One glance around the studio confirmed my suspicions. Yoga was for girls. And my agent and trainer were insane. What the fuck were they thinking? Both knew my sentiments by how clear I made them, but I texted both before class.
Me: You're insane. Both of you.
Me: Giant waste of my fucking time.
Neither responded, probably laughing at my expense. Yoga was nowhere on my radar when I agreed to this morning's fitness retest. I assumed Jer called Michael to tout all the grueling work I sweated through the past five weeks. Instead, they offered the stupidest suggestion I'd ever heard: try yoga. Of course, I put up some resistance.
"Yoga!? Stop fucking with me." I snorted. "Yoga is for girls. Not NFL quarterbacks."
The conversation derailed, ending with them manipulating me into it. Which I realized once I arrived at the studio.
"Many professional athletes use yoga. Seattle employs an instructor." Static buzzed in my ear, Michael sighing. "And don't say sexist shit you don't mean, Sam."
"It's true." My palm rubbed the shoulder in question. "Walk into any studio."
No doubt I needed post-surgery rehab. Foregoing painkillers, I adhered to my physical therapy routine. No questions asked, I iced, heated, and rested my shoulder as instructed. I needed to work with Jeremiah, not some twiggy yoga instructor. They disagreed.
"Have you been to a studio?" Mike chuckled.
"No, but..." I scrunched my eyebrows together. "Why are you fucking boarding this crazy yoga train?"
"I fully support any alternative that gets you back to full health. Jer says research on yoga has shown–"
Always the pacifist. Conveniently, Jer mentioned none of this shit during my assessment.
"Stretching, napping, and sniffing wheatgrass incense won't get me back to where I belong." As expected, Michael's end sat silent. "Which is satisfying my sponsors, inspiring millions through my foundation, and leading my team to a third consecutive NFL Super Bowl championship."
Squeezing my right fist and grounding my elbow in my ribs, my bicep swelled into definition. Unlike last week, no pain or stiffness pulled the shoulder muscles above it. Progress.
"And it's my job to support you in those goals, Sam."
The jab, 'Then fucking secure my long-term contract', died on my tongue. I heaved a sigh. "You're fucking serious about this yoga shit. Both you and Jer."
"We are." Michael's tone softened. "Consider it a holistic rehab approach–"
"Holistic rehab." The words died on my tongue. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? I need sweat, workouts, and recovery exercises. Manly shit. Sitting or sleeping on a rug won't get me in pro shape."
"Sam." The lightness in Mike's tone disappeared. "Since you're a bit misinformed, let me give a personal recommendation. Shanti Yoga Health and Wellness. Small studio, off the grid. Ask for Mia. Simone's secured the NDAs."
Changing tactics, Mike aimed for the ego jugular, "Being unsure of new approaches is natural."
"Unsure of what, falling asleep?"
"Jer's betting you can't even last through a whole class."
A bet should've triggered my red flag warnings, but I rubbed my off-season facial scruff. "What did you bet?"
"I bet you can't even show up, Sam."
Mike played dirty, offering the two words I responded to most. My ego filled in the rest.
I appreciated the weird, stinky shit from the lobby not being in the windowless room. Dark lighting and a warmer temperature contrasted the studio, stuck in the back corner of some remote strip mall. Mike was right; it was low-key. Clean and minimal shit hung on the walls. A sea of light purple mats lay on the floor, all pointed to a space. My feet carried me straight to the back row. With my height, the last thing I wanted was–
"Hey!" a shrill voice chirped. An older, not-in-shape woman peered up at me with wide blue eyes. Her gray hair was twisted into a high bun. "Don't tread on my mat."
My shoe pressed an imprint into a pink flower-patterned mat. "Sorry." I stepped off, bumping into a warm body behind me. "This is my first time."
"I'm Delores." The irritation in her eyes dissolved, and she shook my extended hand. "You're Sam."
"How–"
Her smile cut me off, bracing me for a compliment, and her eyes sparkled. "Front desk made us sign NDAs. And Mia asked me to check if you need help. She's so considerate. Do you?"
'Is it obvious' died on my tongue. A quick look around showed others removed the purple mats, put theirs down, and hung the old ones on a wall rack. Set spots. Smart. I was the only guy present and wearing loose shorts. So many brought additions–water bottles, towels, and even sleep masks. I didn't recognize the gear taken out of a corner cabinet, more purple shit.
"Blocks and straps are optional." Delores pointed to my feet. "But shoes and water aren't."
Water? I wouldn't be sweating much. "Right." I kicked my shoes into the back wall.
I stood on an empty mat. A few bodies were already engaged in nap mode. Delores sat with her back on the wall, thumbing through her phone with a smile. A few women held hushed conversations in the corners, eyes gazing as if I was the local BBQ special.
