Page 36 of Puck Sweat Love

As if sensing my gaze, Garcia looks up. For a moment, our eyes meet across the lot, his expression shifting from eager to smug, before he lifts a hand in greeting.

I play along, offering my own warm wave, but the reality of what’s happening here is crystal clear.

And the reality is: Game on.

CHAPTER 9

STEPHANIE

Wednesday Night

Something’s off with Tank.

On the surface, he’s doing everything right—following my cues, moving through the poses with the laser focus I’ve come to expect from him. But there’s a rigidity in his shoulders that has nothing to do with his old injury, and his jaw is clenched so tight I swear I can hear his teeth grinding together from across the room.

Every time I glance his way, hoping to catch his eye and offer a reassuring smile, his gaze is locked on his mat like it holds the secrets of the universe.

No, more like it’s a screen playing a highlight reel of whatever’s eating at him over and over again on repeat…

“Now flow into warrior two,” I guide the class, making my way toward the back of the room where Tank is set up in his usual spot. “Let your shoulders soften away from your ears. Remember, we’re not at war with our bodies or with this moment. We’re not here to control. We’re here to allow, tosoften, to explore what’s possible when we stay present with our breath.”

Tank’s shoulders shift about a millimeter south.

Progress, but not much.

“Beautiful, everyone,” I continue. “Now sink a little deeper into that front leg, remembering to keep your knee tracking over your ankle. Feel the strength in your foundation as you reach through your fingertips, creating length through the arms.”

As I pass behind Tank, I pause to rest light fingers between his shoulder blades. His muscles are rigid beneath my palm, but he doesn’t flinch away. If anything, he seems to lean into the contact, his body instinctively seeking support. Comfort.

My heart squeezes. Whatever’s bothering him, I hate seeing him like this. The Tank I’ve come to know may be gruff and guarded, but there’s also a quiet peace about him. A grounded, solid quality I admire.

This tightly-wound, churning energy isn’t like him at all.

When we finally reach savasana, his hands curl into fists at his sides and his jaw is still balled up tight. Even Mr. Sniffles seems to sense something’s wrong. Instead of cuddling up next to Tank the way he usually does, my normally chill pup crouches anxiously near his mat, casting worried glances my way.

I guide the class through their final relaxation, but my focus keeps drifting to Tank. By the time I rub the singing bowl to signal the end of practice, I’ve made up my mind—I have to say something. Even if Tank were just a student, I’d feel obligated to reach out.

But he’s more than a student; he’s the man I’m dating.

And no, we haven’t been dating long, but that doesn’t matter. I still care about him, probably more than I should after just a few dates.

After exchanging the usual small talk with the other students as they gather their things in the lobby, I ease back into thestudio, where Tank is methodically wiping down his mat and returning his props to their homes.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”

He glances over his shoulder from the blanket shelf with a sigh. “Sorry. I was trying to breathe through it, but…” His forehead furrows. “Did I harsh your vibes?”

I smile. “Nah, my vibes are good. I’m just concerned. What’s going on?”

He sighs again, a heavier sound this time. “Bullshit. Bullshit is going on. Want to take a walk maybe? Get some fresh air while I fill you in?”

“Sounds good,” I say, touched by the fact that he’s so willing to share. When Drake was in a mood, he would either brush me off or lash out, taking his anger out on me without ever saying what was bothering him. But even just a few dates in, it’s obvious that Tank isn’t anything like Drake. He’s a grown-up who’s worked on himself and is continuing to learn and evolve.

It’s…so hot.

Nearly as hot as the way he wraps an easy arm around my shoulders, hugging me against his side as we head for the lobby, leaving Mr. Sniffles napping on his bed.

A few minutes later, we’re strolling down the quiet street, the summer evening warm and welcoming around us. The breeze carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine and yummy smells from the restaurants down the block, and I send out a silent wave of gratitude.

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