Page 49 of The County Fair Queen

"Good," she said, attempting to stand. Unfortunately, being eighty-something-years-old, she wasn't terribly limber. As she hoisted herself up, she took a bit of a topple, falling flat on her ass and banging her head on a sign that said,"Namaste, please remember to pay."

Rivers hobbled hurriedly toward her on his knees. "Miss Eulah? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said as blood gushed down her face. "Don't worry your pretty little head about me, baby." She reached for one of the rolled-up towels on the floor and wrapped it around her head like a turban. "See? All better. Where were we?"

"We never started," I said. "And you should probably let Rivers take you to get that checked. You could bleed out."

"Don't be such a fuddy-duddy," she scoffed. "I'll be just fine."

"Aren't you anemic?" Rivers said.

"What's it to ya?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm perfectly capable of teaching yoga with a disability. Are you calling me unfit?"

"No ma'am, I'm just worried—"

"Well, you can keep that worry to yourself," she said, stumbling back to her mat. "I've been doing this since before you even latched onto your mother's nipple. I am a strong, virile woman, and I won't be told otherwise."

"I don't think 'virile' means what you think it means," I pointed out.

"And I don't think you've been relevant for over a decade, but you don't hear me saying anything." She closed her eyes and drew in a long, languid breath. "Now, for starters, we'll fall into Tumultuous Tomato."

"Sorry, what?" I said.

"Tumultuous Tomato," she said, as if repeating the words would somehow make them make sense.

"Is that a baseball team? I'm useless when it comes to the art of sport." When I glanced over at Rivers, he was lying on his side, knees tucked between his arms, and he rolled back and forth like a seesaw. "What the hell are you doing?"

He stopped his bizarre rocking motion long enough to peek up at me and smile. "Tumultuous Tomato. It's not my favorite either, but it definitely loosens up your back."

Again, I wasn't claiming to be a yoga expert, but I was pretty sure Tumultuous Tomato wasn't an actual pose. Rivers was still eyeing me daringly, ready to call me out, I was sure. With heavy apprehension, I dropped to the ground and mirrored their poses.

After three minutes of rocking back and forth, Eulah finally sat upright. "Good. That's just great. Now, we'll ascend to Glory be the Goddess pose."

"Towhatbe thewho?" I said.

"Glory be the Goddess," Rivers repeated for her, standing up. As he held his arms to the sky, palms lifted in praise, my eyes locked on his ass. It didn't have any right looking as delicious as it did in those sweats. I didn't know how long I'd been staring, but the sound of his throat clearing pulled me out of the moment, our eyes locking in the full-length mirror ahead of us.

"You alright back there?" he said.

"Shut up and do your stupid Goddess pose," I said, flinging my hands in the air to match him. "Some of us are trying toget our cardio in. God, Rivers, not everything's about you, you sociopath."

"That so?" He cocked his hip to the side, arching his back. "You keep saying I'm not the sun, and that everybody doesn't orbit me,butyou seem really interested in my full moon." He raised an eyebrow."Baby."

I huffed at him, trying to downplay the shiver that shot straight down my spine.

"This is one of my favorites," Eulah said, rocking back and forth. "I learned it from these two little gay boys who used to come in here. Tatum and Scotty. Well, not from Scotty—that poor boy was always too busy looking at the other men's butts to say much of anything. Tatum, though. Oh, that boy was a real charmer. Said he modeled the pose after the Goddess herself, whatever that heck means. It feels really good on the back, so I kept it in the repertoire." After another two or three minutes spent holding the idiotic pose, Eulah clapped her hands and squeaked. "Alright boys, time for the Prophet's Mourner."

I sighed and stared at Rivers. "Do I even want to know?"

He bent over and picked up his mat. "Actually, I think you might like this one. Do you want to be the prophet or the mourner?"

"Well," I said, having no fight left in me, "I've been mourning the distance I'd put between myself and this town all week, so mourner sounds appropriate."

He wriggled his eyebrows before flinging his yoga mat beside mine. "Good," he said. "That's what I was hoping to hear." There was a glint of mayhem in his eyes, and though I didn't know what pose I'd just agreed to, I knew I would regret it with everything inside of me. That prediction proved accurate when Rivers stood in front of me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and gently pushed me down. He was handling me like a hookup,shoving me onto my knees until my face was inches from his crotch.

Oh, my fucking God.

It was right in front of me. An unmistakable lump. A bump clothed in nothing but sheer desire and poly-cotton blend. My mouth watered, and I thanked the stars for the man or woman who invented sweatpants. Rivers reached for my hand, guiding me toward his stomach and pressing my palm flush against his abdomen. Next, he looped one leg over my shoulder, resting the back of his thigh on me, and reached down to cup my cheek.

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