Softer Than Steel (A Love & Steel Novel) (22 page)

Soften the Steel

“Hold the pose, not the drama. Lose the drama.”

Sidra delighted in the myriad of protests and grumbling. For the second straight week, her classes were wonderfully, happily filled to capacity. Like a chain reaction, the PAs from the label and the secretaries Rick had enticed to come brought their significant others to class. The publicists showed up with dates they wanted to impress. And the roadies, surprisingly enough, had fans and followers of their own, just as loyal and eager as groupies. Pixy brought her mother, who was an older, just as adorable version. Blue hair and all. And Deuce brought himself, faithfully, every other day. He was already standing taller, his skin was brighter, and he was able to go deeper into his spinal twists in record time.

She wound through the students, observing their progress. “No matter how awful or awkward it feels, you need to find stillness in this pose.”

No question: They were giving it their best effort. Concentrating, focused, serious. “I know you hate me when I say it,” Sidra said with a grin, “but smile. It’s yoga for your face, people.” That got a few laughs.

While it wasn’t possible for Rick to attend every single class with his charges, Sidra couldn’t help but think of him each time she stepped under the
ner tamid
, ready to teach. And with each final relaxation pose, he drifted to mind.

She was smiling a lot more during class these days, too.

At the session’s end, she had them cross their arms and pull down on their shoulders. “That’s a hug from me,” she said happily, then instructed them to open their arms and cross them again, opposite arm on top this time. “And that’s a hug from you. Thank you for sharing your practice with me.”

The collective “Namaste” that emanated from her students was music to her ears. High fives and fist bumps abounded.

“Girl, the energy in your studio could power half the borough!”

Sidra grinned; that was high praise coming from a powerhouse yogini like Gretchen. Like Sidra, she often craved a change of scenery from her own practice once in a while. Evolve’s gentle Hatha Flow class provided the perfect counterbalance. “I want to bottle it up and bring it over to NYU,” Gretchen continued. “Where did all these people come from?”

The time machine gave its double clunk: Rick was punching in for his session. He teased her about sticking to formalities at this point, but she wanted to track his progress like she did everyone else’s.

“Sorry, Gretch . . . no time to chat. Private client coming in.”

“Anyone I know?” Her tone was casual as she deftly rolled up her mat, but Sidra was well aware that the yoga grapevine was just as juicy and tangled as any other profession. No water cooler was needed to spread gossip; it hopped from mat to mat.

“I think he took your class once,” Sidra allowed, keeping her voice just as controlled.

“Omigod, the hottie with the accent?”

“Shhh. Yes, he’s my client, and he’s right behind that door.”

“How long have you been keeping him all to yourself?” Gretchen mock-pouted and rearranged her prAna top just so. As in “just so” her boobs would spill out. Sidra took her gaze up to the rafters. “So is he single? Just kidding, Teach. I’m sure you don’t go there in conversations with your students. Except for me, but I don’t count.” She giggled.

Sidra was allergic to giggling. It took all her energy to not thwack Gretchen with a yoga strap on her scrawny ass.

“Sorry I’m late; I had to change. Am I interrupting?”

Gretchen discreetly eyed Rick up and down and smiled like she wouldn’t change a thing about him. “Good to see you again,” she gushed. “I hear you’re good. I mean, you’re getting really good at yoga.”

“A reflection of a good teacher,” he said, moving past her to roll out his mat. With barely a glance at Sidra, he did a Swan Dive and a Deep Forward Fold. He was done talking.

Gretchen shot Sidra a glance, then shrugged.

“Here, I’ll walk you out.”

In the small waiting area, she noticed Rick had left his guitar case propped in the corner. It was too big to fit in any of the lockers. Sometimes he brought “work home from the office,” and Sidra loved when he’d play for her after their sessions, the sound ethereal as it floated up to the high beams of the old building.

A buzzing sound stopped both women in their tracks. Rick had left his cell phone out, too, on the low table under the time clock. Sidra caught a quick glance of the incoming text before the screen went black. The display showed two missed calls, plus a text from someone named Gloria.

My pleasure . . .

Before Sidra could even comprehend the first, another text sparked up the display. Same number, same name. Gloria. Like a deer in headlights, Sidra couldn’t look away.

Great to see you again. I’ll be in touch.

“Well,” Gretchen said with a smirk. “I guess that answers my question. Looks like he’s got ladies blowing up his phone. See ya, babe.”

When Sidra turned back to the phone, it had faded to black. She felt her vision tunnel to a pinhole as well. Thoughts of Charlie pried their way in. How he had suddenly developed a habit of carrying his phone everywhere in their tiny apartment, even into the bathroom when he took a shower. Strangely possessive of it, sneaking glances and smiling when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Let go of thoughts that do not serve you.

