by Mel Walker
“They act as if they’ve never seen a man before.”
I suppress my smirk and return to the stove to stir the pot of lentil pasta. “Well, I’m sure they’re just being flirtatious, looking to enjoy their time away from home. I’m sure there’s nothing behind it.”
She holds the baby carrot in front of her face as if considering my words. “Nope. You didn’t see them. If I didn’t jump in and cut them off, they would be out in the woods right now doing it.”
Her sense of responsibility is damn adorable. I must do something about that. “Don’t knock it. Have you ever done it in the woods?”
She tosses the carrot stump in my direction. I catch it with one hand and toss it in my mouth. “Mmm, delicious. I like the taste of your…”
“See?” She cuts me off. “We’re not here for that.”
I lick my bottom lip slowly, allowing my tongue to peek out repeatedly. “So, are you telling me that if a sexy, strapping available man that you found attractive somehow appeared within your grasp, you wouldn’t make a move?” I step into her personal space, my not-so-subtle words the only thing standing between us.
Her gaze roams down my chest before returning to my eyes. “Wow, did you just say strapping? Let me guess, is this guy named Fabio too?”
I snicker, enjoying the back-and-forth banter. The flame glistens off her suddenly happy eyes, my shift in topic having the desired effect of clearing her head. “Wasn’t exactly thinking Fabio. He’d probably go by another name, something more contemporary.”
“So, like an Eric, a Billy, or something like that?”
I nod. “Yeah, something like that with two syllables.”
Her tongue rolls on the inside of her mouth as she begins to put together the pieces. “Hmm, so you’re saying it’s okay for these women who are spending a lot money, investing a lot time and energy to focus on their yoga practice, that it’s okay for them to kick to the curb their priorities which will most likely benefit them the rest of their lives for what, a few hours of fun? With a man they hardly know?”
I turn to check on the stove. Satisfied, I return to her. I lean over the bowl she is hoarding and swipe a cucumber slice. “Why is it either-or?”
Her brow rises as if she is confused by my question. “Well…” She stops.
“Isn’t yoga all about achieving balance?” I counter.
She snickers. “Not only balance, but continue.”
“Well, what better example of balance is there than work hard, play hard.”
She shakes her head. “We’re looking to build a lifestyle. Going hard is a recipe for burnout.”
I push back a bad memory from Seattle and force myself to remain present. “Okay, correction, work medium, play medium. Better?”
She sucks on the end of the baby carrot; my eyes snap to the movement. I shift back, afraid that I’ll reach across the table and swap out that carrot for my finger. She is oblivious to how freaking sexy she is at this moment—hell, in every moment.
“Why must their happiness be measured by hooking up with a man? Why must we define ourselves through a man?”
I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical or not, but I propose a response anyway. “It’s not. Each person is free to define their happiness any way they want. However, in the scenario you presented, it was specifically geared toward a man. So once again, if a man is part of happiness and is available and achievable, why not get your freak on?”
She winces at my phrasing. “Why am I not surprised that you’d feel that way. Maybe I can point the girls in your direction, you know, as the consolation prize for those not fortunately enough to snag Sanjeev.”
My chuckle causes her shoulders to rise.
“You find this funny?”
I continue to laugh and step back toward her. “Who’s being sexist now? You assume just because the woman is interested that a man will roll over and accept anyone?”
Her eyes roll for a second before a smile flashes across her face. She’s enjoying the conversation, and so am I. It’s a nice distraction from the hundreds of little tasks we both have had to focus on. “So, if one of my toned, fit, spandex-wearing women sauntered in here and offered themselves up to you, no strings attached, you wouldn’t entertain them for a bit?”
“So, you think I’m that easy?”
“I know it.” Her retort gets my heart racing. The shift is evident in the room as she peeks over her shoulder to confirm that we are alone. “One, because you’re a man.”
“Careful, you’re about to trigger me.” I mock hurt and place my hand on my chest.
“Poor baby. We’ve had to deal with it for centuries.” She blows a kiss in my direction.
“Okay, so I’m a man, what else you got?”
“So, if let’s say Kelsie comes in here bored and wants to shake things up a bit, you’d have the strength to say no?”
“Which one is Kelsie?” I joke. When she leans back as if she is about to describe her, I lift my hand up. “Joking.” I shake my head. “Not Kelsie, but there is someone I would consider. We both know who.”
Her lips flatten into a straight line as the heat in the air rises a few degrees. The flirtatious gleam remains in her eyes, and I prepare myself, hoping today is the day she responds to the challenge. “I had better check on the ladies and make sure they’re behaving themselves.” She pushes up from the stool, but not before she steals another cucumber slice. “How long before dinner?”
My gaze hovers over her hips as she glides effortlessly across the kitchen. “It’ll be here ready for you whenever your heart desires,” I reply with a smirk.
She wags a finger in my direction as she backs out the room. “You play a dangerous game, Chef.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ll set the mat for you tonight if you need another break.”
She stops in her tracks as I imagine her recalling last night’s session and a possible reply. “Tomorrow’s a big day, lots of sessions. I’ll probably be up late studying and getting ready.”
