Just a Number (Downtown #1) (5 page)

Frequenting the same yoga center all the time, I got to know the instructors and eventually the owner. He asked me if I’d be interested in teaching a few classes.
Why not?
I was already bringing in several new people and chanting to anyone who would listen to me how passionate I was about it. So, I began training faithfully and became a certified yogi. Though my own preference was the intense continuous motion of power yoga, I wanted to gain knowledge about all aspects of the art. I immersed myself into the philosophy, discovering the benefits of a variety of practices and methods.

Once comfortable with my techniques and teaching ability, I decided to expand my reach. I had the desire to branch out after being asked to make few guest appearances, rather than teach routine classes in one certain location. Besides accepting invitations to lead retreats, I thought it might be nice to take yoga to the outdoors. Needing to advertise my own yoga classes, with my public relations experience and the help of my graphic design friend, we set up a website.

Next thing I knew, I was in front of hundreds of women a week wherever I held class. The numbers never stopped. I did not prey on women. No. They actually threw themselves at me like panties thrown at rock musicians. Yoga groupies. When I told my buddies stories about some of these enthusiastic females, they teased me that I was treated like a fucking yoga rockstar.

At first, younger and horny, it was great, but as I got more in tuned with my psyche. Seeing some of the same women coming to my events, I avoided them. When I hooked up with women from a class, I was discreet. No repeats. Up front about the situation, I had no intention of anything permanent. I didn’t wish to offend pupils, either.

Eventually, I stopped doing regular appearances. Resorts, retreats, or exclusive classes were all that I did. The chance to travel to distant cities and countries was a great way of getting an all-inclusive paid vacation and experiencing new cultures.

It was perfect for unwinding from my regular daily schedule.

It was perfect for flings, too.

It was perfect that I had my bags packed, ready to escape.

“Good job, everyone. Let’s take it way down. One more downward dog. Hold for five counts. Focus on your breathing. Then slowly lower to your mat. Cobra. Roll on to your back. Flat on your back. Arms at side. Palms up. Let your legs fall open. Eyes closed. Feel the weight of your body fall into the earth. Relax. Breathe in and out. Release. Heaviness to lightness. Clear your mind. Namaste.”

Little by little, people rose from the floor when they were ready. Everyone meditated at their own pace. I never rushed anyone. Done, they rolled up their mats. Leaving, many expressed their gratitude. One long-legged female lagged behind, and I instantly knew what was coming.

“If you’re ever in Denver.” A very attractive blonde, with great, pushed-out tits, handed me a business card. Not to be rude, I accepted it. “
My
corporation could use a private class, a motivational boost.” Her corporation? Or her? By the way her long, burgundy talons scraped along my wrist, I was pretty sure, what she wanted. Her request could’ve been legitimate, but I would bet that my appearance would be followed up with a one-on-one climax. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing more… you, again. Pure perfection. I feel so invigorated…”

I cut her off promptly, having a sneaking suspicion that she didn’t want to wait until later. “Good that you benefited from my class. I’m truly sorry to rush you along; I have an appointment across town.” I gathered my equipment, and slipped on my shoes quickly. Realizing she was still behind me, with my hands in prayer position, I bowed my head. “Namaste.” Then, I exited the room. In the lobby, I reached into my pocket, removed the dubious card, and tossed it in a trash can on my way out the door. She wasn’t who I wanted contorted around my body.

Taking a deep breath, I swear corporate-girl’s scent was looming all around me. I had escaped one woman to be enveloped by another far more desirable one.
Was she near? Had she just walked down the very street I was on?

“Get a grip, Dash. She was in a city bar last night. It doesn’t mean she worked in the city. Lived in the city. She could’ve been on a business trip. She could be miles away.”
Damn it!
I was actually talking to myself, walking down the sidewalk. Not that that was an unusual occurrence on the streets of downtown.

“You’ll find
her,
love. Keep looking,” a female British voice greeted me. “She’s just around the corner.” She was a stunning older woman. She was dressed stylishly. So was her cat, walking happily on a leash. Like I said,
nothing
was out of the ordinary in the city.

