HANDLE WITH CARE (The Ludzecky Sisters Book 5) (3 page)

“Huh. I left early for a doctor’s appointment.”

“Nothing wrong, I hope.” She gave him a sexy once-over. He’d dressed up in gray wool pants and a navy blazer. “You look great. Anything serious that made you leave early?”

“Thanks. And no, I had my yearly physical.”

At which the doctor had said his
muscles were strung too tight from the weight lifting and running he’d been doing all winter. He sipped his drink, wondering what the little yogi they’d hired for next year would say about that. “Tell me about the fight.”

She sighed, accepted her drink from the waiter when he came back, and shook her head. “It’s not this particular fight that concerns me. It’s that there were three this week.”

“It’s a big school.”

“Truthfully, I can’t see me breaking up fights like you do.”

“Scared?”

“Cautious. Worried I’ll get hurt.”

“What did you teach before you came to Eastside to intern?”

“French.”

“Ah. I’ll bet there weren't any fighting Frenchmen in your class.”

“No. Some reluctant learners who didn't want to be there. But they rarely disrupted the class.”

He remembered being in pretty teachers’ classes in high school when he was sixteen. He often left the room in more pain than an Achilles tendon tear caused.

“How about you? Have you gone back to your yoga class?” Her voice was teasing. He’d told her about the unpleasant experience when they’d had a date the next night. He was moving stiffly and she asked why.

“Nope.”

“Are you going
to?”

“Probably.” He’d been doing research online. And some other things he’d like to not even admit to himself, let alone Lauren.

“She’s the woman who’s going to be teaching it in the fall, isn’t she?”

“Right.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s little. And flexible. Man, what she could do with her body.”

In a flash, he saw an image of that body being flexible in other ways. In
bed. With him. Because of the dream he had last night. They were having sex on a mat.

“You just blushed, Max.”

“I did?” He gave her his best sexy grin and winked. “The mention of
body
gave me ideas. About yours.” Man, when had he become such a good liar?

“Maybe down the road some.”

“I’ll hold on to that.”

The dinner was fun, but they parted outside on the street with a brush
of their lips, and he drove home.

Max’s house in the city was small, but it had three bedrooms with one converted into a workout area. He had an early meeting tomorrow and he should just go to sleep. Instead, he made his way to a bathroom, stripped down to his skivvies and headed down the hall. He didn’t jump on the elliptical or do some weights; he dropped down on his newly purchased mat.
Beside it were the other things he’d bought: a bolster, a strap and a block. Nobody knew about this dirty little secret. What he did in here stayed in here. He shook his head, not believing he was actually practicing yoga.

Sitting up on the bolster, as he’d done for a week, he crossed his legs. He was happy to see his knees were closer to the floor than they were seven days ago. He’d measure
it tomorrow. But tonight, he’d do some breathing—she’d called it
prana
-something. Then he laid on his back with the belt and extended his leg upright. He was surprisingly pleased he could straighten it more now.

“You’re an idiot, Walker,” he chided himself, as he had every morning and night when he ended up here. But still, he continued the practice. In another week, he was going back to her
studio, and he’d be damned if he’d be the worst in his class.

Gus Carney had a positive outlook on life and a cheerful disposition. Sofia liked men with these traits because she cultivated them in herself. They’d arrived at a theater in downtown Queens and had just been seated.

“So," he said, nodding to the stage, “this should be fun.”

“I can’t believe you got the
tickets for the production. I tried and they were sold out.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to take credit for being resourceful, but my sister’s a set designer for visiting companies. She got us in.”

Sofia studied the set of
Swan Lake
. “It’s wonderful. The trees appear to be moving as we watch them. And the little hills in back of them are murky, so it’s left to the imagination what they could
be.”

“I’ll tell her you said so. We could go backstage if you want, after the show. She’s here tonight.”

