Page 20 of Puck Sweat Love

Seems like we both wish we could get a whole lot closer to the man with the haunted eyes and electric smile.

CHAPTER 5

TANK

Friday night’s class is winding down, and I’m deliberately taking my time rolling up my mat.

Lingering. Loitering.

Lurking?

Am I lurking?

Fuck, if I know. I also don’t know why this feels so awkward.

After two more group classes, and another private lesson on the books for Sunday, Stephanie is starting to feel like a friend.

And there’s nothing weird about offering a friend a ride home when she needs one. Right?

Except friends don’t think about how good other friends look in spandex as much as you think about Stephanie.

In spandex.

And how good she looks in it.

The inner voice has a point, but that could also be chocked up to how long I’ve been not only single, but celibate. About six months ago, I got off the dating apps to focus on one last training push to make it back to playing pro-level hockey and never got back on them again. And it’s not like a workaholic who goes to bed at nine p.m. is going to meet people out and about in the world.

At least not until now.

Too bad I didn’t develop an obsession with the spandex-clad form of another student. Or even one of the other teachers, one who has no connection to my tiny social circle. Nope. I had to make it complicated.

Story of my life…

By the time I finally wipe my mat down and hang it on the hooks on the wall, return my blocks to the shelf, and fold my blanket, the rest of the class has already filed out, leaving Stephanie and me alone in the studio. Well, alone aside from Mr. Sniffles, who is snoring—and farting—softly, in his corner bed, oblivious to the angst of humanity.

“I apologize for his foul backside,” Stephanie says, waving a hand in front of her nose as she turns down the thermostat. “He got into the compost and ate some rotten bok choy. I was going to leave him at my apartment to work through it alone, but he was so pathetic, I felt guilty and ran back upstairs to get him.” She laughs. “We almost missed the bus, but he was so happy to be coming along, he licked me the entire way here.”

The bus. There it is. The perfect opening.

I should just ask her. The worst she can say is no.

Pulling in a calming breath—the kind she’s taught me how to control, I ask, “Speaking of the bus, I thought you might like a ride home tonight. It’s late, and I’m sure you’re ready to get home after a long day.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “On your motorcycle? Aw, Tank, that’s sweet of you to offer, but I don’t think Mr. Sniffles?—”

“I hooked up my sidecar,” I cut in, my cheeks hotter than they were before. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t remember the last time I felt this nervous about making a move.

And this isn’t even really a move.

It’s just…a step forward in our friendship.

“I gave my friend Stone and his chihuahua a ride in it the other day,” I continue. “It’s safe for dogs, and I brought extra helmets.”

“Helmets? Plural?” Stephanie repeats, a smile creeping across face. “Are you serious? You have a helmet for Mr. Sniffles?”

“Yeah. I had one laying around.”

I had one laying around because I went andboughtone at the same place where Stone got Barb, his Chihuahua’s, helmet, but she doesn’t need to know that.

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