Page 12 of Puck Sweat Love

When he’s gone, I exhale, willing my jaw to relax and my shoulders to drop away from my ears. “Thanks for the back up,” I say.

Tank’s expression darkens. “Your ex?”

“Unfortunately.”

“He come by unannounced a lot?”

I shrug, trying to make light of it. “Sometimes. He’s just…persistent, but ultimately harmless.”

Tank makes a skeptical sound, but doesn’t press further. Instead, he nods toward the studio door. “Want me to stick around until your next class gets here? Just in case he decides to come back?”

“Oh no, of course not,” I say, moving into the lobby with a forced laugh. “I’m fine, honestly. And I apologize. This isn’t the first impression I want to make with a new student. Things aren’t usually this dramatic around here.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, moving in front of the welcome desk as I slip behind it and wiggle the mouse, stirring my computer to life. “And you made a good first impression. Aside from the chanting stuff at the end.”

I smile. “Not a fan of making noise?”

“Not that kind of noise. I’ll do the twice a week one,” he says, plopping his credit card down on the desk. “I prefer to know what I’m saying.”

I arch a brow as I run his card and quickly get him set up in the system. “Well, we can talk about the meaning of ‘om’ sometime, if you want. It’s actually pretty beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, making my jaw go slack with shock. “And too good for that guy. Don’t let him fuck with you if you don’t want to be fucked with.” He motions toward his lower half. “I’ll wash the pants at home and bring them back next time. Thanks for the loan and the class. It was good.”

And then, before I can pull myself together, he turns, collects his things, and walks out the door.

I stand, still gaping as he dons his helmet, swings confidently onto his motorcycle, and rumbles away, all without sparing me another glance.

“Well, shit,” I mutter, my heart racing.

Mr. Sniffles waddles over, looking up at me with a smug expression on his wrinkled face as if to say, “I knew you couldn’t resist that guy. You’re a sucker for the broody ones.”

“Don’t judge me,” I say, bending to scoop him into my arms. “I’mgoingto resist him. He’s just…sexy.” I exhale. “Really sexy.”

Mr. Sniffles snorts in what sounds like agreement.

I grin. “Yeah? You think so, too? Were the neck scratches that good?”

He sneezes. Then yawns, letting out a high-pitched honking sound from his flat nose that summons a laugh from Zelda, a friend from my early days in Portland, as she breezes through the door.

“Same, Mr. Sniffles!” she says, a breath of fresh, feminine air in her white linen dress and arm bangles after all the testosterone of the past few minutes. “I’m exhausted. What a day, huh, buddy?”

“Agreed,” I say, grateful that she’s the first student through the door for the next class. I could use a little girl talk before I put on my professional hat again. “You just missed Drake. He’s been texting non-stop.”

She rolls her big green eyes. “Girl, no. Block him. You’re too nice. He doesn’t deserve another second of your time or energy.”

I nod as I exhale a freeing breath. “I was just thinking the same.”

The irony that it took another “bad boy” to make me positive it was time to cut Drake loose isn’t lost on me. But then maybe Tank isn’t that “bad,” after all.

As my hot yoga students file in and I turn up the thermostat and the infrared lights on the ceiling, my mind keeps drifting back to that final moment before he left and the frank way he’d said that I was beautiful…

I shouldn’t be focusing on that part, or tingling for a student who screams “complicated” from his motorcycle boots to his wounded eyes, but sometimes the heart has a mind of its own.

So does the va-jay-jay.

And my va-jay-jay is definitely intrigued by Mr. LiBassi.

Very intrigued, indeed.

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