Below the Belt(37)

A voice called out, “Ma’am, am I doing this right?”

Marianne stood up at that, having recognized the voice. Tressler, in the back, was chuckling like a clown as Kara walked behind him and asked what felt off.

“My hips, I think.” He wiggled his ass in the air, which happened to line up with Kara’s stomach. “Is this right?”

Marianne walked over and quietly took Kara’s hand, motioning for her to be quiet. Then she waved Coach Ace over. The man was a ghost, moving without sound. He shot her an amused grin and gripped Tressler’s hips.

“Is this right?” Face still pointing down, Tressler moved his ass up and down.

“I don’t know, is it?” Coach Ace asked, and Tressler’s arms buckled. He face-planted into the mat and rolled to find the coach standing over him. His face flushed the color of a blood stripe and he stuttered.

Lowering himself to his haunches, Coach Ace said quietly, “Let’s let the ladies do their jobs, shall we?”

“Yes, sir?” Tressler replied automatically, then scrambled back into position.

“You can keep going,” he said, and Kara nodded regally, wandering back toward the front of the group.

“Walk your hands in,” she said in a calm, soothing voice that matched the babbling brook CD she’d brought to put in the gym’s CD player. “Slowly, slowly . . . If you need to widen your feet more to make it easier, do so. No strain necessary. Just by trying you’re getting the health benefits.”

Marianne wandered back toward her own mat, passing by Brad’s location as she did. She found him already standing, having rolled up as one of the first. “Nice form.”

“I catch on.” He shrugged one shoulder, but his neck flushed in an adorable show of embarrassment.

“Admit it—you’ve taken some yoga classes.”

“Hell no,” he said quickly. “But you know, the instructors are pretty cute when you find one of those classes on TV.”

“Uh-huh.” She fought against a smile and shook her head, returning to her mat. She was pleased with the way the morning yoga session had started. Though there’d been some confusion, and more than a few grumbles, Coach Ace had shot them down quickly. From there, the men had joined in without complaint. And although there’d been moments of hilarity—like when Bailey had fallen like a log during the tree pose—they’d adapted quickly to the program.

“And let’s move into one you should all identify with,” Kara said, coming back to her mat up front. “Warrior pose.”

“Oo-rah!” one of the Marines said, and they all chuckled.

“Oo-rah, indeed. Follow me, men.” Striking the pose, she demonstrated. The men followed suit, a little more clumsy in their motions, but not bad. Marianne hit her own warrior pose, and closed her eyes for a nice, deep breath.

When she heard the curse, her eyes popped open again. Toward the back, Brad was sitting down, massaging his right thigh and looking like he wanted to murder someone. She did her best to not be obvious—no helicopter mom jokes for her—and wandered back there. Along the way, she corrected another Marine’s form, just to show she wasn’t rushing. When she reached Brad’s mat, she put her hands on her hips.

“She said Warrior Pose, not Air Force pose.”

The joke, which was meant to lighten the mood, did nothing but make him scowl. “I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” She squatted down and watched his hands rub over his thigh. “What’s up?”

“Just a cramp,” he said through his teeth. “Didn’t stretch enough before we started.”

“This is stretching,” she reminded him, but knew herself anyone could push too far, too fast, even in something as relaxed as yoga. “Let’s go put some heat on that.”

He jerked his arm from her grip. “I’m fine.”

“Everything okay here?” Coach Cartwright walked up to stand beside her, taking in Brad on the mat. Around them, Marines shifted to the next position. A few glanced their way. And she watched as a flush crept up Brad’s neck.

“Everything’s fine. Just had a cramp. Probably need some water and to walk it off.” Brad’s hands continued their steady pressure over his thigh. “No big deal.”

Cartwright seemed to take that at face value. “Walk it off, Marine. They’re about to wrap up, and then we move on into practice.”

Brad waited until the coach was gone, then shot eye-daggers at her. “You can go.”

Hurt at his tone, she backed away, hands held up in surrender. “Fine. Do what you need to do.” Then she walked back to her own mat.

As they did the final stretch, she blinked hard enough to keep the tears from falling to her mat.


*

HE was an *. Worse than an *. A douche bag.

Was there something worse than a douche bag? If so, he was that.

He’d sat there, on the yoga mat, feeling helpless and inept that his knee had completely given out and dropped him like a stone, and she’d done nothing but offer assistance. And for that, he’d snapped.

His pride, and maybe a little fear, had been the leading cause. But after he’d had another ten minutes to cool down, his mind couldn’t stop replaying the image of her face as she’d morphed from concern to surprise and to, ultimately, hurt.