Page 54 of Rookie Move
FIFTEEN
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9
20 DAYS BEFORE THE NHL TRADE DEADLINE
PHOENIX, ARIZONA
TOP TEAM HEADLINES:
“Arizona Favored to Win Against Brooklyn Tonight at Home, Adding to a Three-Game Streak”
—Phoenix Eagle Sports Page
Georgia carried her yoga mat into the room that Nate had reserved and took a spot in back, like she always did.
The team’s yoga classes were taught by Ari, the team’s massage therapist, which meant that yoga classes were held at least three times a week even when the team was on the road. Georgia hadn’t been to a class in a while, though. Last week she’d bailed on yoga twice, because the idea of watching Leo do sun salutations was distracting as hell. And then the whole team had missed a couple of sessions, because Ari had taken some sick days, which was unusual.
The exotic, tattooed instructor, in her trademark pink leotard and tights, gave her a cheery wave from the front of the room, which Georgia returned. But then she noticed Ari’s blue boot cast on one foot.
Well, that explained the massage therapist’s absence. Bummer.
Georgia unrolled her hot pink mat and sat down to stretch. Up in front she spotted Nate. The owner had flown out to see tonight’s game, probably on his private jet. He was already limbering up in the front row on his purple Bruisers mat. Nate was a little nutty about his yoga. There were other NHL teams who had yoga and meditation as part of their training program. But this class had been Nate’s own initiative, and he liked to get the whole organization involved. Coaches—and publicists—were encouraged to participate.
Which was why, to Georgia’s amusement, her father wandered in a minute later, wearing an ancient track suit and a scowl. It hadn’t occurred to her that Dad would have to do downward dog and the warrior pose with the rest of them. Maybe next time she’d smuggle in her phone and snap a few pictures. Her aunt Joanie would be so amused.
Inevitably, Leo arrived, entering the room with a yoga mat in hand. And inevitably, Georgia’s heart tripped over itself at the sight of him. She watched his eyes sweep the room and land on her. Then he walked right over and positioned himself in front of her. “Morning,” he said under his breath.
“Morning,” she repeated, feeling a prickle of sweat under her arms. Really? She had to spend the next hour trying not to stare at his butt? He’d worn a pair of Harkness College sweatpants to class, but instead of hiding everything they seemed to cling to his muscular thighs.
As he unrolled his mat—lime green—she wondered where he’d gotten it. She could hardly picture him wandering into one of the boutiques in Brooklyn and purchasing it. But who knew? Maybe Leo was a yoga pro. Maybe he had mats in every color of the rainbow. She needed to keep in mind that they didn’t really know each other anymore. Aside from a hot and heavy make-out session and a few texts, they’d been apart for longer than they had ever been together.
In fact, if Ari asked them to meditate later, Georgiawould chooserestraintas today’s guiding principle. Control. Distance. Reserve. They were all good words, and she would rhyme them into a mantra if it made it easier to rein in crazy thoughts about Leo Trevi.
He’d sat down on his mat and was currently rolling his wide shoulders, the same ones she’d gripped with both hands while they’d tried to fuse themselves together at the mouth.
Gah!Restraint.
Restraint.
Restraint.
Even if her unruly little heartstrings still vibrated whenever he walked into a room, their former connection was just that. Former.
Luckily for Georgia, Ari brought the class to attention. “Good morning, yogis! Let’s have a seat, please, cross your left leg and then your right. If you have tightness in your hips or lower back, please feel free to sit up on a block or straighten your legs at any point...”
Georgia assumed the position, then lifted her clasped hands in imitation of the teacher. Ari began the familiar series of wrist and forearm circles that always began her classes. There was a comfort in this, and Georgia understood why Nate made yoga a part of their routine no matter where they were. Living out of your suitcase was disorienting, and at least once a season Georgia gave herself a bruise or a stubbed toe while trying to find the bathroom in the middle of the night in a strange hotel room. But the geography of her yoga mat was always the same. And Ari’s soothing voice and warm-up routine were a pleasant way to wake the body.
The players still joked about Ari’s high-minded language. They felt weird “centering” themselves or “finding inner peace” in yoga-speak. (“I’ll show you my inner piece, babe. Heh heh.”) But that was just trash talk. After they got used to the routine, they always stopped fighting it. An hour from now, everyone leaving this room would have warm, limber muscles and a calm attitude.
At the front of the room, Nate sat comfortably in the Sukhasana position, his lean body displaying perfect posture. Later, when the poses became more difficult, he’d be inverting himself with statuesque form while the highly paid athletes around him shook and shimmied like a pack of wet dogs. The boss man was ridiculously good at yoga.
At the side of the room, Georgia’s father grimaced through a simple forward bend. Georgia looked forward to watching her father try to tackle the tougher poses, but she was suddenly robbed of this fun about fifteen minutes into the class, when the cheater actually bailed. “Please excuse me,” he said to Ari. “I have a conference call.”
She gave him a look that said,Conference call my ass. Ari may be the queen of yoga but she was a Brooklynite through and through. You don’t bail on her class. It simply wasn’t done.
But her father marched through the room with as much guilt as Napoleon exiting Mount Tabor. He gave her a grin, but it snagged when he noticed Leo right in front of her. As he passed, his sneer seemed to say,Stay away from my daughter.
Leo didn’t even glance up at him.Point Leo.
