"And you’re done. Nice job today."
As my barre students leave and yoga students start to come in, I take a drink of water and switch the music.
I’m rolling my mat onto the floor when I notice Rhett standing outside of the door. A few girls from my last class are lingering, checking him out. I look around for Maverick. He’s usually here by now, and the fact I even have to look for him should tell me he isn’t here. Johnny Maverick doesn’t enter a room without you noticing.
I still remember the first time he came into one of my classes. It was last year, about a month into his freshmen year. He was reluctant—not that I realized it at the time. But now, after getting to know his personality, I realize that was a much tamer, reserved person that walked into the studio.
Even reserved, I was intimidated. He’s a tall guy, covered in tattoos, dark hair—your basic bad boy. That is until he opens his mouth. Once I got to know him, I realized how nice and funny he is. He’s part of the reason I enjoy teaching this class so much. No matter how hard I push him, he manages to make it look easy.
But he’s not here, and instead, it’s another hockey player walking into the room. He approaches me at the front while others are finding places around the room to unroll their mats.
Dressed in athletic pants and a Valley U hockey T-shirt, he looks too hot to be real. He doesn’t have the same bad-boy look like Maverick. He’s more broody jock. Still, he has this appeal about him that is more than just his pretty face or his amazing arms, which I’m definitely not staring at.
“What are you doing here?” I’m pretty sure the question comes out like an accusation. He puts up all my defense modes like my brain is aware that letting him in would be oh so very bad for my heart.
“I want to apologize.” He holds up a hand when I start to interrupt. “I know, I already have, but I keep getting it wrong. And I’m probably going to this time, too. You seem like a cool chick. Mav has nothing but good things to say, and I guess I just want to make sure we’re good.” He smiles and points to his eye. “I have a matching black eye, and I did a suicide apology this morning.”
“Neither of those was by choice, but the second was pretty amusing.”
“Being here was all me though.” He grins, a boyish charm that I’m sure gets him whatever he wants.
“How’d you find me, anyway?”
“Maverick. Oh, and he wanted me to pass along a message that he has to miss yoga today because he’s meeting with Coach, but he’ll see you on Wednesday.” He nudges me playfully with an elbow. Even that small touch makes my heart rate accelerate. “We good?”
“Grab a mat.”
When my intentions are clear, his deep laughter spills out. The sound makes my stomach flip. “If I stay for class and do some downward dog and stretching shit, then we’re good?”
I smirk. Stretching shit? Oh, this is going to be fun.
5
Rhett
Lying flat on my back, I stare at the white ceiling and moan. She broke me.
The she in question peers down at me with a pleased smile. “Class is over. You can go now.”
“If only my legs worked.” I roll over onto one side and then push myself into a sitting position. I’m soaked in sweat—something I didn’t realize was possible from yoga.
“Tell the truth,” I start once I manage to get to my feet. “You made those poses up, right? There’s no humble flamingo, half lotus, or full monkey. You were fucking with me.”
“Half monkey.” She smiles. “No, those are real poses. Well, not exactly the way you were doing them.”
I hang my head. My hair falls into my face, sticking to my forehead. I need a shower. Maybe two. And a soak in the ice bath.
“Are we even now?” I hold my hands out to my sides, letting her revel in my embarrassment. I’m sweaty and gross, and I just made a complete ass out of myself for the better part of my lunch hour. My stomach growls. And I missed lunch.
“Yeah, we’re even.” She moves to the front of the class, turns off the music, and gathers her things while I mop up my sweat and wipe down the mat.
She glances down at her watch and presses two fingers to the pulse point on her neck, which reminds me what Maverick said about her heart and having to monitor it.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just like to keep an eye on my heart rate throughout the day. Habit, more than anything.” She drops her arm to her side. “See you tomorrow, Rauthruss.” She backs out of the studio. “I don’t think yoga is your calling.” She brings her hands together in front of her, a huge smile on her face. “Namaste.”
Over the next few days, I don’t have any more run-ins with my new favorite skater. I see her at practice, but Coach keeps us focused on hockey with the threat of running us until we puke.
Thursday late afternoon, I’m in my room finishing econ homework when my phone rings on my desk. I don’t have to look to know who it is, but I glance down anyway. My ex has been calling at least three times a day since last weekend. Yesterday and today, that number has increased dramatically. I feel like an ass for not answering, but we can’t keep doing this.
The first week we were broken up (for the second time in a month), I answered every single time. She cried, begged me to take her back, and I sat on the other line feeling like an ass. I almost caved too. I don’t like that she’s hurting. We were together for nearly six years—that’s a damn long time, and it isn’t like I just stopped caring about her completely. She’s a great girl. She’s just not the right girl for me.
I thought I was doing the right thing by continuing to talk to her and being a shoulder she could cry on, but instead, I think I just gave her false hope. After a three-hour call last week where I heard her out, listening to all the really great reasons she thought we could make it work, I finally told her there was no way I was going to change my mind and asked her to stop calling so much.
She gave me the space I asked for, for a few days, but then the calls started up again after we won the quarterfinals. It sucks. I press silent as Adam fills my doorway.
“Hey.” He leans against the doorjamb, taking up most of it. “You want to go to The Hideout and grab an early dinner?”
“I was just gonna eat a sandwich or something. I’ve gotta finish this and then study for a quiz.”
My phone pings with a new voice message. Fuck, that’s new. She doesn’t usually leave messages.
“You know what, fuck it, I’m starving.” I stand, abandoning my phone on my desk. I hope I’m doing the right thing by holding firm on my decision not to answer. I’ve never disliked having a cell phone more in my life.
It’s just the two of us when we get to The Hideout. We put in our order, and the server brings us our beers while we wait.
“No Reagan?” I ask. It’s a rare evening that Adam isn’t with his new girlfriend, so I fully expected her to show up.
“She and Dakota are running together at the track.”
“Things are good then?” I know they are. I can see it all over my buddy’s face. He’s totally gone for her. They recently had a falling out, and he walked around sulking like I’ve never seen from him. Adam was the king of breakups, moving on within the week or even sometimes the same day.