Free In Touch (Play On #1) by Cd Brennan Page B

along his spine. He shivered with a small jerk, which he hoped she hadn’t noticed. If the boys felt what he did, none of them wanted to rise out of the current position to stand in front of her. Every one of them would have a hard-on, not easily disguised when you were stretching your hands in the air, lengthening your body upward. And there, a big boner standing to attention. Why did Coach let her continue with this alternative therapy? Didn’t he realize how embarrassing it was for the boys? Did it even help? Padraig had his reservations, and in the midst of “breath in…breathe out…” he determined he was going to have a word with Coach. Fuck this.
    “When you stretch out with your palms on the ground—or in your case, your fingertips, but don’t worry, the more yoga the do, the more flexible you will become—make sure to keep your back straight.” When he curved in his head to bring it to his knees, she gently applied pressure to his shoulders so that his knuckles rested on the ground. “See? Every time you stretch, take it a bit farther. Without hurting yourself, of course.”
    Of course, thought Padraig. What would she know of pain? But then…there had hardly been any pain today. Whatever she had done with her magical hands yesterday was just short of a miracle.
    “That’s the last of sun salutation. I’m going to walk you through a few yoga floor stretches now to cool down, a brief meditation, and that will be it.”
    Thankful to be able to move, to adjust his shorts around his front, Padraig flopped to the ground. The other boys did, too, joking about the downward dog in the only way a man could, references to sex rampant. Dick was mid-joke when his voice broke. All eyes were on Gillian as she kneeled on all fours on her mat, arching her back up like a cat, then a few breaths later, lowering it until her belly curved downward, her back bowed, her head and chin lifted to the ceiling.
    That had to be one of the most erotic things Padraig had ever seen. And unfortunately, he had to share it with four of his teammates, two of them immature little pricks. Padraig couldn’t move. He was frozen, sitting on his mat, mesmerized by the movement of her body. The motion and the curves—so beautiful. Her braid dangled over one shoulder; her toes pointed like a ballerina.
    “C’mon boys, you have to do it, too.” Her voice broke the spell, and all five of them scrambled to do the same. As majestic as it looked on Gillian, it was mortifying for Padraig. God, he hoped she didn’t walk around helping the lads with the floor exercises. They all looked fucking ridiculous.
    But she didn’t. After the cat pose, she took them through some leg stretches with their backs on the floor. One of the lads farted loudly when they had to tuck both of their knees into their chest, rolling on their lower backs.
    When the others started laughing, Padraig couldn’t hold back and chuckled, too. Then Dick farted louder, as if he had forced it out, and that led to more laughter. The pain in his lower back eased as he gently rotated it back and forth along the floor. It felt good. To laugh. To let it out. Because he had been serious for too long.
    She must have known she wouldn’t be able to keep their attention after the farting so asked them all to take ten minutes for personal meditation, lying supine on their backs, arms and legs relaxed. Padraig released his knees so they bent naturally, feet on the floor, his hands behind his head. He lay there, staring up at the light fixture. It was a typical locker room light, long and rectangular, black bug spots piled up at the corners. How did the flies get in there?
    Gillian’s face, thrust in front of his own, broke apart his reverie, shattering it into pieces like a ball through a window. Strands of her hair fell down to him like threads. “You’re pretty flexible for such a big guy.”
    “Thanks. I’ve worked with some of the best physios in the world.”
    “I’ve heard. But