“You’re acting weird,” she said. “I thought you’d act too pretentious for the motel, let alone a Winnebago.”
“Apparently not.” No surprise she thought I was a snob. I tended to have expensive tastes. “You never answered my question the other day. Why did you watch my games?”
“To see you lose.” Her nose twitched.
That was bullshit. “Liar.”
She shot me a glare. “Then I watched for the inevitable explosion when something didn’t go your way or someone pissed you off.”
And she’d probably heckled me along with the rest of the world when that explosion had been caught on camera.
My temper had bested me on more than one occasion. The year after we’d won my first Super Bowl, our team had gone through a rebuilding. Our record had been shit, having lost a bunch of veteran players to retirement.
After a particularly brutal ass-kicking by the Colts, a game when nothing had gone right, I’d had a meltdown coming off the field. A drunk fan had taunted me. You’re a has-been, Stark. You fucking suck. Should have quit while you were ahead.
He’d thrown each of my insecurities in my face. So I’d tossed him my middle finger and a string of colorful obscenities. There’d been a reporter right on my heels. No doubt Nellie had rolled her eyes when they’d aired the segment later that night and the entire sound bite had been a string of bleeps.
One game I’d been so livid about a horseshit penalty that I’d kicked over a table of water coolers. Another time I’d torn off my helmet and sent it sailing toward the sideline after an interception.
I was no stranger to league fines. Whenever a coach had screamed in my face on the sidelines, the camera had been ready.
Maybe it should have bothered me that Nellie had seen my outbursts. It didn’t. She’d seen me at my worst long before the cameras had arrived.
The door to the studio opened and three other women strolled inside. Their smiles dulled when they spotted me.
I pushed up to my knees. “Ladies. Mind if I intrude on your class?”
Two scowled. One blushed.
Those were odds I could work with.
A woman wearing a sports bra and flowy pants came out from the back room. Her dark hair was mostly covered in a head wrap as she walked over. “Hi, Nellie.”
“Morning.” Nellie gave her a smile.
The instructor turned to me and nodded. “You must be Cal. Kerrigan mentioned you’d be joining one of our classes. Though she didn’t think it would be this one.”
I shrugged. “What better way to start a Saturday than with a little exercise?”
“I couldn’t agree more.” The instructor’s smile widened before she waved the other women into the space. “Glad you could all make it today.”
The ladies exchanged greetings and small talk as they went about laying out their mats and positioning blocks. Nellie didn’t move from her mat to mingle. Maybe she didn’t know them yet?
“Let’s get started.” The instructor took up her place at the front of the room, the mirrors her backdrop.
This was the first actual yoga class I’d been to, not that I’d admit that to Nellie. The instructor went through an introduction, her voice steady and monotone as we began the initial poses.
My muscles strained with every stretch, working to get into a flow. It had been a while and I hadn’t been good about stretching after my daily workouts. My hamstrings burned. My shoulders ached. But after the first series of movements, the blood began to flow and my body warmed.
“Good, Cal.” The instructor walked around the room and her hands found my lower back, pressing lightly against my hips as I bent in Downward Dog. “You’ve done this before. Your form is excellent.”
It was? My last instructor had told me my form was weak. I had too much bulk to maneuver and contort properly. I’d spent too many years building football muscles designed to keep me on my feet and send the ball sailing downfield.
I glanced at Nellie as the instructor padded away just in time to see an eye roll. Okay, so maybe the teacher was just kissing my ass.
Nellie, on the contrary, had a fine form with her ass perfectly positioned in the air. The last time I’d seen her like that, there’d been no leggings and I’d been behind her, my hands gripping her hips as I’d slammed inside that tight body.
Blood rushed to my groin. Fuck. This yoga idea was backfiring.
I snuck in an adjustment to my dick while we shifted into a new position. Then I spent the next twenty minutes refusing to glance at Nellie through the mirror. I kept my focus on the instructor, watching her move and doing my best to mimic her stances.
She kept smiling at me, coming over whenever possible to help me get the pose just right. “You’ve got great balance,” she said as I rested in Warrior II.
“Thanks.” I sucked in some air, letting my feet ground into the mat.
Her hands trailed over my shoulders, pressing me deeper into the lunge.
Nellie’s gaze met mine in the mirror when I glanced forward. She looked like she was about to murder someone. Normally that look was reserved for me, but today, it was aimed at the instructor. Was she jealous?
A slow grin stretched across my mouth. Yeah, she was jealous.
We shifted directions, practicing the pose on the other side. And once again the instructor’s hands found their way onto my body. She grew bolder, sliding her fingers across my shoulders and biceps, trailing all the way to my fingers.
I didn’t like strangers touching me, and I could have stopped her. But when she returned to the front of the class and started eye-fucking me from her mat, the irritation on Nellie’s face was worth the hassle.
“Bend at the knee.” The instructor spoke as we all folded forward.
And then . . . Braaap.
The entire room stilled at the noise.
Until Nellie broke the silence. “Eww, Cal! Gross. That stinks.”
There was no fucking stink because I hadn’t farted. She’d made that sound with her mouth.
I looked over, finding her head tucked against the front of her thighs. Her hands were pressed to the floor, fingers splayed. But she was smiling that shit-eating, smug smile. The same one she’d given me after dumping coffee down my pants.
A woman chortled.
Another made an audible sniff in the air.
“Um . . .” The instructor pointed toward the hallway. “The bathroom is—”
“I’m fine,” I clipped.
Nellie’s smirk stayed firmly in place through the rest of the class. The instructor didn’t so much as take a step my way—not that I cared. It had never been about her. No, it had been about Nellie’s attention.
It was always about Nellie.
The moment we were dismissed, she rolled up her mat and bolted for the exit, tugging on her shoes and retrieving her phone.
I hustled to keep pace, staying close as she pushed through the door and into the morning sun. She tried to race down the sidewalk but I caught her elbow before she could run away. “Tell me what you hate about me.”
“No.” She tugged her arm free. “Stop asking me. Find someone else to point out your flaws, like your assistant or manager or any random person you encounter on the street.”
“I’m not asking random people, and I don’t have an assistant. My business manager would never be honest.” He’d think I’d fire him like I had my assistant. To be fair, I’d fired a lot of assistants. Seven in the last five years. All but one had been because of a confidentiality breach. The latest because he’d been a thief. “You’re the only one who will tell me the truth.”