Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
The blood drains from my face. “Say what now?”
Next to me, Elijah hoots. “Yes! Show us!”
“Warrior three,” Lucy repeats with a nod. She ignores Elijah and fixes her attention on me. “It’s a balancing pose. You’ll love it. Hands forward, one leg back. Like you’re flying.”
Flying? We’ve already established I can barely stand.
I glance at my buddies for backup, but they are absolutely no help. This was supposed to be relaxing. I was supposed to be ogling her ti—
“This is only a forty-minute class—hurry it along.” She stands back waiting; now the entire dock is watching me like I’m about to perform solo in the Super Bowl.
“Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes.” She chuckles. “Quit stalling.”
“Fine,” I grumble, straightening up and shaking out my arms like a boxer stepping into the ring. “Watch and learn, people.”
I hinge forward, lifting my arms out in front of me. I’m sure I look elegant—graceful, even. Like a damn swan. Lift my back leg carefully, feeling the dock creak beneath me. The wood feels suspiciously wobbly all of a sudden, but I focus.
This is warrior three.
I am the warrior!
Until my front foot starts shaking, the weight pulling at my hamstring, and my arms are stretched so far they might dislocate. My back leg wobbles dangerously, and I’m basically a human seesaw.
“Would you like some help?” Instead of waiting for my reply, she gently nudges my back arm upward. “Your arms need to be in line. Not drooping like you’re holding up bags of concrete.”
“Is that what it looks like?” I glance over at Elijah for an answer.
Quinton—who is also on the dock but not doing yoga—has his phone out, angling it like he’s preparing to film my impending disaster. Traitor.
Lucy ignores the other guys, shifting her focus to my front knee. “That’s okay, you’re here to learn. Try to center your weight.” She presses a hand lightly to my back to adjust my posture, and I freeze.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“You got this,” Lucy says, but there’s laughter in her voice now.
I don’t. I absolutely do not got this.
My back foot swerves, throwing my whole center of gravity off, and in slow motion—like a movie car crash—I flail. “Whoa, whoa—”
It’s no use. My arms windmill, my mat skids out from under me, and I stumble sideways with all the grace of a drunk giraffe. I try to recover, feet scrambling against the dock, but physics has other plans.
Splash!
I can’t see the bottom, and the water is so fucking cold. Bone-chilling, breath-stealing cold.
For a second, all I hear is the dull roar of the lake in my ears as I sink beneath the surface. When I come up for air, gasping, all hell has broken loose on the dock. Elijah is doubled over, absolutely losing his shit.
Miles and Quinton are laughing so hard they look like they’re crapping themselves, and—of course—they have their phones out, recording the moment for posterity.
I glare up at them, water streaming down my face.
“Did you take my picture, you asshole?” I sputter, lake water dripping from my hair and onto my face. “Delete those.”
“Make me,” Miles chokes out between laughs.
Lucy’s at the front of the dock, hands on her hips, staring down in the water at me with wide eyes.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think y’all knew each other already.” She laughs, trying to sound concerned, but doing a miserable job at it. “But are you okay? Did you hit the dock on your way in?”
“I’m peachy,” I deadpan. “So refreshing. Highly recommend.”
I needed that, actually.
“Glad to hear it,” she says, her voice light and teasing as she steps to the edge of the dock. Her ponytail catches the breeze as she crouches down, her face coming into view above me. “Do you need a hand?”
I’m immediately suspicious. The grin is way too smug.
Cute, but smug.
“You’re not going to let go of my hand and let me fall back in the water, are you?” I narrow my eyes, her expression one of innocence.
“Would I do that?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “I do believe you would.”
She tilts her head, pretending to look hurt and jutting out her lower lip in a pout. “Where’s the trust, Harris? You wound me.”
Still.
Because I am an idiot, I extend my hand to her anyway, freezing and soaked to the bone, eyeing Lucy’s outstretched palm. Could I easily walk back to the shore? Sure. Could one of my buddies, who outweighs her by a hundred pounds, heft me up? Totally.
I want her to do it.
Her delicate hand wraps around mine as I plant my feet against the dock, ready to pull myself up, gazing up into her pretty, angelic face.
“Pull hard,” I instruct her, hoist mode activated.
She winks.
Tugs.
My eyes land on the smooth skin of her tan arms . . .
For one glorious moment, I’m halfway out of the water.