“Excuse me?” I watched, fascinated by her furry friend wearing four small, suede boots on its paws, sitting patiently like a dog at his master’s side.

“She’s the one. Give it a go.” She smiled and patted my arm. “Promise me you will.” Apparently, satisfied with the affirmative nod of my head, the British woman and her companion strutted off down the avenue. Her last words had me baffled. “Bob’s your uncle. Remember.”
How did she know I had an Uncle Bob?

Changing my direction, I headed home recollecting what the Brit had said to me. For some reason, I didn’t find her words crazy. I found them comforting. She could be right. I needed to find her. “I will find her,” and I was back to talking to myself out loud. I shook my head, attempting to make sense of my irrational thoughts. I really needed a rest.
Damn! Even the cat’s eyes reminded me of Corporate-girl.
Not the cross-eyed part, but the same icy-blue color. I was losing my mind over a stranger.

Yes, tomorrow. A new day. Miles away. A new woman to fuck
her
out of my illogical brain. Relaxation. A new clear vision. I would be myself again.

Willow

W
ith my bags tossed in the closet, dresses hung up, clothes in drawers, and toiletries lined up in the bathroom, it was time to find the pool. I was in great need of an umbrella decorated tropical cocktail and a lounge chair to begin relaxation mode.
Shit!
No swimsuit. Refusing to abandon poolside drinking, I found a short, lightweight jersey tank-dress—the next best thing to a bikini. Slipping it over my head and my feet into flip flops, off I went.

Combing the huge man-made lagoon, dotted with several bars, in the water and out, I found an empty chair. Located at the edge of a wide, grass strip, separating the pool area from the sandy beach under a few palm trees, I set up camp. Draping a resort towel over a striped, vinyl, outdoor cushion, I set my bag on a low, bamboo table, and pulled out my ever faithful tablet and scrolled through my reading app.

“Hello, miss. Can I get you a drink? Food?” A smiling cabana boy stood above me, handing me a slender, rectangular menu. Happily, I accepted it and ordered one of their specialties. A fruity-something-or-other with a bit of a kick! That was the exact description I read on the list.

A young woman arrived with my fun punch.
Perfect!
I needed some help. Not only had I not brought swimwear, I really didn’t bring much for warm weather. Scatter-brained and worried about my job, inappropriate items—not in a
good
way—accompanied me to a tropical haven. I definitely needed to make a few purchases.

“Excuse me. Before you run off. Could you tell me if they have cute beachwear in the gift shop? Is there a gift shop?” My questions caused wrinkles to appear on the girl’s peaches and cream face.

“Yes, there is,” she answered and looked around before settling my libation on the table. “But, only if you’re an old goat. Head into town. The hotel can arrange a car for you. Katie’s Swim Shack has the best suits on the island. Handmade, even. She has everything you’ll need. Anything else?”

“No.” I took a sip my drink. “This is yummy! And thanks for the shopping tip.” She nodded and moved on to the next guest, with her ponytail bouncing behind her.

With the information she supplied me, I searched the internet. I found an uninteresting website. Very basic. I hoped the store was more enticing. The girl seemed genuine—excited about the shop and its fashions. It had to be better than their advertisement. I’d check it out in the morning after the sunrise yoga session I had signed up for, trying something out of the ordinary.

A couple more sips of my second addicting beverage (the first one went down pretty quick), I closed down my latest erotic romance e-book to look over a couple emails I had been anticipating. With a couple of events coming up, arrangements needed to be confirmed. Actually, they could probably wait until I returned. I was
supposed
to be relaxing. It was difficult for me to just shut down my corporate mode.

As if an angel or gnat was sitting on my shoulder, I heard a nasally Brooklyn accent from the direction of a lounge chair next to me. “I don’t believe you’re supposed to be working while on retreat, pretty lady. It’s time to unwind. Let go. Loosen up.”

