I Promise You: Stand-Alone College Sports Romance(38)

He pops an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to be looking at your navel.”

“Yeah? Then why are you staring at me?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“You wish.”

He laughs as his eyes glow at me. “Champagne. Is it crazy that I love how you spar with me?”

I shrug. “What is up with you and champagne?”

“It’s your eye color, like sunshine.” He bites his lip, his face flushing. “I kind of, um, well…”

“What?” I cock my head.

His face grows redder, embarrassment growing. “I may have thought about popping a cork and pouring it on you, you know, um, when we, um, make out some time in the future. Maybe.” He blows out a breath. “I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t get anything right with you. Kill me now.”

Oh. He’s getting it right. He’s part smooth charmer, part uncertain college boy, and it ticks all my boxes. Help.

“Move to the happy baby position, class,” Zena says. “We all know what a baby looks like when they lie down and hold their feet.”

“These are the weirdest exercises I’ve ever done,” Dillon says as he rolls to his back and puts his legs in the air.

“Lie on your back and bring those knees to your belly, good. Now, open your knees slightly wider than your torso. Show the ceiling your feet and wrap two fingers around your big toe…” Zena calls, her voice low and soothing. “This is a deep hip relaxer, related to the Kama Sutra. It opens your sacral chakra, your pleasure center…that’s right, you got it…breathe deeply…think about your orgasm…”

He attempts it but loses his balance and rolls over on his side.

I shake, biting my lip.

“I know I’m making a fool of myself, but I had to see you.”

“You could have called.”

“I almost did, about a hundred times.”

So why didn’t he?

Zena darkens the room even more and lowers the music. “Alright, class, let’s cool down with a friend for the back-to-back partner twist.”

“Be my friend?” Dillon asks.

“Sure,” I say, preparing myself for the torture of being near Dillon’s body.

He edges over to my mat. His hair is messy from exertion, one side of it sticking out. “We get to touch each other,” he whispers in my ear.

Yeah. My heart pounds at the thought. He hasn’t really touched me since he tended to my feet.

I clear my throat. “See the people in front of us…do that. Sit cross-legged with your back to mine.”

With an eager expression on his face, he flips around and does as instructed. I inhale a deep breath at the feel of his powerful body against me. Vane was fit, but lean and wiry. Dillon, though, his muscles are firm and hard, a work of art I’d like to—

“What’s next?” he asks.

“We get as close as possible.”

“Yeah, we’re doing that.” His voice is gruff. “You feel good.”

“So do you.”

“Knew it.”

“Hush. Okay, now, as you exhale, put your right hand on the inside of my left knee.”

“Like this…” His hand lands on my knee, fingers on my inner thigh. My breath hitches and I shiver as heat pools in my body. It’s just yoga, I repeat in my head.

“Mmm, yeah. I’ll do the same to you on your right knee.” I move my hand to the muscles in his inner thigh.

“Finally,” he breathes out.

Same.

I say, “Now, we twist our shoulders in opposite directions to feel the stretch. We’re supposed to trust each other to hold us steady as we deepen the twist—”

“Deepen?”

“You are going to die when this is over,” I say on a laugh as I clench my hand around his leg.

He groans and I freeze, moving my hand back to his knee. “Sorry,” I say softly, grimacing. I’m not the only one who’s built up a little lust.

A long exhalation comes from him. “Not complaining.”

My senses are on overload as I feel the ripple of his back, the tautness of his muscles. I picture his magnificent body on top of me, sliding inside me…

“Good class,” Zena says a few minutes later, her voice low and subdued. “If you’d like meditation time, I’ll leave the music on and you can leave when you’re ready. Please disinfect your mats before you go. Refreshments are in the kitchen if you need water or tea. See you next week.”

We disentangle ourselves and I lie back on my mat, willing my heart to slow down—and it isn’t from the exercise. He seems to be doing the same.

“Who’s the musician?” His question comes as a surprise, and I glance over at him as he reclines, his hands behind his head as he peers up at the ceiling. “I looked at your socials. You really don’t post a lot, but I saw someone who’d commented on a picture of you with your sister.” He turns and catches my gaze. “Vane Winchester was the profile it led me to, the lead singer of Four Dragons. Then, I recalled you wearing their shirt, and then, ‘Sweet Serena’.” He pauses. “Did you date a rock star?”

Oh, well, here we go. I exhale. “I married him, then divorced him.”