Breath of Fire Read online

  “It was a shock to see him yesterday. We haven’t spoken since we broke up after the first semester of college,” I said, blushing at the memory.

  “Well, isn’t that an interesting turn of events,” Avery said mildly. “You’re taking this class too, I’m assuming?”

  I shook my head, even as my body ached to return to that dark room, flickering with candlelight. There’d been something so intimate about closing my eyes and hearing the rough scrape of Sage’s voice, deeper than it used to be.

  “Okay,” she said, with a look like she didn’t believe me. “Suit yourself. But I’m going.”

  Sage welcomed Avery warmly as she walked into the yoga studio. I was standing in front of my portraits, heart racing, hoping Sage both would and wouldn’t notice me over here in the corner. I looked down at the table, fiddled with papers for no reason, wondering what my hair looked like, if I looked different or the same or if he still thought I was —

  “Olivia?”

  I looked up. Sage had been a cute, boyish teenager, but he’d transformed into a strong man brimming with a quiet confidence.

  “Hey Sage,” I said, biting my lip. “How’s, uh, how’s it going? Fame treating you well?”

  He gave me a familiar grin, but I was all too aware of our staged poses. The last time I’d seen him, we’d been so young.

  And I’d broken up with him on the beach just steps away from this studio.

  “It’s not a big deal, Liv, really,” Sage said. “I was totally shocked to see you yesterday. I thought…well, the last time I heard, you were in New York City, right?”

  “I was living in Brooklyn. But I might be moving back, actually.”

  “Here? Back home?” he asked, rubbing his jaw.

  Saying the words felt better than I’d thought. “Yeah…actually, yes. I am moving home. I miss it so much, and it only seems to be getting worse.”

  Sage opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then closed it. He took a step closer until our toes almost touched. “I thought the plan was to stay in New York City forever,” he said.

  There was an echo of my break-up speech in those words — whether it was intentional or not, I couldn’t tell.

  “I did too. But things change.” I said. “I mean, you weren’t planning on becoming a famous yoga teacher, were you?”

  Concern flickered across his expression. “It all happened kind of fast. Starting about a year after we broke up,” he said.

  “So I guess it was a good thing after all.” My tone was light, even as I felt like a fist was closing around my throat. His words from yesterday came floating up from my thoughts: it can take us away from the people that we love.

  Sage inhaled powerfully. Exhaled. A calming technique I recognized from yesterday.

  “I thought that was your art,” he said softly. “This is your exhibit, isn’t it?”

  “The one and only,” I said, giving him a toothy smile. After a beat, he returned it. “You’re famous on that wall too,” I said, nodding at the sketch. I wondered if he remembered the same things about that day: our bodies in the sand, his exploring fingers.

  “These pieces are absolutely beautiful, Liv.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said. “I liked everything you said in class yesterday. It was really moving. It really…well, it made me think. Even as an artist, I rush through things when I could be enjoying them so much more.”

  “Did anything else I said resonate with you?” he asked softly.

  My fingers itched to brush the hair away from his eyes.

  “It did,” I replied.

  A heavy silence hung between us.

  “Then come take this class,” he finally said. “You can sneak in late if you have to go change.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I just went yesterday and…”

  “You think there’s such a thing as too much yoga, Liv?” he asked.

  “Of course. We’re not all yoga gods, Sage.” I tried to laugh, but he turned quickly serious.

  He glanced at his watch, then back up at me. “I’m going to be late.”

  “Okay, well—”

  “Come to class. And after, maybe I can take you to coffee at the Paradise Cafe?” He was walking away backwards, palms up in submission. “Please? I’ll even have Sylvia make your favorite dessert.”

  “Chocolate peanut butter brownies?” I squealed, rolling my eyes when he laughed at me.

  He pulled open the door, that crooked grin making my heart race like a getaway driver’s. Sage McAllister, my high school sweetheart, taking me to coffee in our hometown.

