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Alwin flips the paper over, looking for more. “Just that?”
“Yeah.”
He balls the paper up and tosses it over his shoulder. “Next.”
Eventually, we grab guitars from their stands and play. There are no amplifiers, just two guys with guitars in a sound-proof room. It reminds me of the start of my career with Alwin, fresh off a failed ska band and looking for something with more edge.
But that was ten years ago. It’s been a long slog since then.
“Fuck it,” Alwin finally says. “I’m tired. And starving.”
I lead Alwin back to the kitchen, and he opens the fridge.
“Help yourself to anything in there,” I say, struggling to contain a laugh.
His eyes almost pop out of his head. “What the fuck is this shit? Since when do you eat green things?”
“Ha, ha.”
“Seriously, are you a health nut now? Last time I checked, you had the eating habits of my four-year-old nephew.”
“Sara’s vegan. And she cooks.”
“Speaking of Sara,” Alwin says, letting the fridge fall closed and looking around as if she’ll magically appear.
“Leave her alone,” I say. “Want me to order food?”
“You’re in the woods out here. What can you get?”
I place a call to a takeaway shop in Baden-Baden, and when I look up, the kitchen’s empty. I find Alwin leaning against the door to Sara’s yoga studio. She’s on her elbows and knees, facing away from us but at an angle, her ass up in the air. My gaze roams over those perky butt cheeks and the bow of her thighs.
I watched some of Sara’s videos online. I have a new appreciation for how hard it is but also how fucking sexy Sara is.
And then I remember Alwin is there. He’s watching Sara, too, that same appreciation reflected in his eyes.
I tug his shirt to pull him away from the room, but he resists me. “She might be filming,” I whisper. Or worse, live, and I don’t want to fuck up her videos.
“Hey, y’all,” Sara says, projecting her voice. It’s not the calm and reserved voice she uses for the camera, but casual. She’s raised her ass up into the air, rested her head on the floor, and is walking her toes toward her hands. “I’m not filming,” she tells us.
“You’re very flexible,” Alwin comments.
“And strong,” I add on, feeling like I should compliment her too.
“Thanks,” she says and grins while still upside-down. Her toes barely touch the ground now, and she carefully bends her knees, which are tucked into her chest, and points her toes at the sky. After a few beats, she gracefully extends one leg and then the other straight up.
“Whoa,” Alwin mutters.
Then she folds one leg and then the other, knotting them together.
“Now you’re just showing off,” Alwin teases her. “What’s that pose called?”
Sara makes it look smooth and elegant, but there is a bit of strain in her voice when she answers Alwin. “Lotus Handstand.”
We’re quiet as she breathes and then carefully untangles her legs and, in an even more impressive display of control, straightens them to the ceiling for a brief moment and then lowers them to the floor, finally taking her weight off her arms. She’s sweating and breathing hard, and I’m definitely turned on . . . and I’m sure Alwin is too.
“We’ve ordered lunch,” I say, doing whatever I can to turn our attention away from the V of her legs. “I ordered an extra veggie stir fry if you want it.”
“Thanks,” she says.
