You May Kiss the Bridesmaid

by Camilla Isley

  As if reading my mind, Archie lets go of my ankle and stands up, offering me a hand. “You’re ready to forget that name of yours.”

  I swing my legs off the recliner, sitting with my back straight, and look up at him. I take his hand and let him pull me up and into the room… ready to make my next mistake.

  Six

  Summer

  Sunlight filters through the blinds, waking me up. I stir and stretch under the covers, not opening my eyes yet. I feel simultaneously rested and exhausted.

  I blink. I don’t recognize my surroundings. Honestly, I’m not sure when, where, or who I am. I turn my head and find two piercingly ice-blue eyes peering down at me.

  Archie’s lips part in a wicked grin. “Took you a minute there, didn’t it?”

  I can’t help but smile back. Yeah, the man is cocky, but not without good reason. Still, I’m not about to inflate his already large ego.

  I straighten up on the bed, pulling the sheets along with me—not that there’s any need for modesty at this point. A few highlights of the night’s activities quickly flash through my head, threatening to make me blush. So, I blink the memories away and address Mr. Cocky instead. “You don’t do humble, do you?”

  He raises his hands behind his head, elbows opened wide, biceps showing. “Never saw the point. Never had a reason to.”

  He throws me a side look that’s enough to make my toes curl.

  I need a break from all the testosterone.

  “I need a shower,” I say, trying to figure out a way to get out from under the covers without him seeing me naked. Ridiculous, I know.

  “Want company?” Archie offers. “I’m the best at soaping up.”

  “No doubt,” I say sincerely. “But I prefer to use my own room.”

  “Sure,” he says with half a shrug, pointedly staring at me as if he knows I’m embarrassed to get up while he’s looking.

  But you know what, Mr. Cocky? If I’m not exactly bold by nature, I can sure fake it till I make it, especially when someone prods my pride. Acting carefree, I throw the sheets away from my body and hop off the bed, taking my time retrieving my clothes from wherever we’ve tossed them around the room. It’s a reverse striptease. But it works just fine. Archie’s eyes never leave my skin, I can tell even when I’m giving him my back. And his hungry expression as I pull the zipper of my little black dress up tells me I’m going to pay for the improvised performance next time he gets his hands on me. Ah, well, two can play the game.

  My final act is to move out to the patio to retrieve my shoes. I pull one on and lean against the French windows, standing halfway inside the room to pull on the other.

  “One last thing,” I say, straightening up and smoothing the creases of my skirt down. “No one can know about our… arrangement. Especially not my sister.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  “Okay, but in public, we have to act as if we don’t know each other. Like, at all.”

  Archie leans forward on the bed, the sheets rolling to the side and showing more distracting skin than I care to deal with right now. It’s hard to keep my tone stern when so many muscles are on display.

  “I can manage that,” he says.

  “Very well.” I give my pencil skirt one last straightening shimmy and head for the door. “See you later.”

  I exit and close the door behind me, leaning my back against it for a moment. I let out a long exhale. Acting cool is exhausting. My heart is beating so fast I could’ve just come back from a—Aargh!

  The door supporting my weight opens unexpectedly, and I tumble to the floor, landing on the carpet like a sprawled starfish. Above me, Archie is doing his best not to laugh while he looks down at me. My only consolation is that he’s pulled on his boxer shorts before coming to the door. I wouldn’t have cared for the fresh perspective on his… mmm… Pickle? Willy? Banana?

  Oh gosh, and now he knows I’m thinking about his… Princess Sofia?

  “You forgot your purse.” He dangles the black clutch above me and offers me a hand to stand up.

  I make a point of getting up on my own. Then, having forever lost all my coolness, I quickly grab my bag, nod an embarrassed thank you, and make a run for it.