“Sounds like someone is working too hard. If you want to balance that out, come and see me.”
Her grin hides the blush I know must be there as she wags her finger once again, disappearing down the hall, the words bouncing back into the kitchen. “Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dana
Finding a quiet place to practice without being disturbed is more problematic than I originally thought. Because of the room switch with Sanjeev, I’m sharing a room with Carrie. I love her, but she’s so excited and has been chatting nonstop.
Apparently, it’s contagious as the sunroom, the outdoor deck, and even the front porch is filled with retreat participants. No one seems interested in following my advice and going to bed early to rest for tomorrow.
Aaron and Jackson are busy in the kitchen even at this late hour, cleaning up the dinner mess and prepping for tomorrow. I never realized how much work is involved in feeding an army of picky, health-conscious eaters. I’m sure next time Jackson signs up it will be for a crowd that can get by on burgers and hot dogs.
Next time?
I’m barely through day one and I’m devising ways to spend more time with him. We’ve danced around our attraction for months, yet that simple kiss, his simple declaration, has unlocked something in me. For the first time I can see a future, my past be damned.
I’m about ten yards from the boathouse, my last hope for quiet, when I spot movement. Damn. Someone is sneaking around in the boathouse; I picture Sanjeev and whoever he’s decided to hook up with first in there. When a candlelight fills the small cabin, I turn and head back to the lodge.
I know it’s a bad idea, one that will backfire, but I’m running out of options. I rap my knuckles on the doorframe of the kitchen. Aaron looks up from sweeping. “Hey, Dana, can I help you with something?”
I lay my cheek on the back of my hand and lean onto one foot. “I’m good. Is Jackson around?”
He poin
ts. “Yeah, he’s in the pantry.”
“Thanks,” I whisper and step toward the pantry. Jackson has his back to me as he scans a clipboard. I recognize the paperwork; it’s the delivery manifest. I know I should make my presence known, but instead I pause and enjoy the view for a few seconds.
It’s the end of the night, and his chef jacket removed. His tank top stretches against his muscles as he places a jar of something on the top shelf. Having refilled my cup of images, I ask quietly, “Everything okay?”
He shakes side to side and laughs. “Actually, yeah.” He turns with happiness in his bright blue eyes as he waves the clipboard. “I was just cross-checking the supplies and what we’ve used, and I think some of your yogis may have been sneaking some not-so-healthy treats out the pantry?”
“What?” I step toward him as he hands me the clipboard.
“It’s all good, I just find it funny.” He points to a few circled items. “These were on the original order; I understand they were Lucas’s favorites and go-to snacks.”
“Fritos, Oreos,” I begin to read down the highlighted items. I had forgotten they were on the original order. Snacks for the original chef and his brother, the sous chef. I count five additional check marks. “And all of these items have walked already?”
Jackson chuckles, his laugh echoing off the shelves of the pantry.
“Why are you laughing right now? This retreat is about a healthy lifestyle. Yoga is only part of it. Healthy eating is a key ingredient.”
“Dana, it’s okay. Remember balance. I’m actually happy to see this happen.”
I roll my neck in disbelief. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it means I can now make some cookies and brownies and leave them out for everyone. Aaron had told me yesterday when I suggested it that you’d kill me if I did that, but obviously there’s a demand.”
I don’t have time to debate this with him. I still have three routines to review tonight, and I feel my energy draining away. “Give me the keys to your room.” Jackson has at least two hours of work ahead of him, and his room is the only place I can think that’ll be quiet.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the plastic key card. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“I’m just looking for a quiet place to practice my routine for tomorrow. That’s all.”
He bows—yep, bows—with his arm swinging out to the side and all. “I am honored to be of service to the queen.”
“I really don’t have time right now, Jackson. It’s getting late.”
He must read my face as he straightens up. “Okay, do whatever you need to do. Aaron and I will be here for some time. It’s all yours. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I whisper and hand him back the clipboard. I shake my head at the news about the treats. I guess I really shouldn’t be so hard on everyone. Four days is a long time; I guess they are looking for some balance.
Right now, I need to concentrate on my routines. It’s going to take some concentration and hard work. I smile at the phrase work hard. Where is my balance? When do I get to play hard? I whisper to myself and head to the bedroom of the one person at the lodge who can help me find my balance.
Chapter Seventeen
Jackson
I’m bone-tired as I climb the steps to the bedroom. It’s nearly midnight, yet there remain lights on throughout the lodge. I can hear laughter and televisions through doorways as I walk the hall. More than one participant popped into the kitchen seeking a bottle of wine. These yoga moms are enjoying being away from home. I don’t blame them.
I reach for the doorknob, hoping that Dana left it unlocked. I’d hate to have to chase her down for my key card at this hour. I breathe a sigh of relief as the knob turns. I push in and immediately see her.
She is a vision of spent beauty, laid out on the mat on the floor, a notebook opened to the side, the end of a pencil sticking out from under the bed, having rolled away from her. Poor girl has worked herself to the point of exhaustion. I must push back the desire to pull out my phone and take a picture of the pool of drool forming on the mat as she is stretched out, lying on her arm. Her perfectly sculptured bottom in tight yoga shorts distracts me and I wonder what to do next.
