16. ALISTAIR
1786 Words
For a small town, Locron has nothing to envy about the big ones. There are all types of shops, and even a very well equipped gym with state-of-the-art facilities. It’s managed by two brothers: Guillaume and Benjamin. It was the latter who told me about the place one evening at the Café de la Place when I was having a drink there with Leo Chorro. Here, everyone knows each other, and I feel like I have made more friends in a few months than in England in a good ten years.
I immediately signed up for the gym and go there several times a week. The atmosphere is family, there are certainly d**k heads admiring their muscles in the mirrors, but most of the people present don’t take themselves too seriously.
I had just finished my session and decided to treat myself to a smoothie at the bar. Benjamin is serving today. I sat down and placed my order.
“How was your session, Al?” asks the impressively built manager of the premises.
He alone is a travelling advertisement for his establishment. The guy exudes health, the fact that he’s a fitness instructor is certainly part of it.
“Very well. Do you have a class soon?”
“No, the next one is yoga. Yasmine’s taking care of it.”
“Not physical enough for you?” I joked.
He hands me my drink with a funny little smile.
“Don’t be like all those people who underestimate yoga. It’s not as simple as it sounds.”
“Really?” I said, not at all convinced.
“You should try instead of being smart. I bet you that you’ll come out of it with more appreciation.”
He points to the glass room that is just behind me. By reflex, I turned around. There are already a dozen participants spreading mats on the ground, and only one man. I’m about to turn back to Ben, but it would be silly not to enjoy the view for a few moments. All these women bend over without realizing that they’re giving me a very delicious sight. May the person who invented leggings have my gratitude! Some would think I was obsessed if they knew what thoughts were going through my mind right now, but others would tell me I’d be a fool not to savour the moment.
As I sip my smoothie, I examine each posterior in front of me, and I can’t help giving them some sort of rating. First, there’s one in purple pants, a bit skinny, but with a nice shape, I’d give it a seven. Her neighbour in blue leggings deserves an eight in my opinion. Then there’s a five who could use a few pastries. I continue my evaluation like a judge in an Olympic discipline when finally my gaze rests on perfection: moulded in black yoga pants, round, firm. Its owner finishes spreading out her mat. She gets up, and that’s when her coppery hair, tied in a ponytail, swings down her back. Could it be...? Yes, it’s her! My gold medal is none other than my favourite baker. The one who didn’t respond to the message I sent her asking us to go have a drink together.
Listening only to my instincts and certainly not my reason, I put my smoothie on the bar.
“You’re right, I’m going to try yoga,” I said to Ben.
He frowns, probably wondering what got into me, but says nothing.
I grabbed my towel and walked into the room. Romy, sitting cross-legged, chats with her neighbour and doesn’t see me coming. I took a mat and stood right behind her.
Perfect.
I smiled stupidly at the idea that the next hour was going to be much nicer than it looked. However, I decide not to show my presence to Romy. How long will it take to realize I’m here?
She continues to chat. I take this opportunity to observe her. She stands up straight, her ponytail rests between her shoulder blades, I have an irresistible urge to tug on it, a bit like a dirty brat. Her arms are bare, her simple cotton T-shirt reveals shoulders sparse with a few freckles. Her bare neck is graceful, I wonder if it’s a sensitive area for her… I bet it is. I would love to have the opportunity to test this theory. I’m not going to lie, she corresponds in every way to my favourite type of woman. I just have to find the opportunity to convince her that spending a little energy with me would be much more beneficial than a yoga class.
This one will start soon, I guess. Romy is totally invested in her conversation. A woman sits on my right. I pay no attention to her but, unfortunately, the reverse isn’t true.
“Hello, you’re new here, aren’t you?”
I turn my head in her direction, and three of my senses are suddenly assaulted. In addition to her nasal voice, a cloud of too strong fragrance assails me. And when she puts down her mat, leaning unnecessarily in my direction, she offers me a bird’s eye view of her cleavage. But I know enough about it to detect in less than a second that this one wasn’t offered to her by Mother Nature, just like her tan. She smiles at me, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s because she’s waiting for an answer, and it’s not an attempt to impress me with her teeth. What do you want? Years of following my father on the polo fields leave traces...