  ***

  Back in the safety of my room, I contemplate taking a cold shower. I sure could use one. But who enjoys a cold shower? And do people really take voluntary ones? I don’t think so. And my muscles are too sore from last night anyway to put them through a freeze fest. Honestly, I should skip the shower altogether and go for a bath—but there’s not enough time for that, not if I want to catch the 8 a.m. yoga class I saw on the resort’s activities schedule. I need the stretching, and to practice some guided relaxation techniques.

  I compromise with a short but scorching hot shower, and change into black leggings and a neon pink tank top. In the lobby, I follow the signs to the detached cabana where the class will be held. When I reach it, I’m fifteen minutes early and only the teacher—a medium-height, super-lean brunette in a ponytail—is here. To keep busy, I grab a yoga mat, position it to the far left side of the giant thatched hut with sliding glass walls that are now closed, and enjoy the view while I stretch my thighs.

  I’m balancing on my left leg, holding my right foot close to my butt with one hand in a standing quad stretch, when a warm breath brushes against my neck.

  “Morning,” Archie says.

  And all I can say for myself is that I manage not to tumble at this man’s feet for the second time in less than an hour. I narrow my eyes at him and follow his movements as he grabs a yoga mat and places it next to mine.

  “Are you stalking me now?” I hiss. “I said no contact during the day.”

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “Just here for the yoga, honey.” And then, leaning in closer so that only I can hear, he adds, “Do you think I could hold some of the positions from last night without regular training?”

  My entire body flames up at the comment, but I’m spared the need to come up with a smart retort by the arrival of other hotel guests. I just scowl at him in a back-off way and step on my mat, pointedly staring forward.

  Not a very long-sighted strategy. I should’ve moved to the other side of the cabana. Because from here, I’m either facing his well-rounded buns that even yoga pants can’t hide, or am all too aware he’s turned toward my rear end. And as someone once said, leggings never lie. No matter that mine are the super covering type; I feel naked.

  Ah! So much for an hour of meditation and relaxation. Yoga is stressing me out more than having to talk to the dude. I should’ve taken a bath; that’s where I should be right now, soaked to the neck in hot, bubbly water. Instead, I’m stuck two feet away from the very man I was trying to wash out of my system.

  I’m so on edge I don’t immediately grasp what the teacher—Miranda—is saying. I automatically nod like the rest of the class, not knowing what I’m agreeing to. Must be something good if everyone else is on board.

  “Very well,” our instructor says, smiling at us. “Let’s all pair off.” She wiggles a finger between Archie and me.

  Oh gosh, what did I say yes to? This is about to turn into the yoga session from hell.

  “As I was saying,” Miranda continues. “Acro Yoga is not a discipline for everybody, but I practice it often and teach it as well, and it has helped me detox a little from our lives spent holding devices. Acro is as much about the physical and platonic touch. It’s a group activity that builds a sense of community, as we have to hold hands with strangers and trust in them. In short, I love it, and I always try to promote its practice and encourage my students to try it out.” Miranda smiles enthusiastically. “But beware, it can be addictive. Ready?”

  The class yells a widespread, “Yeah!”

  “Let’s do it.” She claps her hands once. “Today, I’ll walk you through a few basic exercises that I hope won’t be too challenging for anyone.” She gives us another encouraging smile.
“So, let’s start with the very basics. To practice Acro Yoga, you need one person to play the role of base and one to be the flyer. Usually, the stronger, heavier person is the base.”

  Archie and I stare at each other, silently agreeing he’s going to be the base.

  “I’ll circle correcting poses and to make sure everyone’s safe,” Miranda carries on. “We’re going to start our beginners’ sequence with a Plank on Plank pose to help build core strength and learn how to support a partner. If you’re the base, take Plank pose with your hands shoulder-width apart, arms straight, core engaged.”

  Everyone designated as the base—all the men in the class and two women, we’re five couples in total—assume the position.

  “Very well,” Miranda says. “Now, flyers, facing your base’s feet, place your hands on their ankles, press down with straight arms, and place your left foot on their distant shoulder. Once you feel secure, place your other foot on their near shoulder and hold steady.”

