Well, shit.
The answer comes in a flash, and it sucks.
She can’t be our new yoga teacher.
And yet, I’m sure she is.
I groan inside. Pretty sure, too, that a date with Katie will violate the team’s no fraternization policy—no dates or hookups with personnel like team trainers, team docs, team managers, or team anythings.
Katie swings her gaze to me. For a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with excitement, but resignation quickly replaces it.
Frustration swirls in my gut. I try not to let things get me down, but I am more than bummed.
I am seriously disappointed.
All these years, all this time, and now this twist of fate before what was supposed to be our third time lucky?
Jaw tight, I grab a mat, flop down, and listen to our new yoga instructor for the next fifty minutes as she guides us through a series of poses.
These are the poses I want to do with her.
Only, I can’t.
When class ends, the guys filter out, but Lacey calls me over to the front of the room.
What’s that all about? Does she know I already have a thing with Katie? Are we going to be put on some kind of notice?
I haul in a breath, stealing myself for a reprimand for something I couldn’t foresee. I do my best to stay cool, flashing a smile at the blonde bombshell I want to take home with me, and the brunette pipsqueak in charge of our physical fitness.
The trainer bounces on her white sneakers. “Harlan, I want to personally introduce you to Katie Madigan.”
Lacey, that won’t be necessary. I personally introduced myself to every inch of her delicious skin a few months ago when I hand- and cock- and tongue-delivered four orgasms, but thanks for the formality, anyway.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, extending a hand to Katie.
Her blue eyes twinkle with a cocktail of mischief and regret as she takes my palm. “Pleasure to meet you too, Harlan. I enjoy watching you play.”
“And I enjoy posing like a flamingo,” I say, still holding her hand. I don’t want to let go. This may be the only time I’ll get to touch her all day.
Hell, maybe all season.
I whimper inside.
My dick wails a song of sorrow.
My libido curls up in the corner.
I’ve been cock-blocked by my own damn team.
“So,” Lacey continues, her brown-eyed gaze straying to our joined hands. Quickly, I let go. “The receiver’s coach and I met earlier today about you, Harlan.”
I jerk my gaze to Lacey. “You did?”
Lacey, a former cheerleader, nods enthusiastically. Lacey does everything enthusiastically. “We did, and we thought, given the hamstring strain you sustained the other week, we should make sure your flexibility and balance are at peak levels.”
For a guy who puts in the extra work, the suggestion sure bristles me. “You’re saying they’re not?”
Her smile is wide. It usually is. “I’m saying your performance is indeed peak, and we want to keep it there. We think yoga can do that. What do you think?”
I flash back to my jog this morning. To the wince I felt. Sure, I spend plenty of time lifting weights, running plays. But stretching? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to improve ye olde flexibility.
I let go of the momentary annoyance. “Let’s do it.”
She wipes a hand across her forehead in exaggerated relief. “Whew. I’m glad you agree. Because we’d like you to set up some one-on-one sessions directly with Katie. We need our star receiver corps to be in fantastic shape. Maybe tomorrow morning you could meet up at Katie’s studio? Obviously, the team will cover all the expenses. So, if you two can just exchange numbers and handle the timing?”
Lacey’s eyes widen as she waits for an answer.
Katie chimes in first. “Absolutely. I welcome the chance,” she says.
I clear my throat, hiding the chuckle working its way out. The situation isn’t funny, but the idea that we need to trade numbers is.
Though, maybe funny isn’t the word. More like devastating to my dick and heart, since both are into Katie.
Lacey spins on her heel, leaving me alone with the woman I want but can’t have.
I glance around. Coast is clear. My chest weighs a ton. I hate doing this . . .
“So, about tonight,” I say heavily.
Her shoulders hunch. “I know. I figured as much.”
She’s already on the same page, but I need to be clear. It’s important. “I shouldn’t date someone who works for the team.” It’d look bad, especially in this critical season. I’d look like the playboy I once was. I’m not that guy anymore, and I don’t want to put the team in an awkward position. The potential for a social media blowup is too high.
“And I can’t date a client,” she adds, sadness in her tone. Her eyes sweep the exercise room, then return to me. “It could hurt our reputation as we’re growing the business. I worry it would look like I’m sleeping my way to deals, especially with such a high-profile one. This is a big opportunity for Sassy Yoga.”