Hot Secrets by Gianna Day Read Free Book Online

spend a few moments breathing,” she says . “Focus on your breath , center yourself. You’re among friends and there is no judgment in this room. Empty your mind and just let your body work through the poses.”
    Easier said than done, I think, then instantly chide myself for my pessimism.
    She le a d s us through a series of standing poses, balancing poses and a little dreaded but necessary ab work.
    “We’re almost at the end of class,” says Joy, “but I thought before we finish today we’d give Bird of Paradise another try.”
    “Yay,” Sarah says with a quiet little clap of approval.
    “Ugh,” I groan .
    When done right, Bird of Paradise is an elegant balance on one leg, the other leg extended at a diagonal up and to the side, bound by hands clasped behind the back and the extended leg threaded through a gap in the arms. Both Joy and Sarah make this pose look like the name sounds. Exotic, graceful. When I attempt Bird of Paradise, I never fully reach a standing position and end up hopping around on one foot, in what feels like an attempt to simultaneously dislocate my should er and pull a groin muscle.
    “You ’ r e almost there,” says Joy, in pe rfect form, as I engage in the aforementioned hopping maneuver.
    As ridiculous as I know I look, I feel good about the class. We end , as usual, in corpse pose , a welcome little death. I relax completely and melt i nto the mat beneath me. I close my eyes. Joy walks over to me and put s her hand on my forehead, a gesture she repeats at the end of every class. It i s a sin gle, simple touch that signifies to me a job well done an d permission to rest. I murmur, “Namaste” and she removes her hand from my head and walks over to Sarah. They say their Namastes , as well.
    Sarah remains in corpse pose while I quietly stand, r oll up my mat and slide my flip- flops back onto my feet. I give Joy a small smile and wave and tip- toe out of the room. I let myself out of Sarah’s house, marveling along the way at her grand piano and the Degas above the fireplace. I wouldn’t be shocked to learn it’s an original.
    I throw my yoga mat in the backseat of my car and have my seatbelt buckled before I realize I don’t have my keys. I can picture them sitting on the floor just inside the yoga room. “Damn.” I creep back inside the house, as quiet as I can. If Sarah is still in corpse pose, or some other sort of meditation, I don’t want to be the one to disturb her. Approaching the yoga room, I see my keys just inside, right where I left them. As I crouch down to retrieve them, I glance up. Sarah is still in corpse pose, lying on her back. Joy is leaning over her. I think Joy i s whispering som ething to her, but then realize that their mouths are incredibly close. They a re kissing . Not a simple peck that I can write off as an act of really c lose friends, but a kiss that i s inhe rently sexual. Sarah’s lips part while Joy ru n s her tongue over them and into Sarah’s mouth . Sarah’s right hand disappears i nto her yoga pants. Joy remains on all fours perched over her head, their tongues now fully engaged.
    I watch them , wondering if I’m witnessing a spontaneous interaction or something routine, something that occurs after every yoga class . I should leave as I’d intended , but I don’t want to. At the very least, I want to stay and watch them, watch them explore each other’s mouth, watch Sarah’s hand move steadily inside her pants. This can’t be a first. No, this is a scheduled encounter. This is why Sarah always remains in corpse pose while I sneak out. With a pang of jealousy, it occurs to me that at the end of ever y yoga class, they wait for me to leave. I’m still crouched at the door, frozen in the reach for my keys, except for my other hand with which I’m stroking myself through my yoga pants.
    I want to join them, I want to be a part of what they are sharing, but I’m filled with doubt. This isn’t a one-on-one. At least, it won’t be