Whether my size or recognition, I always grabbed attention. Here was no different, from shocked eyes and polite smiles to head-to-toe eye-fucking. The room had no mirrors, but I was People Magazine's Sexiest Man of the Year for a reason. Twice.
Uncertainty subdued my usual aura of confidence. My skin crawled, raising the hairs on my forearms. The air hung thick. My racing heart pumped so hard that the veins bulged in my hands. I heaved a breath and ran my hand down my beard.
Relax. It was stretching and sleeping. If I was single, I would've commented that I'd never seen so many beautiful women clustered in one space. And they wore revealing, skin-tight clothes.
Wait...Thanks to Candy, I was single. A week of dirty underwear on the bedroom floor, beard trimming in the bathroom sink, sleeping alone, and battling the urge to drink myself numb but settling for binging movies Candy hated reflected that singlehood. And yet, surrounded by women, I had no–
"Good evening," a woman called. Her sharp edge on an even tone was soothing and authoritative. Its impact was immediate. Rustled movements, followed by a collective silence, sounded as girls roach-scattered to their mats.
Carrying an armful of shit, our instructor's eyes met mine. Her feet, stuffed in the ugliest shoe imaginable crocs, skidded to a stop. My heart dropped into my stomach, and dryness coated my tongue. The air thickened to suffocation, and I swallowed.
Oh fuck. It's her. My parking lot tease. How could it be her? What were those odds? I needed a lottery ticket. There was a liquor store next door.
In hurried movements, she set up her mat, kicked off her shoes, and hooked her phone to the front cabinet. Yep, it was her. Like in our previous exchanges, my eyes appreciated the view. Black yoga clothes did me a favor showcasing her superb muscle tone and stacked tits.
"I'm Mia." She flashed a bright smile with a glance around the room. "Welcome to Beginning Vinyasa. Anyone or any injuries new to me?"
Nineteen heads turned to me, twenty including Mia's. The longer her lips pursed, the more her gaze darkened. Meeting her silent challenge, I smirked and raised a hand.
My heart pounded as she approached, one long step at a time, and maneuvered around mats. Unlike my clumsy elephant steps, Mia glided through the space like water. Her piercing brown eyes stared, dark as melted chocolate and edged with hatred. I was a rat slipping under the door crack and into her class. Without the shit in her arms, her black, fitted tank top and ankle-length leggings displayed tall, lithe limbs. Her tits and ass were phenomenal, rounded, and tight, but her toned and elongated muscles drew my focus.
She was tall. At six-eight, tall women were my weakness. Candy was tall, but this woman had inches on my ex. Her chin lifted Mia's head to my shoulder, and the bun on the top of her head reached my jawline. Random black strands framed the sides of her face. More curled at her hairline when she turned her long neck. Her lashes were so thick, they looked fake. They framed her round, brown eyes, searing with heat the more she glared at me. Freckles dotted her cheeks and shoulders. Her nude nails were ragged. She chewed them. Absent of makeup, nothing stood out in her plain, stripped-down appearance.
She was gorgeous...and looked at me like she wanted to chop off my dick and ram it down my throat. Why that heated, unwelcome look burned in her eyes, I had no fucking clue. It started in the parking lot when I teased her, then again at the drinking fountain when I tried to apologize. I couldn't help myself. She carried herself with cold, standoffish air, but heat simmered beneath the surface.
Stick up her ass for sure. Why did she draw me in? No fucking idea. My feet shifted, and tightness squeezed my throat. Face-to-face, I wasn't used to being looked at as an inconvenience, a burden. People gave me shallow looks of want, especially women. The room's eyes burned with curiosity and attraction at me.
Not hers. Maybe I fucked her in college? Her unplaced air of familiarity was addictive. I would've remembered those legs wrapped around me. The hairs on the back of my neck weren't the only part of me that rose. Guessing how bendable those long, shapely legs were wasn't helping the ache tightening in my briefs. Neither was my first dry spell in four years.
In a blink, her expression shifted. Her smile fired off all kinds of red flags. "Welcome, Sam."
It wasn't a sweet, warm, welcoming smile. No, it was too big, too many teeth–fuck, she had nice teeth. The flickers lighting up her dark eyes should have been a roadside flare signal fired up next to a broken-down car. I challenged her smile, her lifted chin, and her clenched teeth with my version. My ego championed my reactions. I had this. I was a professional athlete whose body was in the prime of its life.
"As a reminder." A chill slipped into her voice, and she eyed my phone in hand. "Please silence all electronic devices."
"You have yours," slipped out of my mouth. Hushed gasps, 'shut up, moron' looks, and a side of glares were thrown at me.
