Page 21 of Overachiever
“Frosty the Abominable Snowman probably doesn’t have the right ring to it for a holiday song.”
“True.”
“I always wondered what guys thought about after sex,” She cuddles against me and yawns.
“Now you know.”
* * *
My worry that Remee would regret us hooking up doesn’t seem to be an issue. We spend the weekend together like we usually do, at the beach and wandering around town. The nights are much better. With a naked girl underneath me, how could they not be?
She crawls out of bed early on Sunday morning, and I drag my eyes open. “What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed.”
“Request denied. I insist you get back in bed right now.”
“It wasn’t a request. I’ve been slacking on yoga and meditation since we got here, and I’ve always wanted to do it on the beach.”
“You’re going to the beach?”
With her back turned to me, she bends over to pick up her shoes. Her yoga pants outline her amazing ass and thoughts of sleep disappear. Remee in skin tight clothes bending every which way on the sand? I’m in.
“What are you doing?” she asks when I get up and start pulling on clothes.
“Going with you. The beach isn’t safe alone. You might get attacked by gulls or something.”
After a moment of consideration, she points at me. “Fine, you can go, but this is supposed to be relaxing. No acting like an idiot.”
Laying my hand on my heart, I let my mouth fall open. “When have Iever?” At the sight of her expression, I hold up my hands. “I won’t disturb you, I swear. You can even teach me how to do yoga if you want. Even though we both know I’m remarkably flexible.”
Her eye roll would be a bit more convincing if she could control that grin. We end up on the same beach where I took her to study the stars, and there’s not another soul in sight. Not surprising since the sun has barely risen.
Chilly air paints goosebumps down my arms while we lay out our beach towels to use in lieu of yoga mats. Remee props her phone up where I can see it. “I have this memorized, but it’ll be easier for you to follow the video.”
It starts with a minute of silence and breathing, then leads me to a new discovery about myself. I am not, in fact, remarkably flexible. Keeping my promise not to disturb Remee, who nails every pose like she’s been doing it her whole life, I grunt and sweat my way through a few minutes until the woman onscreen folds herself in some ridiculous way. It looks to be a testicle crusher, and I’m done.
Remee’s lost in her own world, and I take a second to watch her bend her body to match the instructor without opening her eyes. Contentment rests on her face. Outlined against the white sky, she’s beautiful. Though I tease her about being uptight about some things, I envy her calmness. The way she sits back and examines everything before making a decision is in stark contrast to my impulsivity, but it’s one of the things I love about her. My mind and body never want to stay still.
Quietly, I retrieve my phone and take her picture. Judging by the amount of time left on the video, she’s only about halfway finished so I walk away, giving her some space, and spend the rest of the time exercising in a way that won’t leave me tied up like a pretzel.
Sand sticks to my sweaty skin after the last round of push-ups. Exercising on the beach sucks. Give me the gym. Remee smirks at me when I sit up. “Yoga harder than it looks?”
“Maybe I just don’t feel a need to be able to kiss my own ass.”
She scoops up her phone, and I flop back down beside her. “If you want to go for a walk or whatever, I have a fifteen minute meditation podcast to do.”
“As long as it doesn’t include trying to roll myself up like a joint, I’m in.”
The audio starts with a woman’s voice giving instructions. Okay, I swear I’m not judging. I know there are a lot of people who benefit from this, and there are some things I find useful. Relaxing my shoulders, unclenching my jaw, realizing where I’m holding tension, great. Some of the other commands, not so much.
Once it’s over, Remee glances over at me. “Did you get anything out of that?”
“It was relaxing, and honestly, I tried, but Rem, I have no idea how to breathe into my pelvis.”
A snort of laughter leaps from her before she covers her mouth.
“I’m serious! You heard her say it! Breathe into your pelvis. How’s that even possible? Last time I checked, my pelvis doesn’t have lungs. Or does it mean breathe on your pelvis? Which in that case, I’m sorry, it becomes a fetish. And impossible.”
