Page 129 of All Packed Up

“Why?”

“Aw, come on, Nic. After last night, I bet you need ’em,” Wendy practically purred.

“Now don’t go bragging,” Tate teased her. “You’ll make poor Arlo jealous.”

“No, please, do elaborate,” Grif drawled, striding past the unofficial yoga area toward his room. “Just wait until I get back, I don’t want to miss anything.”

Wendy made a face at him, and he stuck his tongue out at her like a mature adult male and closed his door.

What the fuck was he supposed to wear for yoga?

Whenever the prison therapy manager brought in their yoga sidekick, he’d had no choice but to stretch and move in the scratchy jumpsuits. Despite how warped the system was, the program at least focused on rehabilitation somewhat.

Sweats were comfy though, and it kind of felt amazing to put on what he considered pajamas at… he glanced at the clock.

One in the afternoon.

He paired it with a short-sleeved shirt and made his way back to the murmuring voices.

Nic still hadn’t come down, so they waited while Tate made them all stretch their arms out, making sure they each had enough room to move around without bumping into each other.

The only space left by the time Nic returned was in front of Griffith. Inside, he felt like a total simp from the way he wanted to punch the air in celebration. He played it cool on the outside… meaning he didn’t move or say anything as he waited for Tate to start telling them what to do.

Real smooth.

“Guys, this is exciting!” Tate said, and the alpha’s smile was lined with pure glee. “But I’ll go easy on you… this time.”

Grif rolled his eyes at the alpha affectionately. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but sometimes Grif couldn’t help it. He didn’t know when he’d started viewing these strangers as… well he would probably upgrade them to… friends at this point. He had to, right? Since they’d helped him build a bed and make dinner and take care of things while the power was out. And he couldn’t forget the somber moment he’d had with Arlo.

“Okay, let’s start with the neck, nice and slow,” Tate said, and Grif followed as he looked in one direction and then the other. The stretch in the tendons of his neck felt… downright wonderful.

Next they rolled their heads in a circle, and Grif tried not to chuckle as the room spun around him when he unfocused his eyes. Tate’s voice was so calming. Usually he was so high energy he was like a… well, kind of like a dog.

Tate would be a golden retriever. Definitely.

So it was quite a change for him to be so quiet, voice so soft, as he led them into stretching their arms above their head and breathing deep.

In front of him, Nic was following along dutifully, and to Grif’s right, Wendy. With a quick glance, he assessed that her eyes were closed, like his should be.

Pay attention.

Grif listened to his inner voice and dipped into a forward fold at Tate’s direction. Trying not to grin to himself, he folded a lot slower, shamelessly checking out Nic’s ass as the beta bent over.

The fact that he’d found a pair of pants long enough for his giant ass legs and stretchy enough for his thick as sin thighs was surprising.

A smack against his arm startled him, and he twisted his head to the right only to find Wendy glaring at him, a smile threatening to spread across her lips. “Pay attention,” she mouthed, rolling her eyes at him.

Heat flushed his cheeks, and Grif was embarrassed to be caught. But Wendy just shook her head and pointed to Tate as he directed them through a flat back pose.

His spine sang hallelujah, and it felt even better when he breathed along with everyone. Maybe he should pay attention to Tate.

But… distracting himself was for his own good.

He’d done similar poses more times than he could count, but it had been months since he’d put any of them into practice. He’d been busy. So fucking busy acclimating to the real world again, putting this place back together after his uncle passed. Four hundred and eight days seemed like a long time, but when you were fighting against a system that looked down on you in the first place, they tended to take their time with your paperwork. Hell, just proving his identity and getting an ID again so he could even claim his inheritance had been a fight.

But all in all, Griffith had lucked out. He could be so much worse off.

“—plant your palms and walk them out until you’re in a plank pose. Hold for five, four, three, two—and tuck your stomach, lift your hips to the sky, and walk your feet up to your hands.”