Her heart seized up. Backstage. At a performance. She hadn’t been behind the curtain since she was sixteen. “You remembered I studied dance, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged. I don’t know why you switched to yoga, but I’m glad you did.” He covered her hand with his. For some stupid
reason, she remembered putting her hand over Max Walker’s the day they met at school. “Because that means I see you more often.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The orchestra was warming up, and the dissonance of the strings all playing something different was familiar.

Gus added, “I hope Max Walker is supportive. He seems to be.”

“Yes, he does.”

“He’s a good guy. The kids adore
him, and not just the jocks. He teaches a special-needs PE class—volunteers for it—all year long. Their parents think he walks on water.”

Hmm, Mr. I’m-So-Tough had a softer side. “I admire that.”

“So do most women.” His expression was self-deprecating. “They flock to him.”

She caught his tone. “Now, don’t be modest. I’ll bet you have your share of dates.”

Facing her fully, he said,
“I’m getting there. Sofia, I’m just coming out of a long-term relationship. We ended things two months ago.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”

“It was. I just wanted you to know.”

“Fine. We’re friends.” She smiled over at him. “For now anyway.”

Leaning over, he kissed her nose. “Thanks.”

As the lights dimmed, they watched the stage, and Sofia wondered why she felt
relief at his statement, which had implied he wasn’t ready for more in their relationship. She’d have to think about that.

In Mid-April, Max tried to pull into the parking lot of Serenity Yoga and stopped short. The lot was full. He backed out and drove down the street. Most spaces were taken. When he found one, a block away, he hopped out of the car. Heading back to the studio, he had to laugh at himself. He hadn’t brought his mat, like other students did. Not that he was embarrassed
by having practiced every day. Not really. Well, maybe some. But he told himself this was all happening because, down deep, he was a true competitor.

When he reached the front door, he found a note. “Session in progress. Quiet, please.”

He hadn’t noticed one on the schedule when he checked the internet for which class he could attend. Assuming she’d locked the door for safety reasons,
he started to step back. Then thought of her upbeat attitude toward everything, how she expected the best out of situations, so he yanked on the handle. Hell, didn’t she have any sense? It was eight at night in downtown Queens. His protective instincts went on red alert, for which he chided himself. She wasn’t his, after all. The provocative thought brought him back to his periodic dreams about her
in the past two weeks. Damn, he couldn’t stop them, and he knew it was because of his yoga practice right before bedtime.

Anxious now, he prowled the small but homey reception area. Benches—padded in blue material—stood out from the creamy walls. Posters that accented the color boasted a variety of yoga positions by different people. Huh! The one at the end, of a man standing on one leg, the
other crooked over his back, almost touching his head, snagged his attention. Jesus, the joy in his hard work and accomplishment these past two weeks dimmed in comparison.

A bulletin board graced one wall. The monthly schedule in one corner. Pictures of students abounded. A notification of a canceled class. One baby-pink sheet of paper caught his eye.

“Yoga for Cancer Patients and Survivors:
six free lessons to all who qualify. Starting April 15, yoga exercises will be offered designed to alleviate the discomfort and fatigue we all feel from treatments. With an emphasis on strengthening bodies, stimulating muscles, increasing blood flow and the lymphatic system balance, this ninety-minute class will include several routines to calm the body and diminish stress all cancer patients
suffer.”

Max stepped back. Swallowed hard. He’d never heard of yoga for cancer patients. It was a cool thing to do—free, even. He looked at the note again, something niggling at him. Just then, the door opened and out walked students. Women. The first seemed healthy, no visible effects of cancer. The next two were bald and wore no head scarves. The fourth seemed dangerously thin. Still and
somber, Max stared at them.

Until he heard “Jill, wait, you forgot your head scarf.” Sofia appeared, serene as usual, with a paisley-colored thing in her hand, the kind doctors wore in surgery.

Jill turned and hugged Sofia. Who noticed him. And flushed. A lot. He wondered why.

“This is a surprise,” she said, after the women filed out.

“I know. I was going to call, but I thought
maybe I’d just show up for another class.” He patted his pocket. “I want to pay this time.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “No need.” She glanced at the clock, made with the hands going around a wooden Buddha. “But you’re a half hour early.”

