my eyes. “Stillness has never been my strong point. I like to move—to sweat.”
He lifts his chin in a kind of nod, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth. “Sometimes slowing down works too.” His eyes are almost the exact color of the ocean just meters from where we stand. Cool. Distant. And kind of sad?
A frown wrinkles my forehead. I step up towards him, my head arching back to keep looking at him. “That’s funny. I could have sworn you liked it fast and hard. And loud too.”
“You’d know.” He dips his head to meet my stare, the tension leaving his face with his rough chuckle. “How’s the tattoo?”
As if in direct response to the gravel of his voice, the skin beneath my bikini bottoms tingles. I touch my fingers to the black material. “It’s good. Perfect.”
“Show me.” His gaze drops, his jaw tightening even more if that’s possible. “If it’s healing okay, I’ll get you booked in to finish it.”
I wet my lips but link my fingers beneath the waistband of my bikini to tug it down. Heat blushes over my torso. My nipples, completely misreading the action, make a valiant attempt at escape through the flimsy triangles of material that cover them. It seems that thing he did with his tongue has had a lasting effect on them.
In one smooth movement he drops to sit on the top step of the porch, his hands falling easily to my hips, guiding me up a step until my crotch is level with his face.
Well. This was not how I saw this going. I am not complaining. I don’t even have it in me to make myself look away from his serious face to check that we don’t have company.