“How do you know I’m not reading a book?” I shielded my eyes to look over. Handsome in an Italian mafia way: Slicked back black hair, dark eyes, stubbled face, shocking white teeth, complete with a cross on a thick, gold chain, resting on a more than speckled hairy chest, and a diamond pinky ring. Not my type.

“I don’t believe books are set up like emails.”
Nosey man.

“Maybe I was checking my emails.”
Maybe you shouldn’t be snooping. Invading my space. And maybe, you should skedaddle back to wherever you came from.

“You said you were reading a book. Which is it?”
Was a corporate spy following me? Making sure I wasn’t working. Or was it possible he was making a move? Did the badgering work for him? Hmmm. Did I have
I’m looking to be hit on
painted on my forehead?

“I’m very good at multitasking.” I smiled close-lipped, politely… phony.
You are a task I don’t wish to accomplish.

Definitely hitting on me. Out came his sexually charged, raised and perfectly groomed eyebrows. “I bet you are.”
You will never find out. Move along! Stop licking your lips. There will be no tasting for you. Ever!

“Excuse me. What did you say?”
I heard you, slime ball. I’m letting you know I’m not interested. Not paying attention to your words. Or your so-not-sexy animation.

“Can I buy you a drink?”
No amount of alcohol will help you.

Lifting my three-fourths filled glass of tropical delish. “I’m good. Thank you.” And as if the phone gods were looking down on me, my cell rang. “Husband. I need to find out how the kids are doing. Two of them have been sick. Sorry.” I slid my finger across the screen. “Hello darling…”
Yes, he was shifting off the lounge, making his escape from a woman with children. Ha!
Listening to a recorded message for my dry cleaning and nodding, I made sure he was out of sight before I clicked off.

Men! They were so easily predictable, and nothing I wanted permanently. I never wanted a domineering husband, like my father or a player, like Mr. Slick. I definitely did
not
want a cheating man. Best to play the field.

In college, I learned lessons from Men Studies 101, a non-curricular class. Determined to excel in all of my courses, I decided to stay away from the dating pool. I needed to prove to my father that women could succeed in the business world. They could be more than household servants. I had four years to make it happen; no time for a boyfriend or relationship. Thanks to a going-away-to-college gift from Tomasina, I had my first battery operated boyfriend. He was attentive to my needs and—better yet—not needy.

Real sex (if I wanted it), could be found at parties, sporting games, and college events. Even the library; study buddies made easy fuck buddies. No relationships, I learned, equaled no cheating. Where there was a boyfriend-girlfriend thing going on, there was often someone waiting in the wings for a little side fun. I saw it all around me. But one incident scarred me and probably others.

I was not cheated on. My roommate, whose name I will simply call Roomie to protect her, was the victim of a serial cheater. She was dating a guy she knew since high school. Sweethearts who decided to go to the same college together.

A bad idea, as far as I was concerned. College was a time to grow, to learn, to discover, and to gain knowledge in academics and life. Bringing the boy from your childhood along just seemed so wrong. It seemed like it should be a time to experience and explore other people. Settling down should be something done after college. And, if you still wanted your high school sweetheart, go for it. That was my philosophy.

In my third year of college, I met these two, unfortunately… mainly him. Maybe if someone had advised these two high school sweethearts, it could’ve helped them. Maybe not. Maybe some things were just in one’s makeup and nothing caused things to happen, DNA or situation. I was not sure, but it affected me.

During the winter semester, while studying in my dorm room alone, my roommate’s boyfriend stopped by, looking for Roomie. I told him I didn’t know where she was or when she would return. He said he would wait for her and proceeded to sit on her side of the room. Making himself comfortable, he sprawled out on her bed and made noises that sounded like he was pleasuring himself. I refused to look his way. The more grunts he made, the more uncomfortable I got. Finally he stopped, but I could feel his eyes on me. I did my best to ignore his stares. It wasn’t long before I gave up and attempted to leave. Before I even knew what happened, he was on top of me, mauling me and pulling at my clothes.