  “Think about it,” Sage said before disappearing into the studio.

  I thought about it — for all of a minute. And then I ran to grab a pair of yoga pants.

  ⁂

  “Welcome everyone,” Sage said, sitting cross-legged on his mat in front of us. Behind him, ocean waves crested beneath a Playa Vieja sunset. Candles twinkled on the stage, and Christmas lights wound overhead like a galaxy of stars. “I’m Sage, and I’ll be your teacher this evening.”

  I was sitting in the very back, but it was so obvious the room was filled with Sage Fans. A few students were trying to sneak pictures with their phones. Two women in front of me were whispering to each other, staring at Sage with frank interest.

  I’d once dropped an entire bag of oranges at a grocery store in Brooklyn when I saw Sage — shirtless and smiling — on the cover of a yoga magazine. It was hard to place the man on that cover with the boy who’d once baked me a heart-shaped cookie cake for Valentine’s Day our sophomore year of high school.

  “The past and the future have no place here this evening, at least not for the next ninety minutes,” Sage continued, and his gaze felt like it was solely for me. “You have no obligations. No emails to worry about or messages to answer. Your only job is to give your body what it wants.”

  All of this made sense for Sage. He’d struggled to get good grades in high school and dropped out of college that first semester. I had struggled too — the only thing that made sense to me was art — but I had a laser focus and studied hard, and in the end, I managed to scrape by. But Sage had always been body-focused. He played soccer and basketball, and in the off-season was always begging me to go running with him. Or surfing. Or hiking.

  Sage had a restless energy that only seemed to quiet when I was in the room.

  “We’re going to work hard tonight, I promise you that,” Sage said, and the women next to me smirked at each other. “But I’ll remind you that rest is the most powerful expression of yoga.” He stood, stepping down from the stage and unzipped his gray hoodie, letting it drop to the ground. The candlelight bathed his chest and stomach in artistic shadow — the light quivered over ridges of lean muscle and a dusting of blond hair.

  He was so fucking beautiful up there.

  “Inhale,” he instructed, and I remembered to breathe. “No past. No future. Just now.” He strolled through the crowd, green eyes twinkling when they met mine. “Exhale. Let it all out.”

  The room pulsed with energy, and it was all focused on Sage. After we’d broken up, I’d still worried about him, worried that he hadn’t found the right outlet for his natural charisma and energy.

  But he clearly had.

  Sage was still staring at me. I let a smile break across my face. The years and hurt between us dissolved, and all I could see was the boy who’d pinned a corsage to my Homecoming dress with such reverence my heart had said: mine.

  Sage grinned right back at me for so long the students started to shift and cough, shattering the moment.

  “Let’s uh…let’s begin, shall we?” he said, laughing beneath his breath. “We’ll start in downward-facing dog.”

  For the next hour, Sage honored his promise. I was sweating, breathing heavily, my body moving the way it always longed to do. Together, in perfect unison with those around me, I stretched, reached, lifted, dropped. Through it all, Sage’s voice guided me, sliding into my thoughts and
dominating my senses. He was around me constantly, providing adjustments to the students, helping them settle more deeply into poses. And every time our eyes met, the ends of his lips would curl slightly.

  “Warrior two pose,” he called out, and I positioned my legs, stretching my arms wide open, enjoying the delicious opening of my hips. “And we’re going to hold this warrior, sink into this warrior. Your arms are strong. Your legs are strong. The heat inside your body is beautiful. And your breath is fire.”

  I liked that image, storing the motivation for a future sketch. There was something so captivating about the feeling of heat curled deep in my belly and the strength that sprang from there. I was a warrior.

  Sage was right next to me, eyes assessing my alignment.

  “Can I touch you, Olivia?” he asked.

  There was a single drop of sweat rolling down his chest. I nodded, trying to concentrate, as Sage stepped behind my body. I inhaled and he did too, matching my breathing.

