Chapter 9 Selene
NINE
SELENE
Yoga is the favorite part of my day.
Thirty minutes I dedicate to clearing my mind and stretching parts of my body I didn’t even know existed. When I’m finished, I leave feeling more complete than I did when I walked through the front doors.
After the death of my parents, my grandmother insisted I go to therapy.
I resisted at first, telling her there was no amount of therapy that could erase what I’d witnessed.
The agony of my parents’ death wasn’t just tragic; it was a fucking nightmare.
A nightmare that changed not only my life but who I am at my core.
My world used to feel surrounded by a protective glass case until it shattered that day.
Shards of what remained scattered at my feet, removing the veil of security that had been in front of me that my parents had created.
It wasn’t long before I faded into the background of my own life, allowing myself to descend into the darkness.
Every situation life threw at me I proceeded with caution.
I was no longer outspoken. I was no longer impulsive.
Life became a series of calculated moves taken with careful measure.
My grandmother caught on to my sudden shift in personality and became concerned for my wellbeing.
It didn’t matter how many times I told her I was okay and that I was still me, just a different version, she wouldn’t let up.
She’d nagged until I’d given in, hence the therapy.
I barely spoke during the first few sessions, opting to sit in tortured silence instead. Until my therapist suggested calming ways for me to clear my mind of the intrusive thoughts. Yoga was her first recommendation and, ever since my first class, I’ve been hooked.
I’ve been coming to this same yoga studio for the past year.
At first, the floor to ceiling windows facing the busy street intimidated me.
But once I’d set my knees on my yoga mat, bent forward, and pressed my head to the floor, I no longer cared.
I slipped away into my own world. A world of my own making.
The sun beats against my skin, and I close my eyes, soaking in its last bit of warmth.
Evening sessions are the best. Inhaling a deep breath, I sink to the floor and press my knees to my favorite purple mat.
I adjust the top of my sage green leggings, then lift my arms over my head.
Keeping my eyes closed, I bob my neck from side to side, immediately feeling relieved.
Yes, this is exactly why I’m here.
The intrusive thoughts that have clouded my mind all day begin to dissolve with the fading sun.
My finished novel collecting metaphorical dust that’s sitting in a word document on my half-broken laptop.
The gaping hole left behind from my grandmother’s death.
The embarrassment of standing on stage last night, with everyone’s eyes on me while I could only focus on one pair.
Holt’s blue eyes staring at me from the center of the crowd, then him making his way toward me after being declared the winning bidder.
The feel of his mouth pressed against mine.
His hand clutching my hip.
A rush of air passes between my lips. My thighs clench, and I run my palms against the tops of my legs.
Why is my heart beating so fast? It should be slowing down, not racing.
Yoga is supposed to be calming, like the sound of small tides rolling onto shore.
Instead, I feel like I’m gripping the railing of a ship headed toward a hurricane.
Why is my stomach in knots at the memory?
Not in a way that makes me feel sick but in a way that has me feeling.
I cock my head to the side and swallow, telling myself to get a grip. I forced myself to stop thinking about Holt at work. It worked for a while, but now he’s back, distracting me.
Raising my shoulders, I tilt my head to the side and force the feelings away. I open my eyes and glance around at my fellow classmates. I’ve become friends with a handful of them over the past year, but not so much that we take our friendships past the front doors of the yoga studio.
“Welcome, everyone,” the instructor, Alison, begins, clasping her hands in front of her.
“We’re going to start with a bit of gentle yoga today, intended to calm your body and mind.
I’m going to start with a half lotus position and lift my arms out and over my head, making sure to take in deep breaths along the way. ”
I mimic Alison’s movements while closing my eyes.
Calming meditative music plays overhead, but it’s quickly drowned out by the thunderous sound of applause.
A small groan crawls up my throat as a flickering memory of blue eyes invades my mind.
His deep, velvety voice hits my ear as his hand wraps around my hip, pulling me toward him.
Nice to see you again, Wallflower? Are you ready?
“Okay, now that we’ve loosened up, we’re going to transition into a tabletop position.”
