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I try not to watch him, but it’s impossible. From the way he moves, you’d never guess this is his first-time doing yoga.

“Let’s come to standing,” I say, and lead the group into mountain pose.

I glance over at Tanner as he unfolds those muscular arms over his head, the fabric of his shirt stretching tight across his chest. You’d think he was posing for a men’s fitness ad, not in his first yoga class ever. His posture is absurdly perfect.

“Feet hip width, toes spread wide,” I say, wondering if I forgot to turn up the AC. It’s getting so damn hot in here.

“Press your feet into the mat. Imagine you’re growing taller, lifting through the crown of your head.”

We transition into downward dog, and Tanner moves into the pose gracefully for a man his size.

I walk the room, checking posture, adjusting a shoulder here, a foot there. My mind keeps snagging on Tanner’s presence, the heat rolling off his body in waves. I’m not usually this easily distracted. But one look at this guy, and my brain went on vacation.

“Let’s stay here for a few breaths,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Relax your arms. Let your entire body melt into the mat.”

I make the rounds, correcting posture, encouraging deeper breaths, and checking in with my regulars. I linger over Jocelyn, helping her tuck her hip, and say, “Great adjustment.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound as shaky as my nerves feel.

But all roads lead back to Tanner.

“Can I help you adjust the pose?” I ask, keeping my tone light, professional.

Tanner stares down at me hungrily. “Sure.”

I step in, hovering my hand just above his upper back. My palm radiates heat, which is weird because I haven’t even made contact yet. I give a gentle tap. “Relax your shoulders a little. Open your chest toward the window.”

He shifts. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

Holy. Shit.

For a split second, the world narrows to just us and the electric pulse running from my fingers into his back, the wild, searching look in his eyes, the way his breathing goes shallow as he realizes I’m touching him. I don’t break the gaze, and neither does he.

“Good,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. My brain does a hard reboot. I forget what I was about to say. His eyes flick from the mirror to my reflection and back, and then, God help me, to my actual face.

He doesn’t look away.

I yank my hand back like I’ve been burned. “Uh. Nice. That’s… better,” I stammer, all authority gone. I’ve never lost my cool in front of a class before, but here we are.

I escape to the other side of the room, pretending to help Mindy align her foot, but my mind is stuck on replay. The contact. The way his body responded. The look in the mirror.

Jesus, Star. Get a grip.

I push the class through a closing sequence—seated twists, some easy stretches, and finally, savasana. “Lie on your back, close your eyes, let the mat hold you up.” My words sound far away, even to me. I dim the lights, cue the music down to barely-there, and watch as the group settles into relaxation.

Tanner is the only one who doesn’t fully close his eyes. He’s lying still, arms at his sides, but every so often he cracks one eye open, tracking me as I move around the room.

When I ring the old singing bowl to signal the end, everyone sits up slow, blinking, and peaceful. The normal buzz of “thank you” and “great class” fills the air as people start to roll up their mats. Maggie gives me a thumbs-up and a sly smile, like she knows exactly what just happened.

The class empties out quickly. Tanner lingers, helping Maggie gather her things. I busy myself wiping down the props, stacking blocks, and basically doing anything to avoid another round of eye contact. I’m intensely aware of every bead of sweat, every strand of hair escaping my bun, every heartbeat reverberating in my chest.

When the last of the regulars leaves, Tanner and Maggie are the only ones left.

He mumbles something to her. She grins, squeezes his arm, and then makes a show of saying, “I’m gonna wait outside. Don’t take forever, Tannie Poo.”

She’s out the door before he can reply. For the first time, he looks unsure of himself, like the armor’s a little thinner. He stays at the edge of the mat, not moving.

I wipe down the last yoga block with unnecessary violence. “You survived,” I say, meaning to sound casual, but it comes out kind of breathy.

“I did,” he says, then cracks a grin. “It really wasn’t too bad. My back actually feels better.”

I stare into his intense eyes, searching for something to say. “I’m glad.”

His gaze just pins me. Like he can see every secret I’ve ever had. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

He crosses his arms, muscles flexing under the thin shirt, and tilts his head a little. “How do I sign up for regular classes?”

Oh. Man.

He wants to be here. He wants more.

Can I really handle seeing him on a regular basis? Do I have any choice?

My mouth is dry, but I still manage, “You liked it that much?”

He grins, and holy hell, it’s like being hit with an arrow right to the heart. “Hell yeah. Not gonna lie, this is the best I’ve felt in weeks.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. The words barely make it out. “Then let’s get you set up. You actually get one private yoga session every month when you sign up for the annual membership.” I give him my typical new member spiel.

“Sign me up.” He winks at me, and I know I’m in so much trouble here.