My shirt felt wet, because Grace was crying: hands fisted in my shirt and chest shuddering. Restrained. Strong. And yet … fragile.
Grace gives with both hands and never saves anything for herself.
She loves deeper than anyone, even when she’s the most likely to get hurt.
She'd burn down the world for me. I don’t know what I did to deserve that.
I like to believe the best in people.
She believed in me, even when I responded with cynicism. After all she’d done for me without asking for payback … this was the least I could do. I’d stay a few minutes, then go home and get to work.
So I closed my eyes and held her.
She doesn’t press the snooze button. Is she even human?
When her alarm went off at some ungodly hour before sunrise, she muted it and slipped out of bed. It shouldn’t have woken me, but after how badly I fucked up last night, I felt closely attuned to her. But it was too early to get up, so I dozed back off.
I’m climbing a winding stone staircase, the sprawling city stretches below. Over the hills, fog hovers on the Golden Gate Bridge, the majestic red towers piercing the mist. Cable cars clang, the salty tang of the sea on my tongue. The steps go on forever.
Huh, that was weird. I never dreamed, my brain was usually too tired from work. Must be what I get for going to bed at 8pm instead of working until I fell asleep at my desk, crumpled over paperwork.
My eyes blinked open to see Grace on a pillow on the floor, legs crossed and eyes closed. Why had she gotten out of bed just to fall back asleep sitting up? Her breathing was slow and measured, fingertips resting on her knees. Wait, was she meditating? I thought yoga teachers only suggested that to make people feel inferior … but here she was, doing it willingly instead of sleeping.
Since her eyes were closed, I examined her. Her forehead looked relaxed instead of furrowed with worry. Her lips were parted and damned if her mouth didn’t look more kissable than ever. My gaze lowered down her neck and over her shoulders to her chest, rising and falling. As I peeked out from under her blankets, her nipples stiffened.
“You’re being very distracting,” she said quietly, not shifting her position.
"How did you even know I was awake?"
She opened one eye. "You stopped snoring."
"I don't snore," I said defensively.
She snorted lightly and closed her eye, chest lifting in a long breath.
“Isn’t meditation about tuning out distractions? I’m helping you.”
“So altruistic.” After a few more deep breaths, she said, “I have enough internal chatter for a lifetime, I don’t need more external distractions.”
I took that as my cue to doze back off and tumbled back into the dream.
Finally, I arrive at the top of the staircase to find a charming townhouse adorned with gingerbread trim and vibrant wisteria spilling from window boxes. My legs pump. The house recedes as I draw closer.
I roused again to see Grace on her yoga mat, muscles shifting lithely in sync with her steady breathing. Each pose flowed fluidly, with none of the awkward transitions I felt when my sister dragged me to class. Her back arched elegantly and a peaceful smile hovered on her lips. Flyaway hair escaped her braid in a halo.
She tilted her head to meet my eyes. “Care to join me?”
“Aren’t you teaching later today?” Wouldn’t that count as her daily yoga?
“That’s for them.” She bent forward on an exhalation until her palms touched the floor, then straightened her back on an inhale. “This is for me.”
I closed my eyes again, dozing once more to the soothing rhythm of her breath.
She stands on the townhouse porch, long brown hair drifting in the wind, hazel eyes tracking my approach. She bends and when she stands —
Her hand brushed my hair. “Huevos rancheros or blueberry muffins?”
She’s the perfect woman.
I opened my eyes halfway. She leaned over the bed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her olive skin, yoga shirt clinging to her breasts. Her nail skimmed my scalp, sending a pulse down my spine to my already alert dick. “Do I have to choose?”
“I knew you’d say that, so I’m making both.” She turned towards the kitchen, giving me a view of that mouthwatering ass.
Without thinking, I brushed the inside of her wrist, and said, “Come back to bed.” When her body stilled, I added, “Please.”
It was the ‘please’ that caught her attention, like the Dread Pirate Roberts. Maybe I should try that more often.
I slid over, leaving my bottom arm stretched along her pillow. She hesitated, glancing at the timer on the oven as I gently pulled her under the blanket. “How are you feeling today? Meditation and yoga, that helps?”
“Yeah, now I mostly feel embarrassed.” She rested her head on my forearm.
“If anybody should feel bad, it’s me,” I brought my hand to stroke her bicep. How was her skin so soft? “Mallory said your reaction was out of your control. No reason to be embarrassed, ok?”
She nodded but wasn’t convinced, averting her eyes. I racked my brain for a subject … but laying here in her warm bed, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to kiss her for real, no more of those shitty little Santa kisses.
Usually, I would make the first move, but she was always so nervous. I didn't want to betray that cautious trust.
