“Hopefully Mel is worth my time. I don’t want to waste my morning with some New Age Karen who mainlines oat milk and gluten-free crackers when I could be exercising. What’s that sly smile about?”
“Nothing,” he says, heading toward the shower.
Nothing, my ass.
19
Delilah
The next morning, I wake up cranky and frustrated that there is no run happening until later today, if at all. After I do my business and throw on some sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, I follow the voices into the kitchen. One is Gray’s deep timbre, and the other, which I don’t recognize, is even deeper.
“Good morning,” Gray says with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “This is Mel, your yoga instructor. Mel, meet Delilah.”
Mel isn’t the bony-ass woman I was expecting. He must be six feet four, with wide shoulders, dark-brown skin, and close-cropped black hair. I can’t see his backside, but I assure you it’s not scrawny. He looks to be well into his forties, but you’d never know it from the muscle rippling in his arms. Mel nods, and holds out an enormous hand. “Nice to meet you, Delilah.”
For a half-second, just a half-second, I hesitate.
“Do we have a problem?” he asks when I don’t immediately jump to take his hand.
“No—no problem,” I stammer, reaching for his hand. His grip is firm and no-nonsense, like him. “It’s just that—”
“Just what?” he challenges. “You got a problem with black men?”
“Of course not,” I say indignantly. “I was expecting someone with perky tits and a high ponytail, that’s all.” Oh my God. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.
“Me too,” Mel replies, while I’m in the throes of a heart attack. “And I expected her to be dressed appropriately for yoga too. I guess we’ll both have to get over our disappointment.”
I look from one man to the other. Gray is doing a poor job of hiding a grin. “I apologize, Mel. I didn’t mean to be rude. Gray led me to believe the yoga instructor was a skinny white girl.” I glare at Gray. “Do you two know each other from yoga?” It sounds preposterous, but whatever it takes to steer the subject away from me works.
Mel hooks his thumb toward Gray. “He was my bitch, here and there, years ago.”
When I pick up my jaw off the floor, I glance at Gray, hoping he’ll shed some light on that last comment.
“I did basic and advanced training with the master sergeant,” he says with a gleam of pride.
Master Sergeant Mel sounds so much better than New Age Karen. “So he’s a ballbuster?”
“He’s a ballbuster,” Gray repeats, his eyes sparkling. “You won’t find a bigger one. I don’t know anything about oat milk, but I assure you, he won’t waste your time.”
“Oh, that’s a guarantee,” Mel chimes in. “And I hope you’re not planning on wasting mine,” he says, emphatically. “You ever practiced yoga?”
I shake my head. “I’m more of a runner and a pull-up kind of woman.”
“I’ll leave you two,” Gray says, with the smirk not far from his lips. “I’ll be up to shower after my run.”
After my run? I’m going to kill him. I shoot daggers at the back of his head as he leaves.
“I’m not exactly sure what Gray told you he wants from me,” I say to ease the silence, “but—”
“This isn’t about what he wants from you,” Mel says, as though chiding a bratty middle-school girl. “It’s what he wants for you. Gray’s a giver, not a taker—right down to the marrow. If you see something else in him, it’s because you’re only seeing what you want to see. Or maybe you’re the kind of woman who uses every opportunity as an excuse.”
He pauses, his eyes burrowing through the layers of carefully constructed façade that I reserve for strangers. It’s not going to work with him. He sees too much.
“This here,” he raises the rolled mat he’s holding, “this is about what you want for yourself. Let’s get started. We’ll see if you have the courage to look inward.”
Ninety minutes later, I’m in the shower, aware of muscles that I never knew existed. It wasn’t stretching and chanting like I expected, but controlled breathing, taxing poses, and mindfulness—Mel said it was a basic lesson for a beginner, although it was challenging enough to give me my comeuppance. It wasn’t anywhere near the same as a run, but he did give me a decent workout.
By the time I get out to the kitchen, Gray is there, freshly showered, and looking divine in a dark bespoke suit with stripes so subtle they wouldn’t be noticeable unless you were gawking at him like I am. “Hey,” I say casually, like we bump into each other in the kitchen every morning.
“Hey. What did you think of Mel?” he asks, holding what looks to be a protein shake.
My empty stomach quivers at the murky green drink. It’s probably spinach or kale or something equally dreadful. It’s not that I don’t enjoy leafy greens. I’ll eat almost anything. But not for breakfast.
“He kicked my ass. I’m sure you already heard the ugly details.” I approach the coffee service that must have been sent up from the Wildflower kitchen while I was showering, and pour myself a cup. “You want some?”
He shakes his head. “Actually, Mel said you’re strong, and that you held your own pretty well for a beginner.”
Mel doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who hands out praise like chocolate bars on Halloween, so it’s nice to hear.
“I’ve committed to yoga,” I say, splashing some milk into my coffee, “and you’ve committed to adding a daily run to the schedule.” He didn’t actually commit to it, but I want to see if I can wheedle it out of him now. “I also have a workout plan that includes weight lifting and resistance training, plus I’m at the range twice a week. It’s all part of what I do to stay sharp for the job.” Gray’s leaning with his back against the counter, listening attentively. His expression isn’t giving anything away, but I’m quite sure he’s thinking something. “If my skills get rusty, they’ll be hard to sharpen.”
“So we’re clear, I never promised a daily run. I recall saying there was room in the calendar for a run this afternoon.” He takes the last gulp of swamp juice, and rinses the glass. “I expect you to keep your skills sharp, and maybe even pick up one or two new ones while you’re working with me. You can use the gym downstairs any time you’d like. It’s less crowded mid-afternoon and after eight in the evening. I’m at the range a couple times a week too. We’ll go together.”
I expect you to keep your skills sharp, and maybe even pick up one or two new ones while you’re working with me. That’s what a strong leader would expect—that those under his, or her, command would grow and develop from the association. It’s why Smith was upset when he realized he wasn’t giving me enough. I let Gray’s words marinate a bit while I scan the kitchen counter for any sign of food.