  I grab Archie’s ankles and follow the instructions. This isn’t too bad, I’m looking at his heels and he’s looking at the floor. There isn’t much contact, platonic, or physical.

  So far, so good.

  After thirty seconds—more than enough in Plank—Miranda calls the pose off. “Okay, class, that was fantastic. Now let’s try another pose that’s amazing to build trust between partners, and to teach the bases how to support their flyers. This one’s called Plank Press. Bases, please lie on your backs facing your flyers, knees bent.”

  Archie turns on the mat and lies down, looking up at me. He’s keeping a straight face, but his eyes are filled with mischief. I take a deep breath and wait for the rest of the instructions. I fear this pose won’t be as easy-peasy lemon squeezy.

  “Flyers, place your feet in between your partner’s. Perfect.” She takes a quick look around the class and motions for me to advance a little. “Don’t be afraid to really get in there.”

  I take another step forward, and Archie winks at me, causing a small butterfly explosion in my stomach.

  “Now, bases,” Miranda continues. “Set your feet hip-width apart on your flyers hips.”

  The contact is innocent but intimate. My hipbones are tingling. I didn’t even know that was possible.

  “Flyers, open your arms in a T shape and keep your bodies straight while maintaining a strong core. Bases, bend your knees toward your chest and receive your flyer’s weight and then push back slowly. Flyers, plant your feet on the floor and trust your weight to the base. Try several times, each time coming in deeper.”

  Archie’s lips curl at the corners, and his eyes burn into mine. Has yoga always been riddled with double entendres, or is it just this man that can make everything seem dirty, hot, sexual, and why aren’t we in his bed right now? Maybe having morning sex is how I should’ve started the day, because this sure as hell seems like an extended foreplay session and I’ve no idea how long I’ll have to wait before my next Archie fix.

  “Fantastic, class.” Miranda claps, distracting me from my reverie. “Let’s try out one last pose.”

  Thank goodness this will be over soon.

  “This one is called the Base Test. And it’s a very beneficial pose to help the base practice staying stable while the flyer lifts off. We’re all good so far?”

  The class cheers with varying levels of enthusiasm, prompting Miranda to keep going.

  “Great. So, bases. Stay on your backs and lift your legs ninety degrees in an L shape, stacking your feet over your hips for stability.” She waits for everyone on the floor to comply with the instructions, and then continues, “Now, flyers. Cross your forearms and settle on your bases’ feet. Your elbows should be firmly planted in the middle of your partner’s soles.”

  Once we’re all in position, Miranda delivers the final stroke. “Now, make eye contact with your base to establish trust.”

  I lower my gaze to Archie’s face, and a wave of heat slams into me. This is ridiculous. We’ve had sex, for heaven’s sake. And this pose is chaste in comparison to what we did last night. But the eye contact is intense. His eyes are so blue, so penetrating. I feel like they can read my soul’s deepest secrets.

  Last night, in the dark, I could close my eyes and forget where I was and who I was with. But this morning, the universe is forcing me to confront all my bad decisions.

  No, “bad” isn’t the right word. “Dangerous” is.

  A light touch on my elbow distracts me. “Are you having trouble with the pose?” Miranda asks.

  “No, why?” I turn to her, then look around the cabana. Everyone else has lifted off the floor and is perched on their partners’ legs like parrots. But I got so lost in Archie’s eyes, I didn’t even hear Miranda utter the next round of instructions. “Sorry,” I say. “I was just—”

  “No need to apologize,” Miranda interrupts me. “Take all the time you need. Whenever you’re ready, fold your arms into your base’s feet and slowly lift off the ground.”

  I nod and assume the pose. Then make the mistake of looking at Archie again. No wink this time, but that doesn’t save me from having butterflies exploding in my belly all over again.

  How long do we have to stay in this position?

  As if on cue, Miranda answers my prayers. “And, flyers, please slide back to the floor. Wonderful job, class, we’ve earned a few minutes of relaxation in corpse pose, yeah?”