“Uh, yes... well, the first time on this course.”
“Oh! I love your accent! Me, it’s Vero,” she announces with that same smile that gets a little frightening after a while.
“Alistair.”
Unfortunately, these few words exchanged are enough to attract the attention of my front neighbour.
“Alistair? What are you doing here?” Romy asked, turning around.
Failed for incognito.
I smiled at her, trying not to look as strange as the woman with the red perm next to me.
“I came to do... yoga?”
She frowns. It must be said that the tone in which I answered her implied that I wasn’t certain of my answer. She’s about to say something but is cut off by the teacher who announces the start of class. She returns to her original position on her mat, not without giving me a last suspicious look. Why? No idea. Because, after all, I have the right to be interested in yoga, right?
The teacher asks us to lie down and breathe. Okay, so far, nothing too complicated. We begin with a few movements that seem childishly simple to me. In front of me, Romy moves with grace, she stretches her limbs like a feline. I guess she’s not in her trial class.
The teacher announced that we were going to do balance postures. Okay, so yoga is all about breathing and trying not to break your neck? We follow the first pose, the second and… s**t! I miss falling more than once. The instructor suggests staring at a point in front of you to try to maintain balance. Apparently, the baker’s butt isn’t a reliable benchmark. Okay, maybe she had specified a fixed point. And I got distracted by a point… that I wanted to look at.
Things get a lot more interesting when we tackle the downward-facing dog pose. Romy bends down, leans on her arms and… there you go… I think I’m falling in love with yoga!
“Sir in the back, we don’t look up!”
Busted…
And inevitably, as there’s only one man at the back… some heads turn towards me. Romy remains unmoved, but I still feel a little tense.
I try not to be noticed in the minutes that follow. But as a matter of fact, the teacher makes us link postures which highlight the strengths of the baker. I do my best not to get distracted. After all, I’m also here to learn.
Then the instructor announces a series of postures to be performed in pairs. My first instinct is to tell myself that I’ll finally be able to approach the baker, but she’s faster than me and asks her friend to be her teammate.
“I think you’re going to be my partner on this one, sweetie,” Vero tells me.
“Looks good,” I muttered through my teeth.
I would have much preferred to be in a duet with the other redhead in the group. My partner’s gaze goes from me to Romy, then I see a small glimmer in her eyes.
“Oh! I see! You have a crush on our little baker,” she laughs with her singsong accent.
“What? Uh… no… not at all!” I defend myself like a kid who has just been caught watching a girl he likes.
What I was doing, basically.
“Don’t lie to me, darling, your tongue’s hanging down to the ground.”
I pretend not to have heard and sit on the ground to perform the posture. Vero approached to face me.
“I have one piece of advice to give you: this girl, we don’t have fun with. If you’re not serious, move on. She doesn’t need a guy who’s just there to fool around. She needs a man, a real one, and I’m not sure you’re up to it,” she adds, looking me up and down.
“Thanks for the trust,” I muttered, annoyed by her words.
“You know, I’m a bit of an expert at relationships. I’m not telling you this to annoy you, take it rather as advice… to think about.”
I don’t have the opportunity to reply because we’re given the instructions for the pose to be carried out. But Vero’s words don’t leave my head.
It’s true that, not even a week ago, Romy was ready to say yes to her friend Simon, if he asked her to marry him. Something that won’t happen, that’s for sure. What’s her state of mind now? I doubt that she’s looking for a man in her life… On the other hand, perhaps she would have nothing against changing her mind? Don’t we say that after a serious relationship, the one that comes right after is only there to heal the wounds? We even have an expression in English for that: rebound relationship. That’s right, I could be her rebound guy!
And it’s with this idea in mind that I finished the class, determined to catch Romy in my net.
- Writer
