Page 27 of Gym Bros
“It’s not,” he insists.
“Adjust until you do,” I say gently because I’ve noticed he’s not very patient with himself. I’ve been demonstrating positions at about thirty percent of how I’m capable of executing them just so he doesn’t realize how very far from mastering this he is because I could swear he’s been on the verge of tears ten times in the last forty-five minutes. I’ve tried to be extra patient.
He moves his hands, wiggles his hips, and my gaze lands on his glutes again. I mean—I have a cute butt, but he’s got anass. Two rock hard mounds that could crack a walnut between them. I could sit on it and not make a dent.
I think I see the problem, though. “You’re squeezing your thighs. This stretch should come from your upper body.”
“It’s all connected,” he says, and I can hear in his voice the way he’s straining—trying.
“It is,” I agree quietly. “If you feel it too much in your tailbone, I suggest pushing yourself up a little more on your arms. Might as well work out whatever’s too tight there. Acknowledging the limitation and leaning in sometimes helps break the connection.”
“How is this helping my leg again?” he snaps.
I make a face he can’t see. Temper, temper. “I don’t have to explain your core to you, do I?”
His inhalation is loud and measured. He doesn’t answer me, and I squat beside him, placing my hand on his tailbone, where I want him to loosen up. He jerks like I surprised him, but I flatten my palm. I’d like to run a hand down both his thighs toget him stop clamping them together, but I sense he’s already at his limit with both yoga and me.
“What kind of dog is it?” I ask gently, trying to settle the tension.
“What?” he nearly snaps.
“You got it from a shelter?”
“Her. I gotherfrom a shelter. I don’t know what she is. She’s just some random mutt.”
“Have you named her yet?”
“Beauty,” he says.
“Hm.”
“Because she’s not,” he adds. “Beautiful.”
“Oh?”
“I mean she’ll never be a model or anything.”
“But you think she’s beautiful,” I say.
“I just have a feeling about her,” he murmurs, his voice sounding a little less strained.
“You can relax,” I say, tapping his back. He’s held the pose long enough. His face drops onto his hands, and he lets out a shaky breath.
The sound is kind of…intense? I’m not sure that’s the right word, but it flips my stomach upside down. Why the hell is he making me so nervous tonight?
“Um… why don’t you roll over, and let’s do a final few breaths and loosen.”
“No thanks. I gotta get home,” he says.
My head rears back. “Is everything all right?”
“Just—the dog, you know?”
“It’s five minutes,” I remind him.
He pushes himself into a plank, steps forward on his left leg and rises to stand. “Yeah…well…I think I’m good.”
DidIdo something? Staring up at him, I ask, “Why do I get the feeling you won’t be back?”