  Inhale, exhale.

  His fingers landed softly on my upper arms, then slowly slid all the way past my elbow. A teasing touch, if he was a lover.

  “Let your arms lengthen, like you’re reaching for something delicious. Say, chocolate peanut-butter brownies,” he whispered, voice stirring the hairs at the nape of my neck.

  Swallowing a laugh, I reached an inch further.

  “Good,” he murmured.

  He pressed his fingers between my neck and back, dragging them down the wings of my shoulder blades. A different kind of heat was thrumming through me now.

  “Try to let your shoulders melt away from your ears,” he said, repeating the motion, gently massaging the tight muscles there.

  I could feel the heat of his chest against my back. During one of our many make-outs, Sage had discovered this spot on my body — right on my collarbone, where my neck met my shoulder — that made me absolutely wild. Once, during senior year, Sage and I had been watching movies in my basement, cuddled beneath an old blanket. Our eyes had stayed glued on the screen as Sage kissed that spot, over and over. Dipped two fingers beneath my shorts and rubbed my clit through my underwear, groaning against my ear as I experienced my first ever orgasm.

  “Picture lengthening here,” he said, his index finger just barely grazing that same spot. I could feel my nipples hardening against my sports bra, my breath coming short and shallow.

  “And your hips are just a bit too forward,” he said, placing both palms on my bare waist.

  Another touch, light as a whisper. I fought a sinful urge to push my hips back, to arch against his hard body.

  “Okay,” I croaked, doing as I was told.

  He stepped back then, away from me.

  “Raise your right palm to the sky and radiate your warrior pose.” Sage was moving back through the yoga mats, muscles shifting in his broad back. “Inhale every negative thought you had today.”

  The entire class inhaled. Paused.

  “Exhale and let it go,” he instructed. “Now drop your fingers to the earth and flow.”

  ⁂

  Sage and I were walking toward the Paradise Cafe, a place we’d frequented most Sundays when we were dating. I hadn’t thought about it since I left for college, but there it was: slightly worse for wear, but still the brightly-colored diner that served mostly local surfers who came for the breakfast burritos but stayed for the surf report.

  “Should I get our old booth?” Sage asked, holding the door open for me. His hoodie was still half-unzipped, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his chest, still aching — in more ways than one — from his adjustment in class.

  “S-sure,” I said, stumbling over the word.

  This entire night had a floaty, dream-like quality to it, charged with that feeling of coming home after years away — everything had changed and yet nothing had changed.

  Sage and I slid into our old booth, the one that faced the beach. The radio crackled with the surf report, and old videos of surfers played in the corners of the room.

  “Is this weird?” Sage asked. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

  I laughed, glad he’d broken the tension. “Yes? But also not at all. I keep thinking we should be talking about homework.”

  “You would be talking about homework,” Sage said. “I’d just be trying to kiss you.”

  I bit my lip, enjoying the flirtatious gleam in his eye. “Those lips of yours were pretty distracting. It’s a wonder I graduated from high school.”

  Sage grinned, rapping his knuckles on the table. “I seem to remember many a study night that turned steamy because of you, Olivia Nguyen.”

  “Oh, yeah? That’s not how I remember it.”

  Except Sage was right, of course. It was hard for me to stay focused with a boyfriend that was so cute. About an hour in, I’d usually push his books from his lap and straddle him.

  “You know, the first thing I saw when I arrived in Playa Vieja yesterday were those cliffs,” Sage said, pointing out the window at the rocks that jutted out over the sea. They weren’t extremely high, but for two scared teenagers, they’d been high enough.

  “That’s right,” I exclaimed. “You dared me to jump off those cliffs senior year.”

  “And you dared me right back,” he said, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “But I chickened out. You were always the brave one. Even now. You’ve been living as an artist for years, just like you said. Even though I’m sure it’s hard sometimes.”