Mia stood up taller, blinking those thick lashes. "Mine's for music. Unless you want to practice in silence? It'd be an extra challenge if you're up for it."
She poked the same stick Mike used to get me here, making my nostrils flare. Glancing left, Delores' head shook, and she mouthed 'abort.' I was too far lost, too committed to my stubbornness. "Any challenge that you have, I'm game."
Mia's stubborn eyes studied mine. My pulse buzzed as a sparkle appeared. Her chin lifted, and so did mine. She crossed her arms; mine were larger. Her smile widened; I grinned and winked. "Alright," she whispered. "Lie down, knees up to your chest."
Delores whimpered. "Mia? We're not starting with savas–"
"You've been laying down." Smugness seeped into her voice. "Join us whenever you're ready, Sam."
I was so fucking ready for...I had no idea. As I lay down, a small doubt crept in. Blood rushed through my veins, thudding in my forehead. Looking at the ceiling, I expanded my chest with a sigh.
"Right leg straight, left leg up to the ceiling," Mia's singsong voice made me tuck my chin. What did that coy smile have cooked up in her mind? "Point your toes, then flex your heel."
Mia's warmups were easy. I followed her instructions, one crack of my joints at a time. We rolled our ankles, circled our knees, and stretched our hips. On all fours, the girl ahead of me smirked over her shoulder, exposing her ass to my face. Allison? Amy? Whoever she was, she eye-fucked me since I first entered. I looked away.
"Right knee up. Use your best impression of a dog meeting a hydrant," Mia barked. "Circle your knee, warming up the hip joint."
This wasn't so–ouch. A slow pressure built up in my hip socket, sparking firework crackles on my first circle.
"Cracks and pops are a compliment," Mia's encouragement contrasted with her smirk at me. "Let those out. Release that tension and stiffness gripping your joints. Straighten your leg to the side, kicking the heel. Hovering, use your breath."
I scoffed. This was easy, with no benefit to my shoulder. Heat thrummed down my legs, and my kneeling leg's glutes engaged, but I held strong. Warmth flowed through my braced core. Each second slowed, and my breath was unaffected by the time Mia released us.
The second side hurt my standing knee glute like a bitch. My body sighed with relief at her voice. "Knees down, arms reach ahead, pulling hips to heels for balasana, child's pose."
My right shoulder tugged with tension that, unlike my hips, refused to release. I froze with my eyes on my mat. A warm hand rested on my lower back. "Tuck your arm down." Soft, smooth fingers encircled my wrist, sliding my arm until I reached for my heels. The shoulder discomfort disappeared, replaced by a heated stretch, and my skin tingled after she removed her touch.
"Stay laying down." Mia elevated her voice. "Palms press, hips lift high and back, push arms and tuck ears between elbows, adho mukha shvanasana, downward facing dog."
Fuck no, I was not laying down. Gritting my teeth, I powered up. My shoulder protested as I lifted my ass, blood flooding my head. I aligned my ears with my straight-armed elbows. Correction: I attempted to line up, one crack in my back at a time. Looking at the back wall, I let out a sharp exhale. My shorts rolled down, pooling around my ass and exposing my thighs. Tug after tug erupted in my shoulder, but not so bad.
"Rolling forward for chaturanga, option knees down." We propelled forward, the rolling motion tugging my shoulder back. I stayed on my toes, earning Mia's glare.
"Lowering halfway down, elbows hug ribs."
My shoulder protested on the way down, and my heart throbbed while holding the position. It engaged my entire body and twisted my face with tension. Blood and heat surged through me, igniting every muscle in my body. My abs groaned, my thighs quivered, and dull pain glowed in my shoulder.
"Lowering down, rolling shoulders, and pressing halfway up. Breathe in. Lift chests proud for urdhva mukha svanasana, updog...Good, curling toes under, squeezing abs tight, lifting back up, down dog."
I gasped with relief when the pain evaporated from my shoulder. After three more rounds of whatever the fuck that movement was, Mia's smile was wickedly devious. "Let's get started."
She guided us through a workout unlike any I'd ever had. I'd stretched, of course, but she first worked the large muscle groups with slow, purposeful movements until they sang with heated fatigue. Her stabilizer focus highlighted every weakness in my body, and more than a sore shoulder pummeled my ego with a meat tenderizer. My ankle ligaments wobbled during balance, making me a tree shaking in a storm within a class of statues. With zero range of flexibility, my hip flexors were short, and my spine compressed.
My steel-corded shoulder pushed back in a few movements, but I powered through. Only warrior poses resonated with me. They flowed a warm pride through me. Tall and mighty, I stood as a fucking king.
Except for the obvious display of my...assets. I wore the wrong shorts. When upside-down, they puddled at my ass cheeks. Whenever our hips opened, my junk presented on full display. Whenever Mia showed some leg crossover moves, my southern brothers smashed heads.
