Chapter Nine Falling for Her
Chapter Nine
Falling for Her
Amy
By Thursday, June twelfth, I had watched thirty-seven partner-yoga videos.
This was not excessive. Six of the twelve challenge poses required one partner to support the other’s weight, and the packet printed TRUST YOUR PARTNER above a photograph that violated several principles of structural engineering.
The problem was not research. The problem was that every demonstration required me to imagine Dani’s hands at my waist. That was a failure of instructional design.
Tessa entered with popcorn while I paused a supported backbend.
“You have been staring at that woman’s hands for fifteen minutes.”
“I am reviewing safety protocols.”
“So Dani catches you.”
“That has happened under unusual conditions.”
“Treadmill, sled, Franklin’s leash.”
“The third incident was not training-related.”
“She still caught you.”
I reopened the packet. The scoring included balance, transitions, communication, and audience response. Touching was not listed, though the biomechanics made it unavoidable.
“Your launch video has twelve thousand views,” Tessa said.
I paused the video. “That cannot be correct.”
“You and Dani are the most popular challenge couple. A commenter said you look like you are trying to solve a problem with your mouths.”
“That sentence is meaningless.”
“It has eight hundred likes.”
I reached for my phone. Tessa moved it behind her back.
“You do not need the comments. You need to practice balance.”
I cleared space beside the sofa and attempted tree pose. The rug shifted. Tessa caught my elbow.
“Excellent component movement.”
“The floor is uneven.”
“The floor is innocent.”
I reset my foot, then stopped. “Do you believe Dani will take tomorrow seriously?”
“She will make jokes,” Tessa said. “She will also take you seriously.”
There was a difference. Dani teased everything; she did not trivialize everything.
She had stopped my assessment before stubbornness became injury, let me set the cadence during the first challenge, and asked whether the launch kiss crossed a line.
I trusted her. The thought returned me to the part of her history I still did not know.
Zero finishes. Two attempts. A private medical event she had agreed to explain before the relationship quiz.
The boundary was logical. Trust occupied the space where logic ended.
Tessa watched my face. “Yoga or trainer?”
“They are currently connected.”
“Everything is currently connected to the trainer.” She counted: the running plan, the gym, the fake relationship, the voice messages, the bright blue shirt I had begun wearing without discussion. “She has occupied a lot of real estate.”
“Temporarily. The challenge ends in eleven weeks.”
“And then?”
“The arrangement ends.”
“You still like her.”
“I admitted attraction. That is different.”
“How?”
Attraction was involuntary. Liking involved attention: knowing Dani carried hair ties for other people, called Gloria every Wednesday, hid unfinished paperwork beneath an old race magazine, and used jokes fastest when the truth felt closest. Those details had accumulated without permission.
“I am returning to safety protocols,” I said.
Tessa smiled. “That is not an answer.”
It was the only one available.
Practice was scheduled for eight thirty Friday evening in Studio C. Dani arrived with two cleaned mats, a speaker, and emergency snacks.
“We are practicing for thirty minutes,” I said.
“Emergencies are unpredictable.”
She put on soft instrumental music. The mirrors multiplied her white tank top, black leggings, and braid in ways that made concentration unnecessarily difficult.
“We do not require atmosphere.”
“That is usually when it happens.”
“What happens?”
“Atmosphere.”
We began with mirrored folds and back-to-back twists, then faced each other and gripped forearms for a counterbalance. I insisted on a count. Dani began before we had agreed on one. We stumbled together, her arms closing around my waist.
“That was your fault,” I said into her shoulder.
“You leaned.”
“You looked at me incorrectly.”
“How do I look correctly?”
“Less.”
Her hands remained at my waist until she asked, “I should let go?”
“Yes.”
She released me immediately. The correct response irritated me. I opened the packet. The next poses improved. Side-by-side balance. Supported tree. Dani’s hand settled at my hip while I placed one foot against her thigh.
“Stand tall,” she said.
“I am.”
“Do not lock the standing knee.”
I adjusted. In the mirror, we looked competent. Dani’s gaze met mine.
“You look good.”
“The alignment?”
“You.”
My balance shifted. Her hand tightened.
“You should not say that during a balance pose.”
“Useful data.”
“It is disruptive.”
“This is my correct look.”
I stepped down before the pose could become a conversation. The sixth position was the one from the videos: Dani behind me, hands at my waist, my body leaning backward into hers. She studied my face.
“We can skip it.”
“It is in the challenge.”
