All these years, all this time, and now this twist of fate before what was supposed to be our third time lucky?
Jaw tight, I grab a mat, flop down, and listen to our new yoga instructor for the next fifty minutes as she guides us through a series of poses.
These are the poses I want to do with her.
Only, I can’t.
When class ends, the guys filter out, but Lacey calls me over to the front of the room.
What’s that all about? Does she know I already have a thing with Katie? Are we going to be put on some kind of notice?
I haul in a breath, stealing myself for a reprimand for something I couldn’t foresee. I do my best to stay cool, flashing a smile at the blonde bombshell I want to take home with me, and the brunette pipsqueak in charge of our physical fitness.
The trainer bounces on her white sneakers. “Harlan, I want to personally introduce you to Katie Madigan.”
Lacey, that won’t be necessary. I personally introduced myself to every inch of her delicious skin a few months ago when I hand- and cock- and tongue-delivered four orgasms, but thanks for the formality, anyway.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, extending a hand to Katie.
Her blue eyes twinkle with a cocktail of mischief and regret as she takes my palm. “Pleasure to meet you too, Harlan. I enjoy watching you play.”
“And I enjoy posing like a flamingo,” I say, still holding her hand. I don’t want to let go. This may be the only time I’ll get to touch her all day.
Hell, maybe all season.
I whimper inside.
My dick wails a song of sorrow.
My libido curls up in the corner.
I’ve been cock-blocked by my own damn team.
“So,” Lacey continues, her brown-eyed gaze straying to our joined hands. Quickly, I let go. “The receiver’s coach and I met earlier today about you, Harlan.”
I jerk my gaze to Lacey. “You did?”
Lacey, a former cheerleader, nods enthusiastically. Lacey does everything enthusiastically. “We did, and we thought, given the hamstring strain you sustained the other week, we should make sure your flexibility and balance are at peak levels.”
For a guy who puts in the extra work, the suggestion sure bristles me. “You’re saying they’re not?”
Her smile is wide. It usually is. “I’m saying your performance is indeed peak, and we want to keep it there. We think yoga can do that. What do you think?”
I flash back to my jog this morning. To the wince I felt. Sure, I spend plenty of time lifting weights, running plays. But stretching? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to improve ye olde flexibility.
I let go of the momentary annoyance. “Let’s do it.”
She wipes a hand across her forehead in exaggerated relief. “Whew. I’m glad you agree. Because we’d like you to set up some one-on-one sessions directly with Katie. We need our star receiver corps to be in fantastic shape. Maybe tomorrow morning you could meet up at Katie’s studio? Obviously, the team will cover all the expenses. So, if you two can just exchange numbers and handle the timing?”
Lacey’s eyes widen as she waits for an answer.
Katie chimes in first. “Absolutely. I welcome the chance,” she says.
I clear my throat, hiding the chuckle working its way out. The situation isn’t funny, but the idea that we need to trade numbers is.
Though, maybe funny isn’t the word. More like devastating to my dick and heart, since both are into Katie.
Lacey spins on her heel, leaving me alone with the woman I want but can’t have.
I glance around. Coast is clear. My chest weighs a ton. I hate doing this . . .
“So, about tonight,” I say heavily.
Her shoulders hunch. “I know. I figured as much.”
She’s already on the same page, but I need to be clear. It’s important. “I shouldn’t date someone who works for the team.” It’d look bad, especially in this critical season. I’d look like the playboy I once was. I’m not that guy anymore, and I don’t want to put the team in an awkward position. The potential for a social media blowup is too high.
“And I can’t date a client,” she adds, sadness in her tone. Her eyes sweep the exercise room, then return to me. “It could hurt our reputation as we’re growing the business. I worry it would look like I’m sleeping my way to deals, especially with such a high-profile one. This is a big opportunity for Sassy Yoga.”
She sounds wracked by guilt, and I’ll have none of that.
“Katie, I want this deal to go well for your company, so don’t apologize. I understand completely. Truly, I do.” Especially since it’s harder for women in these situations. Society often gives top athletes a slap on the hand when they mess around with women they work with. But the fairer sex? They usually get the jagged edge of the judgement knife. I hate the thought of that happening to Katie.
“Thank you for saying that. And please know I would ask for someone else to fill in, but my business manager made it explicitly clear that Wilder Enterprises hired me.” She still sounds like she’s in the worst funk.
Same here.
“You’re the face and brand,” I say with a sad smile. “Everyone wants you.”
She dips her head, laughing wistfully. “But I would otherwise have switched. Because I really wanted to see you tonight,” she says, so sweet, so vulnerable.
I step closer, daring to get near to her, to inhale her scent. “I really wanted to see you too.”
Instead, we make plans for the morning.
Professional plans.
Even so, when I hit the sack that night, all I want is for the sun to rise.
15
Harlan
Seeing Katie in her cute blue yoga pants, that tight pink yoga top, and that sexy, swishy ponytail? Well, let’s just say it frazzles my brain.
But I’m a good boy.
I’m in the zone.
The cat, cow, dog zone.
We are just a yoga teacher and a client, not the man and woman who cancelled a hot date last night.
In a private room at her studio, designed for one-on-one sessions, Katie takes me through several poses, then says it’s time for a lunge twist.
“This is critical for a receiver. It’ll help as you lunge for catches,” she says.
I’ve done plenty of stretches over the years, just like this one. But Katie studies me like a scientist then shifts my body like a sculptor, setting her hands on my hips, urging me to deepen the rotation.
I’d like to deepen other rotations.
“There! That’s perfect. Now just hold it,” she says, so damn encouraging as she sinks into the same pose, twisting her elbow against her thigh, looking supple and flexible and all sorts of bendy.
“Show-off.”
“I just like to move my body,” she says with a smile.
And that’s not helping, because I like all the ways she moves my body, as well.
Like when we switch to a frog pose. “On your hands and knees,” she says.
“Things I’d like to say to you,” I mutter, and dammit, that’s not the cat-cow zone. That’s the naughty zone.
Must stay out of it.
“Harlan Taylor,” she admonishes, but there’s a sexy note in her voice that tells me she, too, is savoring every flirty morsel we allow ourselves.