I consider laying a blanket on top of her and letting her sleep the night away, but I know she’ll regret it in the morning, waking up stiff and sore. I squat and hover a few inches above her. “Hey, sleepyhead,” I whisper as she shows no sign of moving. “Hey,” I follow up, but she remains still as a rock.
I look around the room, wondering what my next move will be. I pull out a drawer and grab a clean shirt and shorts and step into the bathroom to wash up. When I exit five minutes later, she is still in the same spot. I thought the sound of the shower would have stirred her, but she’s out like a light. With a fresh shirt and shorts on, I lean over her once again.
This time my gaze lingers on every part of her. Those long tight legs, the super-tight shorts that highlight the best rear on the planet. She must’ve gotten warm during the practice as her T-shirt sits on the chair across the room. Only her gray sports bra remains on. I push back a few locs of her hair and whisper once again, “Dana?”
She finally stirs a bit.
Finally.
My victory is short-lived as she lies flat on the mat and falls back to sleep. “Okay, fine,” I say and squat once again. I slip my hands under her thigh and back and lift her up. Her warm arms wrap around my neck automatically. She lays her head on my shoulder, and a rush of heat runs through me. I look at the door and consider carrying her to her room.
There are still too many eyes up and about. I can imagine the rumors of me carrying her caveman-style back to her room on the first night of the retreat. I lean over the bed and lay her gently on it. She begins to stir once again, her eyes opening for a few seconds, the cloudy dark pupils clearing for a second as a smile forms on her face.
I’m staring into the eyes of an angel. One who is looking at me with a warmth my pathetic dreams could never conjure. This simple unguarded moment warms my heart. The light in her eyes go out as she lays her head back on the pillow, asleep.
I gaze at the sliver of space on the bed before sliding down to the yoga mat. I know my back will take issue with this decision, but it’s the right one.
As I adjust the pillow underneath my head, I feel a thin finger on my cheek. “What are you doing down there?”
They say eyes are the windows to the soul; if this is true, then I am staring at the most beautiful soul on earth. The moonlight from the window frames her face, the light forming a halo. I blink away the image or else I will begin praying at the altar of Dana.
“Sleeping,” I return, matching the low volume and calm in her voice.
“You should be up here; I’m going to head to my room. Carrie should be sleeping by now.”
I sit up, resting on my elbow. “I just came up that way, and very few of them are sleeping. You’re welcome to stay longer, or all night.” I offer options as I don’t want to scare her away.
She mirrors my move, her cheek resting on her hand, elbow propping her up. “Only if you join me.”
I pause and attempt to read her meaning.
“To rest,” she adds. “We’ve both had long days today, and an even longer one tomorrow.” She scoots to the edge of the bed and pats her side. “Come.”
I climb off the floor and hop over her, my weight and movement causing her to roll toward me. My hands land on her shoulder. When I stare into her eyes, what I see is no surprise.
I’ve dreamed of moments like these dozens of times, yet my lips remain sealed. My silence is my downfall.
“Let’s get some rest,” she says. I nod slowly, this moment, like so many between us, slipping away.
She turns her back to me. I’m no longer able to read her expression. My mind races to replay the lost moment and fails to notice her scooting her back toward me. She doesn’t stop until she presses up against me. I bite my lower lip an
d pray that my body doesn’t react.
She twists her head, looking over her shoulder. “Night, Jackson. I may not be here when you wake. I have early sunrise yoga.”
I nod knowing there is no way she’ll be able to move without my body reacting. I lay my head on her shoulder and place a soft kiss on her exposed skin. I linger for a second and take in the smell of her: vanilla scent, strong, clear, and powerful. It’s uniquely her.
She reaches back for my hand and places it gently on her hip. “There. Now we can drift off to dreamland.”
“Already there, sunshine,” I whisper and notice the clench of her jaw. She is holding back a comment. As her face relaxes without a word, I know once again we have danced around a moment. I hide a smile and realize that I’m okay with this moment slipping away. We are only on day one of the retreat. We’ve already kissed, and now she is sleeping in my arms in my bed. I can’t wait to see what the rest of the week will bring.
The buzz on my wrist wakes me from a deep sleep, my 5:00 a.m. breakfast prep alarm. The warm mound of wonderfulness lying on my chest surprises me. Dana is still here, nuzzled in the crook of my arm, looking to take up permanent residence. I’m not sure if it’s because of her fatigue or because she couldn’t go another minute without me.
The thought warms me as I twirl the end of her locs between my fingers. They’ve been tickling my neck most of the night, and I’m curious about them. They are surprisingly soft and moist, as if they’ve been recently oiled. My misstep has her stirring.
“You know you’re not supposed to play in a black girl’s hair?” She blinks her eyes open slowly, each flicker causing my heart to flutter.
I pull my hands back like I’ve touched a hot stove. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
The corner of her lips tilts up as she shifts her neck to get a better look at me. “So are you telling me you’ve never had a black girlfriend?” I listen and wait to see if she slips in the word before.