Gloria could be anyone. Her “pleasure” could mean anything. Sidra was done thinking about it. For now.

Rick was still in his inversion and stayed there, even after Sidra had closed the door firmly behind her and they were alone. “Hey,” she started softly. With his head hanging, the curls cascaded down and almost touched the floor, and she couldn’t see his face. “Hard day at the office?”

It was a lame joke at best, but she didn’t expect it to fall so flat.

“Yes.”

“Do you—”

He straightened, flipping his hair back with help from his hand. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“I was going to ask, do you want music tonight? Or not?” She turned on her heel and moved to the stereo. What the hell? Gretchen’s obnoxious behavior had snipped her fuse short, and now Rick’s tone took a match to it.

“No. Thank you. I’m surrounded by noise all day.”

Oh, this is going to be fun.
“Fine. Turn your awareness inward . . .”
And see how you’re acting like a total prick to me.
Her face burned at the thought. It shocked her, really. Yoga was neutral territory. No room here for lovers’ quarrels. Especially one that came out of nowhere. She shook her own head, trying to unload the personal junk.
Take an inventory, clear your mental in-box . . .

Who the hell was Gloria?

Pushing her hands firmly in prayer position in front of her chest, she began again. “Let’s set our intentions.”

Oh, he did
not
just roll his eyes at me!

She dropped her hands.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m feeling a bit off.”

“Well, yoga does not have an On/Off button. Focus, okay? How about some intentions, like gratitude, forgiveness, guidance—”

To her surprise, he seized her by the elbows, crushing her against him as he kissed her. It was all fire, no heat. As if he had something to prove. She broke away, furious.

“If all you
intend
to do is get in my pants by the end of the night, why don’t you leave now!” She had half a mind to yank the mat out from under him and send him on his way.

“Christ, Sidra. I had a rough day. Okay? Am I not allowed to be in a shitty mood? Holding it in is what started the panic attacks in the first place.” The talisman at his throat shifted on its tight cord. “I haven’t had one since you came to the apartment that morning.”

All at once, Sidra felt a myriad of emotions, from longing to dread to tenderness to shame.

“Then maybe we’re done here.”

Gretchen was right. She shouldn’t have “gone there”—she shouldn’t have gotten close to him, learned of his problems, opened her own . . . or looked at his damn phone.

“What the fuck does that mean? We’re done with yoga? Or
we’re
done?”

She stomped over to the corner and began to straighten the foam bricks, angrily shoving them into place.

“Are you breaking up with me, like you did those other blokes, because you don’t think you could ever love me?”

Sidra bit her lip and kept stacking.
No.
I think you’re going to be like the other one. You’re going to break my heart.

He grabbed the bricks out of her hands and let them drop. “Don’t shut me out!”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” She kicked the fallen blocks at his feet. “Building the walls of your lonely castle right back up? I don’t know what you want, Rick!”

“You. I want
you
. And
this
.” He gestured, hands up in supplication. “I want us.
Here.
” His voice was a throaty hush, and his eyes deepened into even darker pools than usual. “Forgive me.”

It was a whisper so low, it could have been a vibration, as nebulous as a chant of
Om
in the empty room.

For what?

“Who’s Gloria?” The words were out, and she couldn’t pull them back. “You left your phone out.” She swallowed hard. “A text came through and it . . . it was hard to
not
see it.”

Rick bent and swept up a brick with a heavy sigh. “She’s doing some research for me.” Sidra took the brick he offered, but he didn’t let it go right away. “Sid . . . You don’t have to worry about Gloria.”

“I’m sorry.” Again, the brick tumbled to the floor as she fell into his arms. “It’s just, jeez, Gretchen was all judgy about you being my client, and then she pissed me off by flirting with you herself, and then the text came, and—” For the first time that evening, Rick chuckled. His breath warmed her neck and infused her with relief. “—and Charlie . . . my ex. He cheated on me with his bandmate Evie. Giving a whole new meaning to the term ‘fiddle player,’” she muttered.

Rick clasped her hands and brought them to his chest. “I’m not Charlie. You’re not Gretchen. And Gloria is not a threat.” He tucked his chin and ducked his head to the side so he could seek out her eyes. “Okay?”

“So you want this to be . . . Are we . . . exclusive?”

“Nothing would make me happier. And contrary to my foul mood tonight, I haven’t been this happy in a long time. I’m finally able to live in my skin again. Because of you, Goddess. Because you’ve given me a chance.”

His voice melted her heart, and she softened against him, like dissolving into a pose. He sighed and pulled her closer. It was as if they had both reached their edge, and then took things deeper. Settling into what was. Not worrying about the “what if” and “if only.” They managed to soften the steel they’d both girded themselves with, systemically, for so long, and stepped into the process of letting themselves be vulnerable. It was okay to be vulnerable sometimes. It was strangely liberating, and powerful.

