ChapterOne
BRYNN
Ten thousand feet into the sky, I stand on top of the world. My eyes graze the valley below, enraptured by the verdant climes of forest stretching in every direction. The sky stuns, clear and blue, the sun brilliant in the early morning cool.
I’m a vagabond who makes her home in the wilderness, a veritable bum by some people’s standards. Okay, namely my parents’ standards, but the sense of freedom is unparalleled. So is the utter loneliness of not having anyone to share moments like this with.
But the thing is, I’m not alone. I can feelhiseyes on me.
A modest lake ornaments the landscape like a lapis lazuli jewel embedded in a green fringe of pine needles and leaves. The water’s startling clarity reveals fish swimming in its depths, ranging from clear to pale turquoise, cerulean, and electric blue. I follow the trail from the vista through thick vegetation to the water’s edge, finding the perfect spot to set up my yoga mat, tripod, and phone for an impromptu video.
The rugged, masculine energy of the man’s gaze heats my flesh, sparking delicious waves of desire beneath the surface of my skin. I’ve felt his presence on and off all week. Sometimes, he makes himself obvious, staring at the ground or off into the distance as I pass him on a trail, only to feel his stunning mahogany eyes searing into me from behind. Other times, like now, he keeps his distance, somewhere off in the forest, close enough to feel but far enough away that I can’t find him visually.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me. I’ve made acquaintances at the inn, so technically I don’t need to go it alone today. Other people would play it safe, uncertain of his intentions.
But a mixture of curiosity and need compels me to be here alone, daring him to finally approach me. I know he’ll never do it while I’m hiking with Ralph, Steve, Raven, Lydia, and Tucker all hikers I met this week northbound (NOBO) on the Heart Ridge Trail (HRT).
Perhaps the fact that I’m well-versed in self-defense has something to do with my boldness. Dad insisted I get full training in basic martial arts, including Krav Maga, because of his law enforcement job. He also insisted I carry a Karambit folding blade in my backpack, which I’m fully trained to wield. Dad has also lamented that this training makes me overly bold … even reckless. As I shiver with desire beneath the gaze of the enthralling stranger, I admit maybe Dad’s right.
Removing my hiking boots and socks, I leave them out of view of my phone’s camera, which I train on the stunning body of water behind me. The cool sand of the lake’s bank crunches beneath my feet, sliding between my toes as I gingerly make my way to the spread out mat, balancing on one foot to brush the sediment off my sole before standing on my mat and doing the same with the other. I still end up with a little grit on the cushiony rectangle of rubber, though a bearable amount.
Over my years of filming the Backpacking Yogi, I’ve adapted to the practice in every outdoor location imaginable. The only things I say no to are lightning storms, rain, and blizzards. Yes, my phone is supposed to be waterproof, but the slippage involved with a wet yoga mat is a disaster waiting to happen. As a digital nomad with no insurance and a very leaky savings account, I do everything I can to avoid preventable calamities.
Looking into the camera, I narrate, “Hello, my nature-loving besties, welcome to another episode of the Backpacking Yogi with your girl, Brynn Lovelace. I’m coming to you today from Lake Florence, located ten thousand feet above sea level in the subalpine forests of the Sierra Nevada. By subalpine, I mean the outer limits of the tree line. Despite the harsh conditions, challenging weather, and extreme wind and sun, these trees have stood the test of time, symbolizing adaptation, flexibility, and sheer determination to survive. In today’s practice, set the intention to draw from their strength and flexibility, incorporating it into your own practice. With that in mind, we’ll start on the mat seated in a cross-legged position. As always, if this position doesn’t feel comfortable, alter the pose to best suit your body’s unique needs and comfort level.”
Apart from the novelty of filming yoga videos in some of the most remote wildernesses of the West Coast, I’m also a curvy girl athlete, representing a marginalized and underrepresented group of women.
My content focuses on body empowerment and feeling good in your skin, something that I still struggle to do. But every video feels like a small win, and the growing popularity of my channel signals the craving for more athletes like myself … plus-sized gals who prove beauty and health come in all shapes and sizes.
“Before we go any further, today’s video is brought to you by Like a Glove. Like a Glove specializes in ultra-soft, ultra-cute athletic gear designed for curvalicious ladies…” I go through the message by rote before diving into the practice.
Feral, masculine energy blasts in my direction as I go from cross-legged breathing exercises to stretches, keenly aware of how vulnerable and inviting some of the poses make me. My heart races as I unabashedly stick my ass in the air for downward dog, fantasizing about my stalker coming up behind me, placing his big hands possessively on my hips, and frantically tugging my yoga pants and G-string down. The naughty thought makes my pussy shiver.
Clearing my throat and fighting the urge to blush, I look into the camera after the first series of sun salutations, explaining, “Yoga means union. Union of mind, body, and soul.” For the Lovelace Tribe, this is a review I probably don’t need to give, but I can’t help myself, a union of the most sinful and tempting kind on my mind. “Through these videos, my goal is to combine the union of mind, body, and soul with the implicit wonders of nature, bringing you the restorative benefits of exercise in some of the planet’s most beautiful locations.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve given up on my mountain man stalker revealing himself. What other invitation could I possibly give to encourage him out of the shadows? It’s a lost cause.
“Ahem.” A deep, masculine sound pierces the silence.
I lose my balance, crumpling backwards onto my butt on the mat.Real smooth, Brynn. Looking up, I gasp, drinking in the man towering over my tripod.
He moved so quietly through the trees that I never heard or saw him coming, though I literally waited for him. I giggle at my clumsiness, but he does nothing to diffuse the situation, making me feel awkward and weird. Instead, his gaze simmers, sizzling the space between us and setting it alive with electricity.
Swallowing the thick lump in my throat, I intend to talk smoothly and seductively. Instead, I croak, “Can I help you?” Every cell in my body hungers for this man, drawn to his gravity like the Moon to Earth.
It’s more than his good looks, though they overpower my senses. His energy sucks me in, the strong center I crave. As if all of this—even our meeting today—was worked out in some pre-cosmic, ethereal place where souls make eternal promises to one another.
I convince myself he feels it, too, his thirsty eyes attesting as much. The thought makes me crave physical union to the point of pain.
“What in the hell are you doing?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. His voice is as deep and gruff as I imagined, and my pulse races. Such unhinged longing is unprecedented for me, and I need to understand why he does this to me.
Compared to the tripod, the man stands a good six feet four or five inches tall to my five ten, taking advantage of every inch of his long frame. Well-proportioned with an impressive, muscular physique, a thick neck, and burly, corded arms. The intensity of his deep mahogany eyes devours me, making spontaneous combustion imminent. His beard and hair are thick but well-trimmed, and he’s got the posture and bearing of a military man. But there’s a wild glint in his eyes that screams mountain man, his body tense and taut like a puma ready to pounce on prey.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask, sitting cross-legged and arching my eyebrow. I navigate the knife’s edge between seductive and snarky, eager to see this somber man smile.
But his face is hard and unreadable, betraying no signs of amusement. Unwilling to give the wrong impression, I add, “I’m filming a yoga video for my YouTube subscribers.”
“YouTube subscribers? You’d risk your life for internet views?”
