Page 22 of Icing the Cougar
"Watch," I say, and hoist myself up. I wrap the silk around my foot and lock in, then lean back into a controlled drop. The world spins for a second as I hang, hair falling over my face. When I right myself, Jasper’s staring.
"Your turn," I tell him.
He shakes his head, but steps forward to grab the silk. He pulls himself up, looking like he might just muscle his way through. However, the second the fabric slips, his confidence wobbles.
"Shit," he mutters. "Not as easy as it looks."
I catch him by the waist before he can crash to the mat, steadying him. The press of his body against mine does things I try to ignore. "Try again. Slow. Use your legs, not just your arms."
He looks down at me. "That’s what she said."
I laugh, and he grins, but the sweat on his brow tells me he’s taking this seriously. The next time, he moves with more care.He lets me guide his foot into the wrap and get close enough to adjust his hands. His breath is heavy as it rumbles through his chest. My breath, embarrassingly, is a little shaky.
"You’re shaking," he says. My hands tremble as I adjust the silk on his calf.
"You’re heavy," I shoot back, even though it’s a lie. He’s strong but light with the silks holding the weight.
"I thought you liked it when I was heavy," he growls. There’s that dangerous edge again.
I ignore it. "Take the next step. You’re going to invert, and I’m going to spot you."
"Spot me?" he repeats, looking at me like I’m speaking another language.
"Just trust me."
He goes upside down, legs flailing before I catch his ankle and guide it into the right spot. His t-shirt slides up, exposing a strip of tan skin, the sharp ridge of his hip bone. We pause just like that.
"Now what?" he asks as he’s hanging upside down.
"Now you breathe. Then you let go."
He hangs there, body tense, not sure if he’s going to fall or fly. I spot his shoulders, hands steady now, heart going wild. He breathes, just like I told him, and everything else stops.
Then he lets go.
The drop is only a foot, but the shock of it makes him yell out, a loud "Fuck!" that bounces off the mirrors. I catch him as he lands, and we tumble together onto the mat, laughing so hard I can’t breathe.
He rolls onto his back. "That’s insane. How do you do this every day?"
"Practice. And trust," I say, still catching my own breath. "And a little bit of recklessness."
He props himself up on one elbow and grins. "I’ve got the reckless part down."
I toss him a towel. "Here. You’re dripping everywhere."
He wipes his face and neck, then throws the towel at me. I catch it, and I like this weird, sweet, charged moment between us.
He stands, and I expect him to be cocky again, but he’s quieter now. He looks at the silks, then at me, and says, "Can we do that again? Only maybe I don’t eat shit at the end this time?"
I smile. "Sure thing."
We go again. And again. Each time, he listens more, trusts more. The banter is still there, but softer, shaded by something real. Sometimes he slips and curses, and I steady him. Sometimes he gets it right and tries to play it cool, but I see the pride on his face.
On the fifth try, he manages the inversion and lands on his feet, arms up like a gymnast at the Olympics.
"Yes!" I give him a high-five that ends with his fingers lacing through mine. He holds on, not letting go.
He tugs me closer, and I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he lets go and says, "I’m starving. You got anything to eat around here?"
