Page 8 of Puck Sweat Love

Zero thoughts.

None whatsoever.

The door chimes as he enters, his presence immediately making my peaceful lobby feel several sizes smaller. He fills the space, not just physically—though at well over six feet with shoulders that could block out the sun, that’s part of it—but with an energy that’s so intense it crackles in the air around him.

“Hey there,” I say, my voice coming out lighter and perkier than intended. “Welcome to Love Lotus. Theodore, right? Shane’s friend?”

He grunts—apparently not pleased that I’ve remembered him—then clears his throat. “Tank. You can call me Tank. And you’re Stephanie. We met at happy hour.”

I nod. “Yes, I was the one dancing. You were the one looking annoyed by the dancing.”

Surprise flickers across his face.

Then, irritation.

I wince. “Sorry, I was just teasing. I understand that dancing isn’t everyone’s thing. It’s not a big deal. Sorry.” I suck in a breath and force a smile. “So, what can I do for you? Are you here for a class or…”

He grunts again and glances around the space, his gaze lingering suspiciously on the hammock full of pillows in the corner, as if he suspects it might be hiding a sniper. “Yeah. Doc Peterson said I should try yoga and gave me your card so…” His scowl reaches new, scowly depths as his focus returns to my face.

“Lovely.” I keep my smile fixed in place, refusing to be intimidated. “So, you’re here for the four o’clock beginner flow, then?”

He grunts yet again, a slightly more affirmative sound, this time.

“Great. We have a small group of experienced students today, perfect for your first class.” I gesture to the cubbies along the wall. “You can store your things there, the bathrooms are down the hall, and the studio is through that door. Once you’ve changed, just grab a mat from the hooks on the wall, find a spot, and make yourself comfortable.”

He sets his backpack down, pulling out a pair of mesh basketball-style shorts that give me pause. “Did you bring pants, by any chance?” I ask.

Tank blinks. “Pants?”

“Yes, or shorts with spandex underneath?” I ask, pushing on when he continues to look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language, “You’re going to be getting into a lot of unusual positions. With normal shorts, everyone will be able to see straight up the legs to all your bits and pieces when you’re in downward facing dog. Which can be…awkward. For everyone. I have some pants you can borrow from the loaner bin if you’d like?”

His expression is so horrified, I have to fight a laugh. “Um, sure,” he says. “Yeah. Thank you.”

I return a moment later with the largest pair of pants I could find in the loaner bin to see Mr. Sniffles investigating our new student, sniffing enthusiastically at Tank’s boots as he slides them into a cubby.

Tank scratches at my pug’s wrinkly neck with a soft smile that makes him easily a hundred times more attractive. He’s sexy when he’s all scowly, but he’s action-movie-star irresistible when he smiles.

Be still my bad-boy-with-a-sweet-side loving heart…

“That’s Mr. Sniffles,” I say, as I drop the pants on top of his cubby. “Studio mascot, emotional support animal, and generally wise and wonderful beastie of my heart.”

“He’s a champ, I can tell. Aren’t you, Sniffles?” Tank asks, the warmth leaving his voice as he reaches for the pants. “Thanks for these. I’ll change and find a place in the back. Out of the way.”

“Set up wherever you’re comfortable,” I tell him, waving as Hattie, one of my senior students climbs the steps outside. “Like I said, this is a small class, full of great people. You’re in for a lovely first practice.”

He grunts, and I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to tease him about his language of grunts.

That would be too much like flirting, and I refuse to flirt with a client.

Or a bad boy.

Or any combination of the two.

Within ten minutes, the entire class is on their mats—three middle-aged women who come each week together, a college girl recovering from a gymnastics injury, Hattie, my senior queen, and Old Pete, who started yoga after his heart attack last year. They’re all eyeing the massive, cranky beast in the back row when I walk in, clearly curious about the newbie.

Or maybe they’re concerned for their safety…

Tank’s scowl is even more ominous than before.

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