It was beyond uncomfortable. Smirk after smirk, she knew.
As for Mia. Fuck. Effortlessly, her body twisted and bent into phenomenal, curved shapes that made drool pool under my tongue. Her warriors struck me into damn hypnosis. She was strong, humble, and grounded. My brain dizzied, and my lungs burned empty of oxygen. The prick between my legs twitched more times than I counted.
Beyond her simple cues, I didn't understand a fucking mookity-gobblegookity-asana word she said. My height worked in my favor, giving a clear view of how she moved...except she never fucking stayed still. From person to person, she worked the room. A true teacher, she guided people, adjusted their feet, offered soft encouragement, and showed simpler options if they struggled.
And fuck, her touch spoke a distinct language. Soft and delicate skin covered her insistent, corrective nudges. Moving with purpose, she respected the professional line. Goosebumps raised on the inside of my knee. The back of her hand guided it over my ankle, the extension of her fingers tickling the fine hair on my inner thigh. Her cold toes chilled my heated heel, aligning my back leg.
Constriction compressed my lower back when her fingers lifted my bicep to my ear. "Reverse virabhadrasana, sun warrior."
The movement flamed my shoulder, swelling the muscle fibers with fatigue. My breath was spent and trickles of sweat dripped down my forehead. Quivers radiated my rotators. Locking my legs, my hamstrings tightened, and my calves burned. The seconds ticked into an hour.
"Breathe," she called to a rush of soft breaths.
Laying on our bellies, shoulders rolled back and hands grabbing my ankles, the ligaments behind my right shoulder blade were as tight as steel cables supporting a suspension bridge. They screamed during whatever the fuck punishment move she did that crashed me to the floor. We stood, widened our feet, and squatted as if we shit on the floor. My legs had terrible, frog-like positioning, but I palmed the floor per her demo. Leaning my weight on my splayed fingers, I bent my arms and stacked my knees on my triceps like her.
I got it. Pride surged through me. Unlike her magical floating stance, my balance faltered.
I don't got it. Large man down!
With a forward pitch, I went the only way possible. My cheek slammed into my mat, where the purple rubber and bruised ego filled my vision. Smacked skin rang out, followed by my grunt. Rubber and sweaty feet filled my nose.
Mia was at my side in two steps, not hiding her smile. "You alright?" I nodded, rubbing my hot skin into the mat. Realizing I wasn't hurt, she shot me the same heated glare. "See me after."
I sat out the rest of that torturous pretzel. Delores smiled at me from her floating position. Show off. Excerpt for falling on my fucking face, the class ignored me and did their shit. While unexpected, I recovered until Mia slipped us into a knee-hugging pose that released farts near me. Feeling built-up pressure, I clenched my ass as if concealing nuclear launch codes.
My mat space being open became crystal clear. Delores was a gassy old gal. She moaned and let out a few squeakers when we twisted. Her SBDs turned the back row into a gas bomb. Mia's smirk during the 'wind-relieving pose' revealed my stubbornness found a worthy opponent.
By the end, I lay flatlined in a heap of humility. If I was a broken-down car, she was the mechanic who hauled me to the junkyard. I didn't know I was being pressed and crumpled into a shoebox until after my feet crunched into my face. My sweat-soaked skin stuck to a rubber mat I didn't fit on. Uneven, raspy breaths pitched through my chest. Jelly was the best description of my spent limbs.
Mia offered that too-sweet, triumphant flash of teeth. "Take a slow, deep breath," she purred, dissolving her harsh, unforgiving voice. "Closing your eyes, preparing for meditation."
She sat with her feet tucked under and hands on her knees. Her head bowed, thick lashes covering her eyes. Pulling out her blue notebook, she opened it and sighed when the pages stuck together.
I was an ass. That notebook was not for an autograph. Soft and sweet, her meditation voice resonated like a gentle breeze. My shoulders relaxed under a weighted heaviness, letting gravity pull me down as she said. However, my ears picked up every prick of movement, every breath.
A million thoughts raced through my mind. I indulged them because otherwise, I'd fall asleep. Retracing tonight's class and the ridiculous idea that I needed this type of workout blended into my failed relationship with Candace. Neither of us contacted the other. My initial moments of freedom were short-lived because both our good times and mistakes surfaced. Four years was a long time with good memories and heated arguments, but she was right. We were done.
Satisfaction opened my eyes when Mia announced the class was over. I grinned up to the ceiling. Heated throbs in my shoulder, chased by numbness and another death glare from Mia. I made it, but at what cost?
I should not have enjoyed writing this chapter as much as I did. Do we think Sam learned his lesson?