  I flee to the safety of my mat, lay down, and close my eyes, ready to disappear in a quiet spot in my mind with no Archibald Hills in it.

  Easier said than done.

  I try to follow Miranda’s meditating instructions, but every fiber of my body is still hyper-aware of the man lying beside me. No amount of closing my eyes, opening my mind, letting my breath occur naturally, and allowing my body to feel heavy on the ground works.

  Instead, my body feels light like a feather and… tingly.

  “Work from the soles of your feet up to the crown of your head,” Miranda says. “Consciously release every body part, organ, and cell.”

  Ah. All I can think about is how Archie’s hands followed the same path last night, starting literally from the soles of my feet to end up tangled in my hair.

  “Relax your face. Let your eyes drop deep into their sockets. Invite peace and silence into your mind, body, and soul.”

  Peace and silence, uh? I fear I’ve invited the devil into my mind, body, and soul.

  Seven

  Archie

  “Okay, class, it’s now time to come out of Savasana.” The yoga instructor’s voice makes me jump.

  With barely two hours of sleep under my belt, I was already dozing off. I hope I wasn’t snoring.

  “To exit the pose…” Miranda’s soothing voice keeps rolling instructions I don’t want to follow. All I want to do is curl on my side and sleep. “Deepen your breath. Inhale and exhale. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Wonderful.” She leaves us a few instants to breathe before continuing. “Now, bring gentle movement and awareness back to your body; you can start by wiggling your fingers and toes. When you’re ready, roll to your right side. Rest for a moment before slowly pressing into a comfortable sitting position. Inhale as you unfold your body, letting your head be the last thing to come into place. And exhale.”

  Once we’re all up and ready to go, Miranda gives the class a slight saluting bow and says, “Try to carry the peace and stillness of Savasana with you throughout the rest of your day. I hope I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

  The class bows in return, most looking relaxed. Not Summer. She’s still on the pissy side. She’s been glaring at me the entire time we’ve been doing practice together. The scowls mixed with copious blushing.

  The woman is such a mystery. Last night, she surprised me by coming to my room. Heck, after her first response at the bar I thought I had blown it, but not thirty minutes later and she was knocking on my door to give me one of the wildest nights of my life… which was�
� ah… something I shouldn’t think about while wearing yoga pants.

  Right. I meet Summer’s evil eye and smile. With her skin-tight leggings on, the high ponytail, and mixed-signal dirty looks, she has enough of a prim-but-shy cheerleader vibe to make me want to carry her back to my bed and sex the attitude out of her.

  Something else I shouldn’t think about while wearing yoga pants.

  Speaking of dos and don’ts, she also said we should act like total strangers during the day. But I know women: what they say and what they mean are not necessarily the same. For example, “Pretend you don’t know me” would probably translate to, “You can’t just ignore me. Be nice and acknowledge we had sex, and it was fantastic, and you can’t wait to do it again, but in such a way no one but me will notice.”

  Easy, right?

  So, before hitting the breakfast buffet, I act like any decent yoga partner would: I walk two steps toward her, nod, and say, “Great practice.” I throw in a quick hug and a wink.

  Chill enough no one would suspect. But also intimate and conspiratorial enough, she knows I’m not ignoring her or acting like a douche or pretending last night didn’t happen.

  Perfect.

  Still, Summer has gone all stiff on me and is glaring harder than ever. Her taut lips open only to mutter a strained, “See you around.” And then she’s off toward the resort, leaving me with a nice view of her indignant behind strolling away. Aaand… strike three on things I shouldn’t think about while wearing yoga pants.

  Ah, the woman is a real riddle. I thought we’d broken the ice last night, hell, melted a whole glacier. But it looks like I still have some work cut out for me. And where would the fun be otherwise? I’ve always enjoyed a challenge. But not on an empty stomach, as a loud grumble kindly reminds me. Ready to hit that buffet, I hop off the three wooden steps of the cabana and head inside.