  “Living your dreams is always hard,” I said. “Just because it’s your passion doesn’t mean there aren’t challenges every single day. You must feel that way too, right?”

  Sage fiddled with a napkin, avoiding my gaze. “Sure. I do. I know that feeling well.”

  A silence stretched between us.

  “Are you oka—” I started to say, but Sage interrupted me.

  “Olivia, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Why the hell did you break up with me?”

  3

  SAGE

  Tendrils of anger, of hurt, clung to my words. Until I’d seen Olivia yesterday, I hadn’t realized how often I still thought about our relationship and the way it had ended. Her first semester at the Pratt Institute, on the east coast, certainly had its challenges like any long-distance relationship between two young people.

  But when she’d broken up with me, I’d still been holding tightly to the idea that Olivia would be mine forever.

  “Sage,” she sighed, “do you really want to revisit this?”

  “I do,” I said. “I think I’m still a little mad at you.”

  She nodded. “That’s fair. Breaking up with you was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made. And I…sometimes…”

  “What?”

  “I regret it,” she said, softly.

  I wondered if bringing her here was a mistake.

  Touching her in class certainly had been. The feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers had ignited a ravenous hunger in my body. I wanted to go back in time to our “study sessions” in my bedroom and the many ways we’d tease each other — kisses on her cheek, her knuckles brushing against my cock. The mini-skirts she’d insist on wearing, flashing me glimpses of her underwear whenever I got an answer right.

  “You do?” I asked, barely believing the words.

  Olivia bit her lip, took a big breath. “Sage, the four years we spent together were the best of my life. I know we were young, and it was just high school, but you were my best friend. My boyfriend. I love—I loved you. But that first semester in New York City I was spending my weekends in galleries, meeting other artists. I was creating some of my most interesting work. But every time we talked, you were listless and bored. Uninterested in anything beyond the beach. It made me feel so far away from you. Plus, back then, I didn’t want to move back to Playa Vieja. And you didn’t want to move to New York.” She shrugged. “We were nineteen. The last thing I wanted was for both of us to compromise our dreams for a relationship. I th
ought it was better to end it responsibly before it got messy or weird or turned into something more hurtful.”

  Her words made sense, but all I could remember was how hurt I’d been the day we broke up. I was convinced Olivia had gotten everything — running back to Brooklyn with her dream school, and her dream career, my heart in her hand.

  I’d had nothing to fill the space she’d left.

  “Until I found yoga, I’d always been jealous that you had this drive and passion for something specific. I just, well…” I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck. “My passion was always you.”

  “My passion was you too, Sage,” she said quietly. “But even though breaking up was horrible and I spent the entire spring semester bawling my eyes out, it was still…right. We needed to find our own way, separate from each other. We’d been together since we were fifteen years old. I think there’s a value to striking out on your own, don’t you?”

  “I do. I agree with you,” I admitted. “If we’d stayed together, I would never have moved to LA. Taken that yoga teacher training. I was so angry with you, I couldn’t stay in Playa Vieja anymore. So I left.”

  “And now your life is wonderful,” she said, smiling. “But I am sorry, truly. That day on the beach, the day we broke up, I really tried to just be truthful. I didn’t want to hurt you, but we needed to be set free.”

  “Now I feel bad for bringing it up,” I said. “It’s dumb for me to be holding onto it; it was so long ago. I’m sorry, Liv.”

  “I’m sorry, Sage,” she said. “And I don’t think it’s dumb. We were important to one another.”

  “You’re still important to me, Olivia,” I said, leaning forward in the booth. The tips of my fingers brushed against hers. “Was I an asshole to you when you were at Pratt?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Not an asshole. We were just experiencing different things. I felt like I’d been dropped into this paradise. I’d never felt so alive. I’d never felt so sure that I was where I was supposed to be. The only thing missing was you,” she said. “But I overestimated how much a long-distance relationship sucked. And, yeah, honestly, you were sometimes an asshole.”