For a long moment, I just stand there blinking, but then speech and thought take over the primal physicality of my body that I've been reduced to.
This Kennedy Butler...I mean, wow. She has so much authority and power radiating off of her, she's practically magnetic. I can feel my body leaning toward her, actually, so I'm probably not that far off.
I nervously shove my hand through my hair, making it probably stick up in a million different directions, like I just got shocked by static.
“So, what brings you to our retreat weekend?” Kennedy asks me warmly then, after she's stopped looking me up and down. She leans backward on the front desk with her elbows so that her chest curves out toward me even more than it was already doing.
Do not stare at her, Trish. Do not stare.
Technically, right this moment, I should be utterly honest with Kennedy. I should tell her that my sister bought me this awesome weekend retreat package as a Christmas present. I should tell her that I've never done yoga before, that it's my sister who's into yoga—not me. Maybe I should even be so honest as to tell her that I didn't really want to come on this trip in the first place, that people had to talk me into it because I'm a workaholic. And I don't know the first thing about yoga.
“I...I just...” I take a deep breath, hold tightly to my purse strap. “I just needed a vacation,” I tell her, letting out a little sigh.
Why didn't I tell her the truth?
“Well, we're really glad you're here,” says Kennedy, her head to the side again as she smiles at me, the warmth radiating off of her into me, making my shoulders lower a little, tension easing out of me by degrees.
So, I'm not exactly lying to Kennedy. I really did need a vacation. I'm just...not sharing the information that I've never done yoga before in my life.
Because it doesn't matter. After all, I'm not going to be doing a second of yoga while I'm here...
“So, you've come in early,” she tells me, reaching behind the front desk and procuring an electronic tablet. She wakes the thing up and scrolls through a document. “Most of your fellow retreat attendees aren't arriving until tomorrow...so you practically have the place to yourself to relax, get settled in.” Again she pins me with that bright, emerald gaze, making me go all weak in the knees as she gives me a super soft, indulgent smile.
I've got to remember—my sister bought me the super exclusive package. Kennedy's probably just trying to make me feel at home. She's probably, if I'm being honest, this nice to all of the retreat participants. Why wouldn't she be?
But I can't help my attraction and everything that my body is feeling for Kennedy.
My sister—pretty bluntly—calls it “Need-to-get-laid-itis,” and I'm pretty familiar with the condition: strong attraction to an obviously confidant, sexy-as-hell lady. I get “Need-to-get-laid-itis” pretty infrequently, but when it comes on, it's strong and insistent. But this is kind of different. I'm very familiar with the fact that I get attracted to ladies pretty frequently. I'm also highly aware of the fact that I don't have time for anything more than the most casual dating and hook-ups right now with how demanding my job has become.
But, again...what I'm feeling towards Kennedy is kind of different. Kennedy has a sort of animal magnetism to her movements and expressions and gorgeous body...it's true.
But what's also true is the fact that I'm drawn to her in the kind of way that I'm not usually drawn to anyone.
Physical attraction is one thing. Most people have physical attraction for specific attributes, and I know my type of lady through and through, the kind of woman who will make me weak in the knees, who makes my heart flutter. But when I look at Kennedy, there's something so open and kind about her. I've only been around her for a handful of moments, but she strikes me as someone who is big-hearted, fierce and courageous.
My heart that hasn't really cared about much these past few years, the heart that I very, very carefully concealed and hid away so that all of the pain of my past would feel less painful...begins to stir.
It's really disconcerting, that feeling. I don't honestly know if I like it.
But it's happening, all the same.
“Uh...” I cough a little, feeling the floor begin to reel beneath me. All I've been doing all day is sleeping, but I suddenly feel tremendously tired again. Like everything is too much, the inside of the retreat center too warm, the lights overhead—even though they're dimmed—feel too bright on my eyes.
And Kennedy is a little too much, standing right there in front of me, radiating that animal magnetism like sunshine.
“Um...my room?” I ask her, pushing my shoulders back a little, and standing straighter. I want to sit down on something nice and soft and think about what's just happened to me. “I'd love to see my room,” I tell her.