“Am I?” Hell was he that anxious to get here? “I didn’t realize. Maybe I can just warm up. You don’t have to entertain me.”

“No, that’s
okay. I can work with you alone for a bit. Come on in.”

He entered the studio and was hit by a smell he remembered from church. He breathed it in. “What’s that?”

“It’s cedar-wood incense. Used to combat stress and tension, which can interfere with healing.”

“Cool.”

“I’ll get the props.” She started to the side of the room.

“Sofia?” She turned. “I just wanted to say that I read
the notice downstairs. And saw the women leaving. What a great thing to do for cancer patients. I admire you for thinking of it.” More than he could express.

“It’s important to give back.” She retrieved the props, and when he picked a spot, she knelt down with them. He sat on the mat. “Shall we start with some gentle openers? I’m afraid that you’ve lost any ground you gained last time in flexibility.
These routines have to be kept up to stay loose.”

He tried not to be arrogant, but he took pride in knowing he was going to surprise her.

“Now sit cross-legged.” For a sec, she focused on his position. “Not bad. I recall your knees being more up in the air.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said innocently.

After that pose, she said, “Lie down on your back, knees bent and out to the sides. Now,
remember this was hard for you. Don’t overdo.”

He used to hate this pose. It had been painful. He laid back and separated his knees. No aches. And his legs went down farther.

Again, a surprised expression from the teacher. “All right, stay in that position for a couple of minutes. Close your eyes for
pranayama
. Breathe in and out.”

Having practiced her
prana
-thing, too, he knew he
could do this. However, instead of concentrating on his breathing, his mind went back to the class he’d just seen. The women without hair. The notice. It took a few minutes for things to click: relief from the
discomfort and fatigue we all feel from treatments…it’s important to give back…I’m more than just my hair…I was sick during high school.

All of his pride, his foolish belief that he’d
done something special by getting more limber, evaporated when the realization hit him. This calm, upbeat and very sweet woman was a cancer survivor.

And that meant something to him.

Sofia laughed softly at the class’s protest when she suggested half-moon. All but Max Walker. Right after warm-ups and openers, he suddenly seemed distracted. As if something had happened
to him in the interim, which was impossible. She’d ask him about it after the session.

“To those new to the class, this may be above your pay grade, so to speak. I’ll modify it after everyone else starts.” When they got in position, she walked over to Max, the only newbie. He was glaring at the others. “I’ll never be able to do that one, no matter how much I practice.”

Ah, so that was
it. That’s why he hadn’t come back to class. He’d been waiting until he got better. Sofia just didn’t understand competition. She had at one time, when she danced, but after her cancer, those things had no meaning in her life. But hell, she liked that he hadn’t forgotten about yoga. And her.

Focusing on him, she said evenly, “What you need to do is stand facing the wall, put your right hand
on it. Step back until your torso is parallel to the floor.” She touched his back to make sure he had the correct curve, and his muscles leapt. “Now raise your leg.”

“Shit, I can’t get it up far enough.”

The devil in her came out and she whispered close to his ear, “I think I’ll ignore that statement.” He chuckled. She took hold of his leg. “Just ease it up a bit. Keep it bent. There,
now that’s respectable.”

During
savasana
, she forced herself not to think about the heat of his back, the sinew of his legs. When the session ended and the others left, Max stayed on his mat, his hands linked between his legs. She crossed to him and dropped down, facing him. “So, you’ve been practicing.”

His sheepish expression was cute. Now that the lights were up, she noticed his eyes
were thickly lashed. “Yeah. I was mortified last time.”

“Max, you didn’t have to improve in secret. You could have come to classes and I would have supervised you.”

“First, I can’t come to class every morning and night.”

It took her a minute. “You practiced twice a day? I’m impressed.”

“I hate not being good at something.” He took a bead on her. “Besides, I’m not the only one keeping
secrets.”

“Excuse me?” Oh, God, could he tell she was attracted to his animal magnetism?