CHAPTER 13 Millie Monroe
Sunrise Energy with a Partner
I heeded Diedrick’s advice and had the hotel set up a wake-up call—not that it would’ve helped much since I wasn’t actually in my room yesterday morning, but today I am.
I was awake anyway when the phone started to ring.
I didn’t sleep well. I’m telling myself it was because of the three margaritas, but the truth is that it was because I couldn’t stop thinking about his words. What did he mean about not knowing who I am?
He thinks all I care about is my phone. Engagement, going viral, all of that. And yes, those things are vital in my industry.
But sometimes it feels like my blog is my entire identity. Every like, every comment, every save and share—they’re all validating proof that I’m doing something right. I want my work, and therefore my life, my very existence, to matter as I create something purposeful and lasting.
I control my content, and the numbers are the measure of whether I’m doing things right. They’re proof that what I’m doing matters.
But he didn’t give me the chance to explain any of that. Instead, he judged, felt used, and walked away.
It would be much easier if I could just leave him in the past and forget our one night happened, but I can’t—not if I’m going to keep running into him.
Maybe he’ll be out of here by the end of the week.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Maybe we’ll find ourselves on different schedules, and I won’t have to deal with him at all.
I decide to attend sunrise yoga again. It was a great, calming way to start my day yesterday, and I didn’t get enough photos of the beauty of the moment when the sun came up and the participants were all pretzeled into the same pose.
I get ready and head down, and I’m right on time today. I take a spot toward the front, snap a few photos, and slide my phone into my pocket as the class begins.
“Good morning. I’m Anya, your sunrise yoga instructor today,” the woman at the front of the class says.
She’s a different instructor than the one who was here yesterday.
“Let’s rise with the sun today with intention as we share sunrise energy with a partner.
Connect with your neighbor, and we’ll begin.
” My heart drops a little. I’m here solo while everyone else is coupled up.
“When you’re ready, sit back-to-back with your partner,” she continues.
“Cross your legs and make sure your backs are touching.”
I glance around, and I spot one other solo person in the very back.
No. No, no, no, no.
My chest tightens with nerves as I already know what’s going to happen before I have a chance to stop this freight train.
I turn away and keep my gaze up front before he sees me.
“Does everyone have a partner?” Anya asks.
I’m about to run away—just make a break for the water maybe and take a morning swim, or, you know, keep my head under the water for ten minutes or so—when she addresses me.
“Ma’am? We have another single in the back.
” She smiles at me, and she waves at the man in the back.
“Sir? We have a partner for you up here. Come on up.”
Ah, fuck.
I squeeze my eyes shut and draw in a deep breath. There’s nothing namaste about partner yoga with Mr. Archer Bradley. More like nama-get-me-the-fuck-outta-here.
I turn as he approaches, and when our eyes meet, we both grimace at the same time. Everyone else is already seated back-to-back as instructed, so it’s not like we can interrupt class with a temper tantrum since we don’t particularly like our partner.
I sit first, my back to him, and make him close the distance to sit with his back to me.
“Sit tall, spine to spine,” Anya says. “Let your spine press to your partner’s, and find a breathing pattern together. When your partner inhales, you exhale. Use the sound of the waves to guide you, and notice how separate rhythms begin to flow together.”
When I breathe in, I catch his soapy mint scent. The faint whisper of whiskey is missing this morning.
She pauses as we breathe together, and a trickle of something pulses down low. I don’t want to be so goddamn attracted to him, but I am.
Anya lets the breathing go on for an uncomfortably long amount of time before she gives the next instruction.
“Sit tall, and on your next exhale, twist to your right in the opposite direction from your partner. Hold your partner’s knee to deepen your twist, and hold for a few breaths.
This is about deepening your connection with your partner. ”
I don’t want to be deepening my connection with this man. He’s a jerk, and he thinks I’m shallow.
This is the worst yoga ever.
“Return to center, and take a few rhythmic breaths with your partner again,” Anya says. We do that, and then we twist to the other side.
There’s more. The tree pose, where we have to press our palms together. The partner fold, where our feet are touching and we take turns pulling each other forward for some deep breaths. I may or may not accidentally-on-purpose let my hands linger on those calves. Damn, they’re fine.
I’m managing to fight these very strong urges until downward dog.
My composure is shot to hell after that.
Anya has one of us doing downward dog while the other places their hands on the lower back of the one doing the pose to deepen the stretch.
It’s innocent enough, I guess, but when his big hands are on my hips, all I can think about is when he gripped my hips as he was grinding into me from behind and I was clawing at the window.
He remembers it, too, obviously. When I straighten from my pose, he’s standing too close behind me, and my ass brushes against his cock.
He’s definitely hard.
Partner yoga is doing it for him. Or maybe he just really likes sunrises.
We get to the end, do some cool-down stretches, and lie flat on our backs with our bodies relaxing into the sand as we do some final deep breathing to the sound of Anya’s soothing voice.
“Close your eyes, and release your worries, your fears, your stresses. Let the sound of the waves guide your inner peace as you begin to wiggle your fingers and toes. Draw your knees to your chest. Roll to one side, and slowly come back to sitting. Bow to your partner.”
I avoid all eye contact with Archer as I do my little yoga bow in his direction, and I assume he does it toward me, too. I glance up at the last second, and I definitely catch a smirk on his lips before I turn back to the front.
Anya puts her palms together at her heart and bows her head. “Thank you for sharing another beautiful day in paradise with me. May you take peace with you for the rest of your day. Namaste,” she says, and we all say it back to her.
People start to scatter pretty quickly, but I sit and enjoy a few extra seconds of this peaceful feeling before I force myself to rise to a stand.
That’s not at all what I was expecting out of sunrise yoga, and as much as I want to hate him, to hate what just happened and the intimacy we shared in a totally different form, I can’t.
But when I turn to tell him that, I can’t.
He’s already gone.