But that's apparently not in the cards.
“Let me check the list and see who you're rooming with,” Kennedy tells me, fixing me with that dazzling smile again as she pages to another document on her tablet, turning a little away from me.
I blink.
“Rooming?” I ask her, my heart rate increasing.
“Yes—since this is such an intimate singles retreat this weekend, we've really gone all out. All of our instructors will be paired with each retreat participant, so that yoga can be done upon first waking, and when you get ready for bed,” she tells me, her head to the side. Little wrinkles appear on her forehead as she frowns softly. “Did you get a chance to read the web site information? It explained all of this—the info was on the site when you registered—”
“No, no...I didn't read the web site information,” I tell her, feeling suddenly very, very in over my head.
I have the realization at the exact moment she looks up at me from the tablet with a wide smile.
Oh, shit, I think, swallowing. I'm going to have to do yoga.
“You're going to be rooming with me!” she tells me triumphantly.
I could never have expected this.
Oh, shit, I think, paling. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
“How much yoga experience do you have, Trish?” she asks me, setting the tablet back under the front desk and taking me in once more, her eyes roaming over my body unabashedly.
None. Absolutely none, I think, panic beginning to set in.
“Oh, you know...” I tell her, turning my hand around and around as I try to figure out where the hell I'm going with this. Tell her the truth, you idiot! I think.
The phone behind the desk rings, and Kennedy holds up her finger with a bright smile. “Five seconds—just let me get this. The instructors are up at the summit of the mountain, preparing for this weekend, and I'm expecting a call from one of them,” she says, turning away from me. She picks up the phone. “Rainbow Yoga!” she purrs into the receiver.
I back away from her, sitting down on the edge of one of the couches that I thought looked so comfortable a moment ago. I was right—the big, red couch is very comfortable, practically sucking me down into it so that my body is completely held by a soft, warm cushion. But it doesn't give me any comfort right now as I consider how, in a few short moments, I've gotten in completely over my head.
Okay—what the hell was that? Did I really not tell her the truth that I don't know the first thing about yoga?
So, I'm completely ashamed to admit it, but here it is: I don't want to tell her that I'm painfully clueless. It's absolutely stupid, I'll be the first person to say so, but I don't want to tell her that I'm a complete beginner and have no idea what I'm doing...I don't honestly want to be that vulnerable.
I know Kennedy's going to be rooming with me, for heaven's sake. She's going to be my personal instructor. Surely she'll realize immediately that I don't know the first thing about any of this, that I've never done a minute of yoga in my damn life...
But, maybe...possibly...I take a deep breath and gulp.
Maybe I can fake it?
Great, Trish—that's your plan? I give a long sigh as I look out the windows at the big
, dark storm clouds, rolling in over the mountains. A couple of heavy, thick flakes drift past the window, and in a few moments, it's hard to see the big, tall spruce tree located a few feet away from the back sliding glass door of the retreat center because of the flurry of snow descending from the sky.
Okay. So, yoga, I think to myself furiously. How hard can it possibly be?
I have absolutely no experience with yoga other than seeing some sitcom characters do it, the visuals of people doing yoga in commercials and passing a yoga studio on my way to work every day, women coming out of the studios with their hair up in ponytails, holding on to their yoga bags and to-go coffee cups and chatting together.
I used to run a few years ago, and running is pretty hardcore. In comparison of running, how hardcore can yoga possibly be?
Kennedy gets off the phone, comes out from behind the front desk and crosses the space between us, moving her lithe limbs like she's stalking me, a gorgeous, lethal predator with prey in its sights. I don't know why Kennedy gives me that impression, but her movements are so animalistic, so free and fierce.
I swallow, gulping as she strides toward me, as time seems to slow, her cascade of red curls sliding over her bare shoulder and down the soft, pale skin of her arm...
Keep it together, Trish.
