Page 21 of Gym Bros
“Yeah, no, I guess I’m not.”
It’sway easier to relax in corpse pose. Savasana. I like all these pose names so far. I also like that none of them hurt. Calyx talks me through a whole relaxation exercise until I feel like I’m liquid on the mat. The only reason I don’t fall asleep is because I know he’s watching. My body might be relaxed, but my brain remains in hyperdrive, constantly aware of his eyes on me, his voice. I can even feel his body heat as he sits to my right.
I get what my dad meant about his “look” being valuable to him as a model or whatever. I’ve been to more than my fair share of runway shows, and Calyx is definitely an opener or closer. If Iwere my dad, and Calyx up and quit on me to go teach stretching and breathing exercises to idiots like me in closed rooms, I’d be messed up about it, too.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Almost relaxed,” I say.
“Well…time’s up. I have a class to teach.”
“Oh. It’s been an hour?”
“Yep.”
“Damn.”
We spent the first half hour focused on breathing again, and the second half of the time we went through a few sitting positions and back twists, also heavily focused on breathing.
“If you can breathe like that for fifteen minutes a day, you’ll get better at it.”
“Is that what you do?” I ask, crunching up to sit.
“Every morning.”
“Yeah? What do you think about when you’re doing it? Do you like—organize your to do list?”
“The point is not to think about anything,” he says. “Just be present.”
I grin to myself. “You sound like my kung fu teacher.”
He raises his brow, for the first time looking remotely interested in something that’s come out of my mouth. “You take kung fu?”
“I used to. I started when I was five. I quit in high school when I joined the wrestling team, and my schedule got all messed up, but I’ve been trying to get back into it. It’s a great all around fighting style.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, sounding bored again.
Calyx is wearing a tight navy blue t-shirt today along with loose sweats. His feet are bare, and they’re as perfect as the rest of him. I’m convinced he doesn’t grow hair anywhere but hishead and his brows. His exposed skin is baby smooth, and I swear he looks airbrushed.
“You’re probably not much into fighting, huh?” I ask.
“Thatassumption is fair,” he says.
That reminds me. “Sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to judge a book by its cover or whatever. I just thought it was nice what my dad said.”
He dips his head and scoots away. “It was. No apology necessary. So, what does the rest of the week look like for you?”
I have to think about it for a second. Not because my schedule is stacked, but because these yoga classes aren’t exactly what I thought they’d be, and I’m not sure I like it—or whether it’s helping. The back twists felt good, but if this is the pace we’re going to move at, I might rather try my luck with YouTube.
“So, here’s the thing…breathing’s great and everything, but…”
He blinks those hazel doe eyes at me. “We can do more. I just didn’t want to rush anything.”
“We can go faster than this,” I tell him.
He nods. “Right. When are you available?”
“All the time. For now.”
