Page 66 of Say You Hate Me
“Annika left them here one time. I forgot about it until now. They’re clean, if you were worried about it.” I glance down at the yoga gear. “You guys seem like you’re about the same size.”
That makes me feel better, so I smile and give him a quick peck before changing in the bathroom. Because yes, I am embarrassed to change clothes in front of the man who had his face between my legs last night. The workout gear fits like a glove, and I brush my teeth before meeting Anderson out in the living room. He hands me my cardigan and shoes—and a small glass with green liquid in it. We exit his house and slide into the leather seats of his car.
“Drink,” he orders, taking a sip of his own green concoction.
“What is it?” I look at the sludge skeptically.
“It’s one of Gather’s juices, Natalia.” He huffs a laugh. “Really?”
I burst out laughing. “Oh. Well, I guess I should try it then.”
We wind down Laurel Canyon, turning right on Sunset. The sun is beginning to poke through the fog and haze, so by the time we turn left on Highland, it’s sunny and clear out. The streets are surprisingly busy for nearly six in the morning. I finish the juice as we park on the street, and he walks to his trunk.
“Here,” he says, handing me a yoga mat.
I stare at it. “I’m sure this is painfully obvious, but just to be clear, I’ve never done a second of yoga in my life.” I look at him, and he scowls as he locks the Tesla and grabs my hand. He’s wearing joggers and a T-shirt—the latter of which is fitted, forming to his muscled abdomen and arms. I don’t hate the look of yoga Anderson. He’s wild and unpredictable andfun.
“It is obvious, but thank you for the warning. You don’t need any experience for this class. In fact, we’re not really going to work out.”
I look at him skeptically. “If we’re not working out, what will we be doing?” I wiggle my eyebrows, and he smiles.
“Not that. You’ll see. Just give it a chance.”
We cross the street and enter an expansive lobby filled with things like clothes, books, and snacks. I fill out some paperwork, and when I hand it back, Anderson nods at the receptionist. We’re directed to one of the rooms in the back. We take our shoes off and put them in a locker. I follow him into a large, loft-style room made up of bricks and wooden beams. There are real candles burning up by the front of the class, and actual sconces on the walls to give a dim, flickering light. There are several people here already, and they’re all lying flat on their backs. It’s quiet except for soft, plinking music, and I place my mat down next to his near the back of the room.
He doesn’t say anything—just winks and lies down. So, I take my sweater off and lie on my back, closing my eyes, ignoring the way Anderson’s heat and citrus scent permeates from next to me. I take a deep breath and splay my hands out to the side, and then the strangest thing begins to happen. Each note of the music pulls me closer into the ground, like I’m falling asleep, except I’m not falling asleep. I haven’t been this relaxed in years—lying down and closing my eyes for the sole purpose of relaxing. It’s always go, go, go. And any free time I have is spent reading, filling my mind with words. I never justexist.
A woman speaks, and the music softens.
“Hands together, heart center. Inhale deep, exhale.” There’s a pause. “Please sit.”
When I sit up, I’m surprised to find a woman wearing a white turban, clad in white clothes. Instantly, I feel safe. Something about her presence is calming.
“Inhale deep, one more time. Hold your breath. Start to visualize this energy swirling around your spine. It has to come up. It has to come out. Inhale deep.”
And then she—and everyone else—start to chant. At first, I stay silent, my eyes flitting to Anderson who has his hands up and eyes closed.
Just give it a chance.
The teacher starts chanting again, and I participate this time. Closing my eyes, I make the sounds they’re all making, surprised to find myself swept up with everyone else’s energy. I’ve been strung up through the chest, connected with the others in this room. It’s so powerful that after a minute of chanting, I find myself beginning to tear up, my emotions hanging by a thread. Like something had cracked me wide open.
I don’t open my eyes for the rest of the class as we stretch, do breath work, meditate, and then there’s more chanting, more breathing. The class ends with a mantra about self-love.
I already know I want to come back again.
As people slowly file out, I finally open my eyes to find Anderson watching me, his expression reverent and open. Being here with him—sharing this with him—is a whole new level of intimacy. He helps me up, and we don’t say anything as we walk to the car. It’s only when we sit in silence, his hand hovering over the engine start button, that I speak.
“That was…” I trail off, and Anderson watches me with hesitation. “Incredible.”
He grins, taking my hand. “I’m glad you like it. You should come with me again.”
“Do you go every week?”
He starts the car, backing up before driving forward. His hand goes around the back of my seat, and that motion alone makes my stomach flutter.
“Yes. I first tried Kundalini Yoga in India, and when I found out they offered it here, I signed up immediately. It’s my church.”
I smile as I look out the window. “That’s a great way to think about it.”
