And still no Grayson.
I’m not sure if he’s staying away because of Banks or because his ego is too bruised to show his face. Either way, I’ll take it.
“Alright, everyone.” I clap my hands, and the room actually quiets down. That’s new. “Let’s get started. Find a comfortable position on your mat, and we’ll begin with some breathing exercises.”
The session flows smoother than any I’ve taught since I started.
The guys follow instructions. They attempt the poses. They ask legitimate questions about form and technique—not thinly veiled excuses to get me closer to them. When I walk through the rows making adjustments, no one tries anything. No comments. No whispers.
It’s just… yoga. The way it’s supposed to be.
Halfway through, I guide them into a warriorsequence, and I realize I’m actually enjoying myself. Teaching. Connecting. Doing the job I was hired to do.
“Warrior two,” I call out. “Front knee bent, arms extended. Feel the strength in your legs.”
Archer, in the back row, is surprisingly flexible. Though he is a goalie. Logan is trying his best, even though his form is a disaster. A few of the bigger guys are struggling, but that’s to be expected.
“Hold for five breaths. Four. Three. Two. One. And release.”
A collective groan goes through the room. I smile.
“That’s it for today. Nice work, everyone. Same time on Thursday.”
Guys start rolling up their mats, chatting with each other, filtering toward the door. A few actually thank me on their way out.
“Good session, Winnie.”
“Thanks, that hip stretch really helped.”
“See you Thursday.”
I stand there, slightly stunned, as the room empties. This is what I wanted. This is why I took this job. To help athletes, to make a difference, to be respected for my skills.
And all it took was one grumpy fake boyfriend.
I’m packing up my tablet when a shadow falls across the doorway.
Banks.
He’s leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable expression. He’s still in his workout clothes—gym shorts, a faded T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders in a wayI’m definitely not noticing. His hair is damp, like he just showered.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
Silence stretches between us. He doesn’t move from the doorway. I don’t move from where I’m standing. We just… look at each other.
“The session went well,” I offer.
“Yeah?”
“Really well. Like, shockingly well.” I can’t keep the relief out of my voice. “No one was weird. No one made comments. Grayson didn’t even show up.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Satisfaction, maybe. “Good.”
Another silence. But this one is different—charged, expectant. We’re supposed to be a couple. We’re supposed to act like it. And right now, we’re standing ten feet apart like strangers at a bus stop.
“You should probably come in,” I say. “Or I should go out. We should… be closer. In general.”
