Page 22 of Road Trip with a Vampire
That meant he’d eaten recently. Good. That meant he’d be less tempted to snack on another student during Savasana.
“This isn’t a beginner class,” I warned as he unrolled one of the studio’s loaner mats. Peter was the last student to arrive, so he was forced to take the only remaining spot in the room. Right up front by me.
Once he was situated, he stood again, facing me. Walnut wasour smallest room, and there were a dozen other people in there with us, so less than a foot separated us. Up close like this, I was reminded again of just how tall he was.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s not a beginner class,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
Fit Flow’s after-work time slot made it popular among the millennial crowd. With his Yoga Magic workout gear, Peterlookedlike he fit right in with the thirtysomethings taking the class with him. None of the other students had vampire teeth, though. They also didn’t stand on their mats with the grim-faced determination one might see on the front lines of battle the way he did.
“Finally, some good fucking food,” Sarah Cheng murmured sotto voce to Sarah Anderson, the woman beside her. They were both positioned directly behind Peter and staring directly at his butt.
“Do I need to separate you two?” Hands on my hips, I channeled my bestdisappointed teacherand stared them down. To the extent this class had troublemakers, the Sarahs, as their friends called them, were it.
“We’ll be good,” Sarah said, giggling.
“Promise,” Sarah agreed.
If Peter noticed any of this, he showed no sign of it. All his attention was on trying to force his legs into crisscross applesauce, the way everyone else in the room was sitting.
It wasn’t going well.
In the years since becoming a yogi, I’d learned that some people with athletic builds struggled with flexibility. Yoga could be humbling and frustrating for people who were generally used to their bodies doing what they told them to.
“You can stand up for now,” I said to Peter as the other students situated themselves. “No need to hurt yourself just yet.”
Peter shot me a relieved glance. “Thanks,” he said. Wincing, he untucked his legs and stood up. “People actually find that relaxing?”
I smiled at the disbelief I heard in his voice. “Yes. Though it takes some people a while to get there.”
“Hmm.” Peter grabbed his right ankle and pulled it behind him, stretching his quad. I had to look away from the flex and bunch of his thigh muscles as he moved or else risk becoming as shameless as the Sarahs. “I might be one of the slower studies.”
“It’s not a race,” I said. “Yoga is a personal journey, one involving only your body and your mind. There’s no right way to do yoga, no one-size-fits-all.” I smiled. “However long it takes you to work your way into these poses is the correct length of time.”
“Hmm,” he said again. His skepticism wasn’t uncommon among new students. Particularly those who were coming to the practice of yoga from a lifetime of fitness. Based on his muscular build, I suspected Peter fit into that category. Given that he was a vampire, he’d likely fit into that category for a very long time.
As it turned out, he had little difficulty with poses requiring strength, like Warrior II. Poses that required flexibility or balance, though, were a struggle. To his credit, he didn’t give up. He followed my instructions as best he could with gritted teeth and a tenacity that made me wonder, again, what his life had been like prior to meeting me.
In the end, it was the Tree Pose that broke him.
“Shit!” he shouted as he toppled over and landed in a heap on his mat.
“Do you need help?” I asked, going to him. He’d placed his right foot too high on his left leg for someone new to this. Falling out of the pose had been a foregone conclusion. But I believed ina student-directed yoga practice. I would never insert myself into a situation where my guidance was not wanted.
“No,” he muttered darkly. “I’ve got it.”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at his obstinacy. “Try putting the ball of your foot at your ankle rather than above your knee,” I suggested. “Like a kickstand.”
He glared at me as ifIwere the reason he was struggling with his balance. Then he ignored my instructions, placed his right foot above his left knee again, and toppled over a second time.
“Here,” I said, biting my lip. “Let me.”
I pulled him to his feet, then knelt on his mat before him. He stood ramrod straight as I placed my hand on the cool flesh of his lower calf then slid it down until it rested lightly on his ankle. His muscles tensed beneath my palm, and a slight tremor went through him.
I looked up to find him gazing down at me with an expression that nearly set me on fire. Too late, I realized just how suggestive this position—me kneeling at his feet, touching his bare legs—would be in any other context.
I forced myself to look at my hands, reminding myself that I was aprofessional.
“Now what?” Peter asked, voice strained.