“I will catch you tomorrow.”
“That is not a strategy. Explain the position.”
Dani stepped behind me without touching. “Feet stable. I take part of your weight. You control the angle.”
Her hands hovered. “Permission?”
The formality affected me more than the touch. “Yes.”
Her palms settled at my waist. I leaned back slowly until her body supported mine. The position opened my chest and put her breath near my ear.
“Longer exhale,” she said.
I obeyed. Our bodies moved closer. In the mirror, her attention was soft and focused, with none of the public performance that usually protected us.
“You have me?” I asked.
I was asking about balance. It did not sound like it.
“I have you.”
For once, I did not check the time. Then the studio door opened. Blake entered with promotional shirts and stopped. I straightened too quickly; Dani’s chin struck my head.
“Practice is going well,” Blake said, reminded us audience response counted, and left delighted after Dani promised we would provide something to respond to.
I stepped on Dani’s foot. We reviewed two more poses and stopped before the most structurally irresponsible one. At nine oh-four, Dani closed the packet.
“We should save some mystery.”
For once, I agreed. Outside the studio, she held the door while I collected the mats. Her hand did not touch me. I noticed every inch between us.
Saturday’s partner-yoga challenge attracted twice as many spectators as the first event. Blake repeatedly reported that engagement was up and the comments wanted another kiss.
“No,” I said each time.
Dani stood beside me wearing a deep red sports bra and black leggings.
Her hair was in a high ponytail. I wore the bright blue top.
Blake had requested visual contrast. I had agreed because blue photographed well.
Not because Dani had said I looked beautiful in it.
The instructor gathered the couples in the studio.
Mats formed four rows beneath soft lights.
Spectators stood behind a low barrier near the mirrors.
Tessa, Rose, Gloria, and a little girl I assumed was Lola occupied the front. Dani noticed them. Her face lit.
“That’s Lola.”
“The child with the dinosaur sign?”
The sign read:
AUNT DANI: DON’T DROP YOUR GIRLFRIEND
“Yes.”
I turned on Dani.
“You told her?”
“Gloria saw the videos.”
“Does she believe the relationship is real?”
Dani’s smile weakened.
“I haven’t clarified.”
“This violates the disclosure list.”
“She’s eight.”
“That makes the deception worse.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“When?”
“After the challenge.”
“Dani.”
The instructor called for attention.
“We’ll talk,” Dani whispered.
Lola waved enthusiastically at me. I waved back despite myself. She held up the sign higher.
“Your girlfriend likes me,” she told Gloria loudly.
Several people laughed. Dani covered her face.
I experienced an inconvenient surge of affection.
Not for Dani. For the child. Entirely separate.
The challenge began. The first poses were familiar.
Seated twist. Back-to-back chair. Forearm counterbalance.
Dani and I moved more smoothly than we had during practice.
I counted. She followed. When transition required improvisation, I let her guide.
We completed the first sequence without falling.
Blake announced our score. Second place in stability. First in communication. The audience-response number was suspiciously high. The next sequence included supported tree. I lifted my foot. Dani held my hand and waist.
“Relax,” she said.
“I am.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am not.”
Lola called from the audience, “You are!”
I lost balance for half a second. Dani steadied me.
“Your family is disruptive,” I whispered.
“You waved.”
“She is a child.”
“You’re defenseless against children.”
“That is not true.”
“Lola, ask her to come to dinner.”
“Do not.”
Lola cupped her hands around her mouth.
“COME TO DINNER!”
The audience laughed. My face burned. Dani nearly lost her own balance from laughing. We completed the pose. The instructor moved us into the backward lean. Dani stood behind me.
Her hands settled at my waist after a quiet, “Okay?”
I gave permission and leaned back. The room receded. She held me with practiced steadiness. This time, I did not panic when the angle deepened. I trusted the support.
“Breathe,” she murmured.
I did. The audience became quiet enough that I heard the camera shutters.
We straightened together. For a moment, Dani’s arms remained around me.
The instructor called the next pose. We separated.
The final sequence included a balance we had not practiced.
One partner knelt on all fours while the other balanced across her back and extended opposite arm and leg.
“That is unsafe,” I said.
The instructor demonstrated with an assistant.
“It’s modified bird dog,” Dani said. “I’ll be the base.”
“It is a person on another person.”
“You’re lighter.”
“You do not know my weight.”
“Your intake form.”
“That information is confidential and may not be referenced during fake-girlfriend yoga.”