“I apologize for the interruption—that was my head instructor on the phone. They're communing with the nature on top of the mountain, getting back to their...embracing their animal...um, guides, for the weekend...” Kennedy tells me, sinking gracefully down on the cushion beside me. She doesn't skip a beat as I wonder what “animal guides” could possibly mean. Kennedy turns a bright, dazzling smile on me, her head to the side. “Did you say that you wanted to see your room?”
“Yes,” I tell her resolutely, standing fast. “I'd love to.”
“Well, while I'm at it, I'll give you the grand tour of the retreat center,” Kennedy tells me, her mouth curling up at the corners like she's about to share a very important secret with me. “If you'd like?” she asks me, rising and standing next to me, close to me, her hip curling out toward me invitingly.
Does she realize how much animal magnetism she has? Good God. I swallow again, nodding politely. “Yes, I'd love a tour,” I tell her, my mouth as dry as a desert. I dig around in my purse for the bottle of water I bought at the airport.
“I founded Rainbow Yoga about ten years ago,” Kennedy tells me then, gesturing to the front desk, the big windows, the warm, inviting space that we both see spreading out in front of us. Her hands are big and broad, and she has long, tapered fingers ending in very short nails, like she bites them, I realize, feeling my cheeks warm as I try to stop watching her every moment, try to take in the retreat center instead.
Kennedy takes a few steps forward, glancing back at me. “I wanted to create a place in the mountains that would be a sanctuary,” she says, lifting one brow. “The outside world can be very hectic. It can be judgmental and harsh. I wanted a place where everyone would be welcome, where everyone would feel safe. So Rainbow Yoga was born.”
She strides easily out of the main entrance into a wide side hallway lined with watercolor paintings of the mountains surrounding us. I take my suitcase by the handle and follow along behind her.
And try very hard not to stare at her butt.
I feel like I'm seventeen years old again, hormones and desire pouring through me. This isn't really like me. I clear my throat again, try to concentrate on what she's saying as I lift my gaze...
And realize that she'd paused in the hallway, turning back to look at me.
And totally caught me staring at her rear.
I feel my cheeks color as red as a stop light as I stop on a dime and bite my lip, watching her expression change.
She was in the middle of saying something about the eco-conscious construction of the building, but she stops cold. And then, Kennedy shakes her head a little. And she actually chuckles, the soft laughter low and velvety.
“Anyway,” she tells me, raising a single brow and turning back to continue walking down the corridor. Her lips curve into a very sexy smile. “The practice rooms are just here.” She inclines her head toward a divide in the hallway and takes the left branch of the corridor.
Kennedy didn't even really skip a beat. And she didn't comment on the fact that I was staring, either. She seemed, if anything, amused by that fact.
Well, now I just feel stupid. She probably gets stared at all the time, by everyone who comes to the retreat center. Kennedy isn't “beautiful” by magazine standards of beauty...but she doesn't have to be. Kennedy has this raw vitality to her, an animal magnetism, she holds your gaze...of course she gets stared at. And here I am, doing what everyone else does. I sigh deeply, tugging my suitcase behind me in dejection. I've really got to get it together.
I realize that if I can't have time in my room alone, then I definitely need a visit to the bathroom just to regroup. I need to splash some cold water on my face, take a couple of deep breaths and try to calm down all of those aforementioned raging hormones.
Just because I'm on vacation doesn't mean I have license to stare at the hot yoga instructor, I remind myself in a huff. Really, Trish, who does that?
“Here's the main practice room—it's the one we'll be using during the duration of the weekend, because it's so intimate.” Kennedy says in her low, velvet voice as she pushes the wooden door open and strides inside the echoing space beyond. I leave my suitcase in the hallway and follow her in.
The room has immensely tall ceilings that curl inward at the very peak—it takes me a full minute to realize that the ceiling reminds me entirely of a church's.
There are tall windows every few feet set into the wall, and the floor is oak. There is nothing else in the room besides the colorful light fixtures overhead, spilling warm light into the room.
“It's nice,” I tell her, biting at my lip as we turn to exit the room, and I see a stack of yoga mats in the corner. I finger the edge of my collar and tug at it, flashing her a worried smile as we step back into the corridor.