My heart jumps into my throat at Alison’s sudden announcement. Peeling my eyes open, I shake the memory away and blow out a heavy breath.
What the fuck is wrong with me? One kiss from Holt, and now I’m suddenly unable to think of anything or anyone else?
I shift from my seated position, placing both hands near the front of the mat. With straightened arms, I press my knees into the mat, ensuring my back is straight and my arms are even in front of me.
Looking up, I wait for Alison’s next instructions, but they never come.
Her focus is directed squarely over my shoulder.
“Um, excuse me,” she says, sitting back on her heels, her eyebrows pulled together. “Can I help you?”
Blinking, I slowly glance over my shoulder.
My neck prickles and nerves dance down my spine.
Uneasiness with a dash of excitement settles in the pit of my stomach.
Gasping, I stare , wide-eyed, at the tall, handsome, blue-eyed menace in a suit.
He stands behind me, toward the back end of my yoga mat.
Sensing he’s caught my attention, he looks down and sends me a wink.
My face immediately falls.
Am I dreaming? Is he truly here, crashing my yoga class?
“Sir.” Alison breaks our trance, stealing Holt’s attention. And mine! “Can I help you?”
“Oh.” Holt runs his hand through his hair and smirks before planting his hands on his hips. “I’m here for the class.”
Alison surveys him, clearly not understanding, considering he looks like he’s ready to do anything but take a yoga class.
“I don’t think so.” She presses her mouth together in disapproval. “You can’t just come in here without—"
“Don’t worry.” Holt waves her off, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. His too-wide grin widens. “I paid for the session.”
He shrugs out of his suit jacket and carefully folds it in half before dropping it at the foot of my mat.
Alison stares at him deadpan before her eyes flick around the classroom, apparently waiting for someone to speak up and demand that Holt leave, but no one does. Aside from the quiet tunes filtering in the warm air, there’s not a single word of objection. Even I’m left speechless.
My mouth is still agape as Holt kneels between me and the woman beside me.
He has no mat, and he looks ridiculous in his suit.
I stifle a laugh at how out of place he looks.
Something about a man as clean cut and expensive looking as him surrounded by meditative music and burning incense is comical.
It’s like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.
He leans forward, pressing his hands to the strip of hardwood between my mat and the woman’s next to mine. Looking up, he waits for the next instruction from Alison.
She blinks and shakes off the interruption, then continues on with the class.
But I’m not so easily moved.
Seeing Holt here has my mind swarming with heavy, clouded thoughts.
The thoughts of last night come rolling back in, thick and heavy, stronger than they were moments only earlier.
My stomach is still doing that stupid fluttering thing, and the memory of how he humiliated me last night echoes in my mind.
“Come on, Wallflower,” he whispers from the corner of his mouth. “I thought yoga was all about finding different ways to twist yourself into a pretzel, not people watch. Don’t tell me that’s why you come to these classes.”
I scoff, watching him in disbelief. Curling my hands into fists on top of my thighs, I inhale a deep breath and settle back into my tabletop pose, then roll my neck and squeeze my eyes shut. “So, what, are you, like, stalking me now?”
I have no idea if Holt is still following Alison’s instructions, but I don’t care.
He chuckles, and the sound shoots straight to those damn butterflies raging in my stomach. The sensation is so strong, I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him.
He’s sent me endless messages today, asking to talk, but I haven’t responded to any of them.
Mostly because I haven’t been able to get a handle on the way I’m feeling about it just yet—another perk to therapy.
Suddenly, you’re aware of every feeling and spend extra time analyzing and figuring out how to cope with them.
“What makes you think I’m stalking you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s start with you gatecrashing my yoga class in a ten-thousand-dollar suit for one.”
“Five thousand.”
“What?” I slip into the next pose, trying not break my concentration. I’m failing miserably. The scent of his aftershave drowns out the incense burning throughout the room.
“The suit was five thousand, not ten.”
“Whatever.” I rest my forearm on the floor while turning to the side. I engage my core, tightening as I reach my arm up into the air while breathing out.
Holt’s eyes never leave me. He isn’t even bothering to follow the moves the class is making. He’s simply lying on his side, propped up onto his elbow, watching me.