I huff out a breath and stomp my bare foot once before turning around to face the front, where Destinee is up on a little one-step-up stage. There’s sound equipment on one side, and as she places the headset on her ear and adjusts the mic, she hooks the pack to her black basketball shorts and blows.
“Check. Check. Can y’all hear me in the back?” she asks. And when everyone murmurs a dull-sounding affirmation, she calls out more excitedly, “I said… once more, for the people in the back!”
“Yes!” we all yell this time, a smile pulling at my lips. Such a commanding presence from such a miniscule person. She makes me want to be here just to be in her company. I could get used to this. I picture her and her wife together, seeing how fun a pair they probably make. They just… make sense.
“All right, all right. If you’ve never done this class before or had me as an instructor for any of the others I lead, my name is Destinee, and I’m here to kick your ass. You ready?”
I laugh along with everyone else, feeling my heart start to pound, and I look left into the mirror right next to me to see my eyes are bright. It’s the closest I’ve seen them to the way they used to be, pre-Brandon, back when I was in love with being in love, back when I believed true love actually existed. Neil moving behind me catches my eye, and I watch his reflection as he takes off his tennis shoes and no-show socks then sets them next to my flip-flops that are still by his mat. When he stands up once more, he meets my stare in the mirror, and he gives me a heart-stopping smile as he pulls his drawstring bag off his back to set it down.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.
I face forward, closing my eyes for a moment just as Destinee starts to lead us through a shoulder stretch, and I can feel Neil’s eyes on me. If I don’t get ahold of my growing desire just being in his very presence, I’m going to embarrass myself. I’m wearing tiny biker-style workout shorts, some I’ve had since high school when they were worn in a real dance studio. And it’s up to only that three inches of fabric plus my seamless thong I’m wearing beneath them to contain my arousal.
“All right, let’s get those legs warmed up,” Destinee says, and I follow her example. “Let’s start with some relevé pliés. Stand with your feet in first position, heels together, toes turned out, legs straight. You can either keep your balance using a light touch to the barre, or you can use your arms before you. Stand up taaall; there we go,” she says, looking around the room and checking everyone’s posture. “Suck in those bellies, as if you’re trying to make your belly button touch your spine. And here we go. Up on your toes, now down. And bend your knees out over your toes. Now back to center. Good. We’ll do twenty of these. Up… center… down… center. One. Now up…”
I follow along, my legs skipping right past warming up and crashing straight into fire shooting along my thighs and calves. But I push through, and when she reaches twenty, I fall to my heels and shake out my legs. I face the barre for a second, reaching out to keep my balance with one hand as I lift my right leg behind me and grasp it, giving myself a little stretch before switching hands and legs.
“You good?” Neil murmurs, and I smile at him in the mirror with a nod.
“Parallel plié pulses next. Face the barre, both hands light for balance only. Don’t hold on to it for dear life or you’ll wear out your arms. Good. Now stand with feet together. Now up on the balls of your feet and bend your knees like you’re sitting in a chair. Down as far as you can go and squeeeeze those thighs together. Looking good, ladies. Oh, and gentleman,” Destinee calls with a chuckle, and I look at Neil in the mirror, watching him smile with a shake of his head.
His arms look purely obscene they’re so freaking sexy, stretched out before him as he lightly grips the barre. And I have to hold in a whimper, forcing my eyes straight ahead in the mirror to focus on my form.
“Lift up only halfway, staying up on those toes… and then sink back down. Good!” she instructs, and I blow out a slow breath, feeling the fire in my legs start to make me sweat. “Twenty of these. Ready? Up… and down. One. Up…”
If I wasn’t concentrating so hard on getting through the set, I’d take a moment to appreciate Neil’s impressive form. The man apparently never skipped a leg day. And although he’s broken a sweat along his hairline, he’s not even breathing heavy, while I’m over here sounding like I’m trying to power a windmill.