“There's a mess hall just down this way,” Kennedy tells me, gesturing to our left. “And then your room is the big suite of the place because of your exclusive package. It's the Rainbow Room. It's right this way.”
I follow Kennedy down the long hallway to an l-shaped fork in the corridor. We turn down it, and on the right is a modern-looking oaken door with a silver knob.
“Here's the Rainbow Room,” Kennedy tells me warmly, opening the door and stepping back so I can take in the room. I have to brush past her to get into the room itself, something I'm sure she didn't realize I'd have to do, but my upper arm is glancing softly against her breasts for half a second before I can step into the room.
Again, a zing of electricity moves through me. I take a deep breath, try to calm the thudding of my heartbeat, and I look up at my surroundings.
Whereas the entrance, common rooms and practice rooms of Rainbow Yoga certainly had a lot of windows...this entire room seems to have walls built entirely out of glass. I stop in the middle of the room, my breath catching in my throat...because the room itself looks out on the grandeur of the mountains ascending around us, the snow falling now at a pretty good clip, but I can still see the view. The room has two low beds built in a very modern style in the middle of the floor, and there's a small, modern-looking oak dresser in the corner. The soft mood lighting is continued here, glowing from overhead in blown-glass fixtures.
Mostly, you just pay attention to the fact that only thin glass separates you from the jaw-dropping beauty of nature all around you.
God...it's beautiful. The beauty of the mountains is so put on display here, boldly, fantastically. It actually makes my heart skip a beat.
“Wow,” I whisper, stepping through the room and finally letting go of my suitcase handle. I cross the room to stand in front of the farthest glass wall, the wall that looks out on a copse of fir trees that tower over us, cradling the enormous, gra
y storm clouds overhead. For a moment, the snow lightens up, and I'm able to get a good look at the angry clouds. It looks like a bad storm is rolling in...
“Do you like the room?” Kennedy asks quietly, her voice soft with pleasure as she takes in my reaction. She's leaning on the door frame now with her left hip, her arms folded loosely in front of her, but she hasn't entered the room with me. Not yet.
She's watching me, I realize. Just like I was watching her.
But...that can't be possible. I'm attractive, in my own way, if I'm your type. I have a few extra pounds, but I think it sits well on me, giving my hips a little extra curve. My short brown hair is always misbehaving, but I think it gives me a sort of devil-may-care look on the good days (on the bad days is another story entirely!). I've got a sharp face with high cheekbones, and friends of mine in high school always told me I looked intense. People now just think I'm constantly worrying about something. Which, I suppose, I am.
But as Kennedy takes me in, her eyes roving over my body again, I realize that—this time—she's not assessing my physical condition or how much yoga I've (not) been doing lately.
I'm fairly certain she's looking me up and down because she's appreciating the view.
This has happened to me approximately two times in my life (that I've noticed). Once, when I met Clare, and more recently when I met Barbara, my most recent one night stand, courtesy of the Flamingo, the only lesbian bar in West Palm Beach.
I'd like to point out, right now, for the record: these kinds of things just don't happen to me. That sounds a little pessimistic, but I'm being serious. I mean, I guess they used to, once...
I take a deep breath as the realization hits me squarely in the heart: the problem is that, yes, these sorts of things used to happen to me. They used to happen when I took more risks. When I went out of my comfort zone to experience something I never had before.
I'll never forget the first time I came to the Rockies. I was fresh out of high school, had only a couple of bucks in my pocket because I'd spent most of my money on the round-trip plane tickets to get there and back home. When I arrived in Colorado, I ended up staying at a tiny campground on the side of a mountain, and that night, I met a woman and took her back to my tent. Just like that. Just like magic. It had been wild, that night, and I look back on it with fond memories as an example of all of the crazy stuff I used to be completely capable of. The only problem is...it's been years since then. So many years. I feel, sometimes, that I'm a completely different person, going from devil-may-care and anything-is-possible to play-it-safe and don't-take-risks.
Wolf Pack Page 10