“I do think we need to make a slight change to this dynamic, though,” Sidra admitted.

Rick pulled back to regard her.

“I can’t take your money for unlimited classes anymore . . . or the private sessions. It’s just a little too . . .” Okay, she wasn’t going to go there. “I don’t need your money, Rick. Not anymore. We can still practice together. Same times and everything. But honestly, with Pixy, Deuce, and all the others, you’ve brought more business and loyalty to the studio than I could’ve ever hoped to do on my own. Thank you for taking that gamble, for me.”

He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her close once again. “The wisest investment I’ve ever made,” he murmured against her hair.

Discovery and Denial

She was velvet personified. From the inky drape of her hair as it pooled over his bare shoulder to the softness of her earlobe as he caught it lightly between his teeth and right down to her inner walls, guiding his every move, gripping him and making him feel like a fucking Adonis. Good God, she was the lushest thing he had ever experienced. Rick wanted to shout to the rafters, but he kept his praise private, his breathing measured. Sidra was nestled in his lap, her exquisite spine pressed in perfect alignment against the misericorde tattooed down his chest. They were on the step leading down from the former bimah, pillows bolstered behind them.

Every evening they somehow ended up like this, together, after the final yoga class. They knew they must have been violating some sacred order in doing so, desecrating the
Savasana
as they reached for each other, stripping clothes and licking skin. They didn’t care. His desire would build, slow and strong, during class as he concentrated on nothing but his breathing and his body to the sound of her voice. Like waves out in the distant sea, his passion churned until he had her alone, the doors locked behind them. Then she would join him, as warm and as yielding as the sand, and they’d meld together as he crashed against her, becoming one.

Other times, she was the ocean demanding his attention, teasing and lapping at him as he lay in exhilarated exhaustion. Then pulling away from him like the tide and letting him pursue.

Her shoulders now trembled as she bucked and buried him to the hilt. “Rick,” she gasped, his name like chocolate melting on her tongue as she panted. His thumbs circled along her lower back and she arched forward, relinquishing all power to him. He eclipsed her firm breasts with his large hands and held her as he began to meet her pleas with measured thrusts.

She reached her first pinnacle, quaking under his hands as he began to catch up to her. She felt so amazing to him, she felt—

No. Not now. This can’t be happening.

“Sidra, oh luv . . .” His hands were still cradling her breasts, his lips frozen between her shoulder blades.

“Baby . . . what?” They were so new, yet he knew she could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor.

“Luv, I . . . I’ve found a lump.”

Surreal Reality

Sidra felt the tremor in her hand as Rick guided it to her left breast. He gently lifted, then pressed a spot underneath. Her fingers pushed his out of the way, needing to palpitate the place herself. Her breasts were small, and something she barely gave a thought to each morning as she squeezed into a sports bra or ensconced them in a tank top.

There. Yes, he was right. Her fingers rolled over a marble-size hardness.

“How long do you think it’s been there?”

“How the hell should I know?” She was up and moving away from him, yanking the lace of her panties into place. No one else had touched her since Charlie, and she hadn’t ever thought to self-examine. The thing would’ve probably grown to the size of a golf ball if Rick hadn’t come along.

She frowned at her breasts in the mirror along the side wall, running her hand over the spot again. Beyond her shoulder, Rick’s reflection was pulling up boxers, gaze on her.

Perhaps . . . ? No, there it was again. A knotty nodule. Rick’s mirror image grew larger, but her eyes were quickly filling and blurring him out.

“For fuck’s sake, Sidra! With all the wellness and self-awareness you tout? You could’ve checked yourself—”

“When? Yesterday? Last week? Tomorrow? Who cares? It’s there!” It was
her
body, and
he
had the nerve to get angry? “Just leave, okay? Go. I don’t need you, your sucky bedside manner, or your lectures!”

His face contorted before quickly steeling itself. “If you need someone, I’ll be there, Sidra.”

Sidra trembled, white-hot, as she stared him down.
How could you be there?
her mind screamed.
You’re already a million miles away.

“Sid? You still here?” Mikey’s voice sounded dangerously close.

“Shit. You’d better—”

Rick dropped a kiss on her lips. His jeans and shirt littered the path to the rear exit, but he was back in them and out the door before her cousin rattled the doorknob.

“Just a sec,” she called, shimmying back into her yoga pants and reaching for a hoodie she kept on a peg by the door. She couldn’t bear to bind herself back into a sports bra tonight. She zipped the sweatshirt up over her bare chest and opened the door.

“What the hell?” Mike stood, massive hands on hips. “You shouldn’t lock yourself in here.”

“I was changing,” she mumbled. “What’s up?”

“My dad wants a meeting.”