Page 88 of The No Try Zone
“How’d they do?” he asks, his gaze roaming over his team.
“Complained like a bunch of babies the entire time.”
“So, they were men?”
I snort a laugh as I whip my head to face him. His eyes are clear and bright, the green of his hazel eyes out in force. “Exactly, yes,” I confirm.
He grins. “But they finished.”
“They did. They need a recovery day like this every week. Something to stretch and strengthen that isn’t designed for bulk.”
“Tell me something.”
I cross my arms, checking my watch to see how much longer the players have.
“Why isn’t your boss the one telling me these kinds of things?”
“Honestly?”
His brow furrows. “Honestly.”
“Because that’s not his area of expertise. He trained his whole life here, in the States. But back home, that’s not really how we do it. I had to work my way up, learning different areas of study. It means I have a more holistic approach to things.”
“Has Ollie ever been injured?”
“Absolutely not. Well,” I hedge, “not by over-training. He’s been walloped on the pitch plenty, but nothing that’s taken him down.”
He nods. “Good to know.”
“Why all the questions?” But what I really mean is, why is he being so damn professional?
“I was hired to win.”
I shrug, watching some of the men begin to twitch in the silence. “Yeah. And?”
“And I’ve had my head up my ass for…reasons,” he says, lobbing a meaningful look at me. “But I’m beginning to realize I’ve been going about this all wrong. What made you decide to take them through a yoga session?”
I shrug. “They need different kinds of conditioning.”
He nods. “Exactly. ButIshould have thought of that.”
“Seems you’ve failed to notice that I’m really good at my job.” I arch a brow at him and turn away, aiming my attention at the team. “Okay, guys. Time to come back to life. Deep breath in. Wiggle your fingers. Breathe out. Move those toes. Over the next few breaths, turn onto your right side and slowly bring yourself up to a seated position with your legs crossed.”
When I glance back at Colin, he’s studying me thoughtfully. I force my attention back to the players, trying to ignore the way my stomach flutters at his attention.
Most of the men’s knees are high in the air, demonstrating again how tight their hips and leg muscles are, and how necessary the yoga is. “Bring your hands into prayer position,” I instruct. They do. “Namaste.”
The men respond,namastebouncing off the walls in a chorus of low voices, and a moment later, they groan their way to standing.
“Roll your mats up and stack bring them over here, you heathens.” I have to raise my voice over the growing noise.
Ansel makes his way over. “Great class,” he says. “I can’t feel my quads. That’s good, right?”
I laugh. “Perfect.”
“I do feel better, though. Looser. My hips feel great.”
“That’s the idea, mate.”
